That One Touch: A Small Town Single Dad Romance (The Heartbreak Brothers Next Generation Book 2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

“Daddy,can you put my hair into a French braid?”

Presley Hartson looked up from his phone, where he was currently tapping out a very annoyed message to a supplier who’d promised that the marble tiles he’d ordered three months ago would be at the house he was renovating last week.

Only now were they admitting the tiles were somewhere in customs. But they didn’t know where. And he wasn’t looking forward to telling his client that.

“Come here.” He put his phone down next to him and patted the top of his thighs. Delilah, his six-year-old daughter, jumped onto his lap, holding out her brush and a thick hair band. He took the band and slid it onto his wrist, then started trying to brush her wild hair.

“Ow! That hurts.” She turned around to pout at him, and he wanted to laugh. Her expressions were the highlight of his day.

“Sorry.” He gave her a rueful look and started brushing again, this time more gently.

“You sure you want a French braid?” he asked once the tangles were all gone. “I do a mean ponytail, you know?”

“I have dance class tonight. Everybody there has braids.”

Yeah, but not everybody had a dad with fingers so calloused they could barely feel the strands of hair between them. The tips were thick thanks to years of playing the guitar and construction work, and it took him twice as long as it would anybody else to produce what was – let’s face it – a braid that was too thick on one side and veered off just a smidge to the other.

It made him feel bad that he couldn’t do this simple thing for her. She wasn’t asking for a lot.

Delilah ran off before he could warn her to curb her expectations, her tiny feet pattering in the hallway.

“It’s not good, Daddy,” she said when she came back from looking in the mirror. “It’s wonky.”

He bit down a smile. “I know. Sorry, sweetheart.”

She appeared back in the kitchen. “It’s okay. You’ll get there. Let’s just stick with a ponytail for now.”

That he could do. He undid the braid and brushed her hair again. Her hair was so thick yet so soft – she got that from her mom’s side of the family. It smelled of the strawberry shampoo his own mom had bought her.

His phone buzzed as he doubled the hairband to make sure the ponytail was secure. Delilah was clearly already bored, she was trying to pull away from him. “Just one sec,” he told her. Sure, it was off center, but at least it wouldn’t fall out.

“That’s your phone,” she said. “Who’s the message from.”

Another thing that made him smile about his daughter. She was the nosiest kid he knew. “I’ll check it later,” he told her, kissing the top of her head. “It’s time for school. Go grab your things. Your lunch bag is on the counter. We can practice your spelling list in the car.”

“Spelling schmelling.” Delilah wrinkled her nose. “Uncle Marley says that God invented spellcheck, so we didn’t have to learn to spell.”

Uncle Marley – Pres’ twin brother – had a lot to answer for. The perennial bachelor who lived life to the fullest, but also loved Presley’s kid almost as much as he did.

His whole family tried to make up for what Delilah was sure to be missing after her mom had passed. From the day she’d died, they’d formed a protective knot around him and Delilah. He liked that Marley teased his kid. She needed some lightness in her life. God knew, Pres wasn’t always able to provide it.

As Delilah grabbed her backpack and slid her feet into the black shiny Mary Janes she’d picked out at the start of the school year, Presley pulled his own boots on and finally read the message.

Yeah, his customer was pissed about the tiles being late. Not that Mrs. Clancy was happy about anything right now. They’d reached the middle of the renovations. The time when all customers seemed to lose it. Being a construction manager sometimes felt like being a psychologist. He could guarantee with a fair amount of accuracy when he’d get the nasty threats like this one.

I’m going to tell all my friends not to use you.

I’m going to call my lawyer.

If you miss the deadline we agreed to I’ll be docking your payment accordingly.

Once upon a time he’d have gotten pissed, too, and told the customer where to shove their threats. But he was older now. Wiser. And he had bigger things to worry about than whether Mrs. Clancy’s fancy ranch house reno finished a couple of weeks late.

“I can’t find my spelling list,” Delilah shouted. “Where is it?”

Yeah, a lot bigger things. Like making sure this cute little cupcake of a kid grew into adulthood without him making any more mistakes.

“I took a picture of it on my phone,” he told her, walking into the hallway. “You can use that.”

See, he could be a good dad sometimes. When he wasn’t working from dusk til dawn and relying on the goodwill of his parents to help him raise his kid. His mom looked after Delilah most afternoons after school, taking her to activities or watching her at their house. He was grateful for it, knowing his daughter was safe and happy while he was trying to keep a roof over their – and everybody else’s – heads. But he still felt like he was being pulled seven different ways.

“Thank you.” Delilah skipped over to him and took his phone. He opened the front door, the cool rush of springtime air washing over him. Pres loved this time of year. Sunny but not too hot. The summer was a bitch because they’d have to start any outdoor work early to avoid the midday sun.

The sky was a perfect blue dome above them as he pressed the unlock button on his truck, helping Delilah up into the cab because her legs were too little to make the leap between the foot board and seat. He tweaked her ponytail, and she scowled.

Once he’d strapped Delilah safely in and he was in his own seat, he started the engine. “Tell me the words on your list.”

“Shouldn’t you be reading them off the phone?” Delilah asked over the roar of the engine as he put his foot down on the gas.

“I’ll remember them.” There were only ten. He at least had the faculties for that. If nothing else, it took his mind off his angry customer.

“Okay then. Copy, Baby, Happy, Study, Lady, Pretty, Empty, Funny, Brother, Sister…”

The way she trailed off made him lift a brow because he knew what was coming next.

“You have brothers, don’t you?”

“Yep, they are your uncles.” He continued the drive toward her school.

“But no sisters.”

“That’s right.” Up ahead he could see a couple walking together hand in hand. From behind you couldn’t tell their ages, but he knew them to the day without having to see their faces.

“Look, there’s Granny and Gramps,” Delilah shouted excitedly, even though she saw them multiple times a week.

“Where?” He pretended not to see and Delilah laughed.

“Daddy, they’re there. On the sidewalk, see?”

He slowed down and opened his window to call out to his parents. “Enough of the PDA this early in the morning.”

His mom just about jumped out of her sneakers. One of the first things he did after Jade died was move closer to his parents. It was that or get a nanny for Delilah and his mom had begged to let them help. Most of the time it was pretty cool living a short walk from them.

Unless his mom was in a nagging mood about him needing a social life, or playing in the band he used to run with his brother, or maybe even meeting somebody new.

Yeah, she especially loved to nag him about that.

No thanks. He had no time for that. And he certainly didn’t have time for the complications of dating while trying to raise a kid. His life was too full for relationships.

“Presley!”

Pres bit down a smile because his mom only used his full name when she was telling him off. And he might be almost thirty, but she still did it.

His mom shook her head, but her face softened as she saw Delilah leaning toward the window and waving at her. “Hey cutie pie.”

“Hey Granny. I got a ponytail today.” Delilah swished her hair around.

“So I see.” His mom’s eyes crinkled. “And you look cute as a button.”

His dad caught Presley’s eye. “Still can’t do that braid, huh?”

“Nor can you,” Presley pointed out.

His dad shrugged. “That’s why I had three boys.”

“As if you had anything to do with it.” His mom rolled her eyes.

“Actually, I did,” his dad pointed out. “It’s the guy who decides the gender.”

Pres cleared his throat because Delilah was listening intently. And he absolutely didn’t want to have that kind of discussion with her right now.

“Gray Hartson,” his mom said to his dad. “You hush right up.”

His dad grinned, like he was enjoying the banter.

It was cool that Pres’ dad could walk along the streets unbothered. Anywhere else in the US and fans would surround him, even after all these years post retirement from making music and touring. Gray Hartson had been a big fucking deal in music back in the day.

But somehow he looked more at home walking down the street hand in hand with his wife than he ever had with a guitar up on stage.

“Gotta go,” Pres said, winking at his parents. “Be good. Don’t get up to anything I wouldn’t.”

His mom rolled her eyes, but you could tell by the way she looked at him that she loved him fiercely. The way she loved all three of her boys. Presley and Marley had come first – Presley beating his twin by an hour – and then Hendrix a couple of years later.

“Oh, you didn’t forget that Dad and I are out-of-town tonight?” his mom asked.

“Yep. I got it.” He nodded. “Have a good time.”

“You won’t forget to pick up Delilah from dance class, will you?” she added, glancing at her granddaughter.

Pres lifted a brow. “Only if she gets her spelling words wrong.”

“Daddy!” Delilah protested. “You can’t leave me at dance all night.”

“Okay kid.” He smiled at her because she was so easy to tease. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. When have I ever let you down?”

“Okay, that’s it for dancing this afternoon. Let’s all come sit in a circle and wait for our parents to pick us up.” Cassie Simons clapped her hands together, smiling at the troop of little girls all dressed in pink leotards and pale white tights, their tiny feet shining in satin ballet shoes with elastic sewn across the top to keep them from falling off.

She was in a leotard too, but hers was black, with a pair of sheer tights. Her feet were encased in soft ballet shoes. Her long thick hair was twisted neatly into a bun, revealing her heart-shaped face.

This age was her favorite class to teach, she decided, because watching them try so hard to follow her instructions while being giddy that they get to dress up, was a blast.

A few parents had already arrived and were standing against the walls, where they’d watched the last dance of the class – a fun one where Cassie had played the piano and told them to pretend to be birds migrating. Like the dying swan but happier.

Much happier, because they all kept giggling which made her smile.

“Okay, gang,” Cassie said, sitting in the middle of the circle with the clipboard full of names she’d been given. “If your parents are here, point them out to me.”

Before the words were out of her mouth she knew she’d made a mistake, because ten six-year-old girls started shouting excitedly at once.

“Okay!” she called out. “Let’s start again. I’ll say your name and you’ll tell me if your parents are here. Let’s start with Angelina Smith.”

Within fifteen minutes all but one of her students had been picked up. Some parents had lingered to introduce themselves to the new teacher at the Forsythe School of Dance, others had asked her questions about how she thought their child was doing and whether she saw any potential in them.

And she’d had to answer honestly. It was too soon and they should be enjoying themselves for now. There was more than enough time for the pain of being over rehearsed and shouted at while your feet bled from being stuffed into pointes when they were older.

She knew that from experience.

“Delilah, isn’t it?” she asked the one girl remaining. She was sitting in the corner of the room, holding a giraffe. She was a cute kid. She’d danced enthusiastically for the entire class, and it was clear she had a natural rhythm, as her ponytail swayed from side to side.

Delilah nodded, suddenly shy, and Cassie’s heart clenched, because she knew what it felt like to be forgotten.

“Don’t worry, your…” Cassie looked at her sheet, “dad will be here soon. Maybe you can help me clean up while we wait? I could really use your help.”

She gave the little girl a warm smile.

“Okay,” Delilah said softly, standing up. She walked over to Cassie with her stuffed animal still in one hand. The other reached for Cassie’s and Cassie took it, squeezing it reassuringly, because the little girl still looked scared. Maybe she should find something to keep her busy – wasn’t that what she used to do when she felt alone? Fill her mind until she didn’t think about it any more?

“How good are you at tidying up music?” Cassie asked, leading her to the piano. The sheet music was all over the place. It would probably take Cassie a minute to straighten them up, but she wanted to distract the little girl.

“I’m really good at it,” Delilah promised, looking hopeful. She let go of Cassie’s hand and reached for the papers. “I’m the best.”

Damn, she was cute. She still hadn’t let go of the giraffe, though.

“How about we put this little guy on the piano,” Cassie murmured. “He can watch you work.”

“It’s a she. Lola,” Delilah told her.

“Of course she is.” Cassie looked at the giraffe with a serious expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Lola.”

Delilah giggled and damn if that wasn’t a good sound.

Ten minutes later and the studio was neat and swept, and Delilah’s dad still hadn’t arrived. And if she was being honest, Cassie was getting a little furious.

Only a little – not a lot. And not because she was being inconvenienced, she didn’t exactly have much to run home for. But because the little girl kept looking hopefully at the door that never opened.

Why was it that some parents always put their kids last?

“I’ll tell you what,” Cassie said, smiling at Delilah. “Let’s grab a couple of drinks from the staff room.” And while they did that, she’d ask Gemma, her boss and friend, to call Delilah’s dad. Wherever he was, it couldn’t be more important than being here to keep his kid from getting upset.

Delilah nodded. “Yes please.”

Okay then. Cassie grabbed Lola from the piano and passed her to Delilah before they walked out of the studio and down the hallway to the front of the dance school. A drink, a phone call, and hopefully Delilah would get home before it was time to go to bed.

But before he took her home, Cassie intended to give Delilah’s dad a piece of her mind.