Irresistible (Cloverleigh Farms #1)(19)

“You do?” He looked at me in surprise.

“Absolutely. I look at my sisters or other people my age and think, what the hell am I doing still living on the family farm with my parents? Why don’t I have more ambition? What’s wrong with me that I’m not out there in the world being a badass?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to be a badass. You don’t need to be anything other than what you are. And frankly, the world could use more people like you.”

“What am I like?” I asked, surprised and flattered by his words.

“Sweet. Genuine. Kind.”

I stared at the label on the beer bottle. Those were all nice things, and I was glad he thought them of me, but none of them were very exciting or sexy. “Thanks.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

Embarrassed, I laughed a little. “No. I just sometimes wish I wasn’t so … scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Lots of things.” I took a drink. “But lately I’ve been worried about life passing me by.”

“What do you mean? You’re so young.”

“But I never take any risks. Never take any chances. I think about the fact that there was a decent chance I wouldn’t even survive childhood, and here I am. So what am I going to do to prove I’m worthy? To make sure I live life to the fullest?”

Mack was silent for a minute. Sipped his beer. “What would that look like for you? To live life to the fullest? What chances would you take?”

I took a breath and was about to answer when the light in the kitchen went out and the girls trooped back into the living room.

“We’re ready,” Felicity said, hopping back on the couch with her bowl, spilling popcorn onto the cushions and floor.

Mack groaned. “Felicity, look what you’re doing.”

“Sorry,” she said, picking up the pieces and putting them back in her bowl.

“Don’t eat the ones from the floor.” He got up and took care of the pieces on the carpet, taking them to the kitchen to throw away while Winifred and Millie settled in again and someone hit play on the movie.

I had to laugh a little, imagining that this was probably what a typical Saturday night looked like around here—a movie, some blankets, some popcorn and lemonade. A little bickering, a little mess here and there, a couple beers for Mack after a long week of being CFO and Daddy. It seemed cozy and comforting to me, but that was from the outside. Was he happy? I wondered, maybe for the first time. I spent tons of time fantasizing about him, but I really didn’t know him, not intimately.

Was he lonely? Did he feel like he was living his life to the fullest, or was that some stupid idea that only someone in my situation worried about? After all, what choice did he have? His children were entirely dependent on him for everything from where they slept to what they wore to what they ate to how they felt about themselves. He was 100 percent responsible for their physical and emotional health. He didn’t have the luxury of wondering, Gee, am I living my best life?

I felt silly for saying something so frivolous to him while at the same time admiring his devotion to his children. By his own admission, he wasn’t perfect, but he was here, he was trying, and he loved them with his whole heart.

It was inspiring. It was humbling. It was hot.

Even his dirty mouth. For a moment, I wondered just how dirty it got, and felt my face get warm.

When he came back from the kitchen and sat next to me again, I moved my leg to give him more room. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m taking up too much space.”

“You’re fine.” Then, to my complete shock, he put his hand on my leg and nudged it back where it had been, resting against his. And left it there.

It was on top of the blanket, and it’s not like he was intimately caressing my inner thigh or anything, but still. Still. My heart thundered. My breath caught. My skin hummed.

That’s when I felt his thumb slowly start to move back and forth just above my knee.





Mack





What the fuck are you doing? my inner dad voice barked at me. Stop touching her!

But I left my hand right where it was, enjoying the feel of Frannie’s knee pressed against my thigh, imagining what it would be like if my hand were beneath the blanket.

I knew it was wrong. I knew I’d probably go to hell for having impure thoughts about the babysitter. I knew I’d definitely get fired if Sawyer saw me groping his daughter, but I left it.

After all, I wasn’t really groping her, was I? It was more of a graze. Innocent. Over the blanket. Out in the open. She probably hadn’t even noticed. She wasn’t even looking at me.

And it felt so nice to sit close to her this way. To touch her. To have her in the room on a winter evening—another adult, someone I could talk to, someone who understood. Maybe she couldn’t fully comprehend what it was like to be a single parent, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t struggled. She knew what it was like to fear you were falling short, to worry you were fucking up the one chance at life you’d been given. Like I had when I was deployed, she’d been forced to consider her own mortality—and she’d been only a child.

My gut churned, imagining what that must have been like for her and for her parents. Frannie appreciated life. She appreciated little things like good meals and kindness and sleigh rides in winter. She was sweet and beautiful and generous—more than worthy of the life she’d been given. I wished I could tell her that. I wished she wasn’t my boss’s daughter. I wished my kids weren’t in the room. I wished I could share not only this blanket and this couch and this snowy evening with her, but more. A hell of a lot more.