The Single Dad (The Dalton Family #3)(53)

I couldn’t shut off the tingles in my body.

I couldn’t stop the desire from pulsing.

The need.

The want.

Both owning me with a strength I couldn’t fight.

Maybe he had been born with a switch that made him forget, but the time we’d spent together was still so fresh in my head.

And time with him was something I wanted more of.

“Come on, little pancake. Be nice,” Everly said as she moved on to the last one, so focused on what she needed to do. “Don’t be mean, little pancake.”

I held my breath until it hit the pan, and we jumped in celebration.

“You nailed it,” I told her. “Look at that perfect flip.”

“Daddy, I nailed it!”

I gave her a high five, and then I handed her the spoon, so she could mix the potatoes. “Be careful with those. If any oil splatters and hits your skin, it’ll hurt.”

“I’m careful.”

I stayed in charge of the bacon, the oil in that pan a little too unpredictable for Everly to manage, and as I watched her, I said, “You’re doing such a good job.”

“That’s ’cause I’m a chef.”

I put my arm around her now that everything on the stove was settled for the moment. “You are, huh?”

“The bestest.”

“Well then, Chef Craig had better watch out. It sounds like you might be the new cook in this house.”

She tried tucking her wisps away while she stirred. “Do you think Daddy would get sick of pancakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

“I think if you threw in some cupcakes, that would make it a fair balance.” I glanced toward Ford as he was looking up from his phone. There was no question where his stare landed—I could feel it on every part of my body. “Chocolate cupcakes, that is.”

“He’d love that a whole lotskies.”

It took everything I had to glance away from him. “Miss Chef, do you think the pancakes are done?”

She shrugged.

“Do you know how to check?”

“Nope.”

I led her hand toward the pan and helped her lift the edge of a pancake. “You’re looking to see if it’s the right color. Too light—you risk the chance of the middle still being raw. Too dark—that means it’s burned or on the verge.” I lifted another one to compare. “How do these look to you?”

“Yuuummy.”

I laughed. “You’re right about that. Are they done?”

“Yes!”

And they were, so I plated them and held her hand while she stepped off the stool. “How about you go grab your dad’s coffee cup, so we can give him a refill? And then we’ll sit down to eat.”

“Okay!”

I set the pancakes on the table, placed the potatoes and bacon on a small platter, and added silverware and napkins to the place mats. When Everly returned with Ford’s mug, I made him another cup and one for myself, water for the little one, and grabbed syrup and ketchup and butter from the fridge.

Ford was still on his phone—working, I assumed. But as I moved around the kitchen, I still felt his eyes on me. With the help from my hat, I was able to mostly hide mine. That didn’t stop the tightness in my chest every time I neared where he was sitting, nor did it stop the flutters that seemed to be constant whenever I was in his presence.

After being here for weeks, I would have thought they would have died down.

But they were getting worse.

Stronger.

Moving even faster through my body.

And this time, when I circled the kitchen, making sure everything was the way I wanted it, my lungs were having a hard time taking in air.

I knew why.

I’d gotten a whiff of his cologne.

There was something about that scent that brought me back to the nights we’d spent together, the memories pouring in.

Oh God.

“Syd, I want blueberries on my pancakes.”

Fruit.

Pancakes.

What am I even doing right now?

“Everly,” Ford said with a warning, “use your manners.”

“Please,” she added.

I picked up the strawberry and blueberry containers from the refrigerator and set those on the table before I announced, “We’re ready. I hope everyone’s hungry.”

“I am!” Eve shouted.

“Me too,” I agreed, and I helped Everly get situated in her seat, taking the spot directly beside her.

Ford was the last to join, sitting at the head.

“Do you need anything?” I asked him.

He lifted the mug I had refilled and said, “Thank you for this.” He paused. “This breakfast looks amazing.”

“Yummy for my tummy,” Everly sang as she chewed a piece of bacon.

“Even better than Craig’s,” Ford added.

I froze, my knife deep in the butter, to gaze up at Ford. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.”

The intensity in which he looked at me was like a fierce grip. One that moved around my throat. One that shackled both hands and feet.

There were too many tingles.

Too many sensations.

“Daddy, we’re going hiking today.”

Our eyes were still locked as he said, “Oh yeah?”