LOSING IT
THOMAS
I never thought I’d enjoy seeing a woman around my daughter. Never realized that it was something I even wanted or needed in my life. But Brooklyn was starting to change all that. The woman was under my damn skin, and Clara wouldn’t stop talking about her.
My evenings were filled with questions like, “When can I see Brooklyn again?” and, “Why can’t Waffle Princess come over?”
All fair questions that I had no real answers for. Why? Because I’d been avoiding Brooklyn like the plague since that night at the diner. Which was over a week ago if anyone was counting—and I definitely was.
If I saw her sashaying down the hall at work, I walked the other direction. If I noticed her passing by my office slowly, I quickly picked up the phone and pretended to be on it.
Apparently, I’d left my maturity back at the diner with my unfinished fries. I somehow thought that avoiding her would help me stop thinking about her or wanting her to be a part of our lives, but I was an even bigger idiot than I’d realized because nothing stopped my mind from drifting to her.
She had been so great with Clara, her advice to my daughter strong and pure. I remembered how it’d felt to hear the way she spoke to her and how I’d instinctively braced for her to say something stupid and piss me off the way that Clara’s teacher had. But all Brooklyn had done was reaffirm how fucking great she was.
And now, my house was filled with drawings of a red-haired waffle princess because my daughter seemed to like her just as much as I did.
But I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I hadn’t dated in years. Hadn’t ever wanted to. It hadn’t been my intention to basically become a monk after Jenna died, but my whole world had crashed and burned in that moment. The only person who mattered was Clarabel. Everything else could wait.
My dick included.
At first, I’d been fine with my new priorities. I was too exhausted to even think about sex, much less perform it. But eventually, I started fantasizing about one-night stands. Fucking someone and never seeing them again held a certain appeal to a widowed twenty-something-year-old male. And the only way that would work was if I slept with tourists.
I couldn’t have sex with a Sugar Mountain local and not expect it to get messy. But then I started freaking the fuck out. What if I got someone else pregnant? It had happened once unexpectedly, so why couldn’t it happen again? I’d convinced myself that it could, and my dick had basically shriveled up and put itself to sleep.
But he was awake now.
And honestly, I couldn’t blame him.
Brooklyn had woken me up too.
I jerked off to thoughts of her in the shower. My nights were filled with sex dreams about all the things I wanted to do to her. I’d basically turned into a horny teenager overnight. And it wasn’t going away. If anything, it was getting worse. I walked around with a semi all fucking day long at the resort.
I couldn’t seem to escape the woman.
And I was done trying.
I picked up the phone and called her into my office. Within moments, she appeared, looking as stunning as she always did. It didn’t matter what she was wearing or how she did her hair; there was just something about her that had started to stir me awake the day that I interviewed her. I’d be lying if I said it was the day that she’d drunkenly run into me.
“Can you close the door behind you?”
She did as I’d asked without making a sassy comment, and I found myself shocked by that fact alone.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked seriously.
“No. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior this past week,” I said, and she took a seat across from my desk, crossed one leg over the other, and stared right through me.
“So, you’re done avoiding me then?” She sounded a little pissed, and really, I deserved it.
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have a good reason for it,” I tried to explain, but it was weak. I should have planned this conversation better so I didn’t sound like such an idiot. I wasn’t typically this uncomposed.
“You ignore me for a whole week—which is very unprofessional, I might add,” she said in a slightly teasing tone, “and now, you’re what? Going to pretend like it never happened?”
“I’m trying to,” I said genuinely, and she bit out a laugh.
“You run hot and cold like a faucet, Thomas O’Grady. Only I’m not the one controlling the temperature, but I am trying desperately to keep up.”
“I won’t do it again,” I promised, knowing that I’d do my damnedest to keep it.
“Please don’t. This past week was torture. I hated every minute of it. You made me feel like I’d done something wrong.”
“God, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were perfect. Too perfect,” I said, knowing that I should probably get a handle on at least some of my self-control before I lost it all.
“I had such a good time at dinner with you and Clara. You made me forget all about my shitty ex. You made me feel important and valued. Like my opinion mattered. But then you acted like it’d never happened and made me feel like shit all over again.”
Her honesty was so refreshing, even if it hurt like hell to hear. Brooklyn never tried to impress me or say the right thing because she thought I wanted to hear it. She said what she meant and meant what she said. And I’d hurt her without even realizing it. I wanted to get up from my desk, take her in my arms, and apologize with more than just my mouth.
“Brooklyn,” I said with a hushed breath, but I wasn’t sure what to confess next. I was pretty certain that letting her know she starred in all my shower fantasies was off-limits. Or that I thought about the way she tasted more times than I cared to count.
“Just tell me what you want, Thomas. Say it already so I can try to stop figuring it out because I clearly don’t know.”
That damn mouth.
“I’d like you to come over for dinner,” I said before adding, “tonight.”
“To your house?” Her green eyes widened at my request.
“Yes. Six thirty sound good?”
“Are you sure?”
This was what I’d done to her. Made her question my sincere offer because I’d been so hot and cold , as she’d put it.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
“Then, I’d love to come over.” A smile appeared on her face, and my dick twitched in my pants before she put up a single finger. “But I do have one request.”
“What’s that?” I asked, already knowing that I’d probably give her any-damn-thing that she asked for.
“You don’t get to pretend after. You don’t come back to work tomorrow and ignore me again. Agreed?”
I nodded my head and repeated, “Agreed.”
I was done pretending and ignoring.
“Okay.” She acted like this was a perfectly natural thing to be happening between us. “I can’t wait to see Clara. I’ve missed her.”
Did she have any idea how those three simple words made me feel?
“Pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. I think she was going to start skipping school and coming here if she didn’t get to see you soon. I do have to warn you though.”
“Warn me about what?”
“There are a lot of drawings of you at the house.” I shrugged.
“Awww, Thomas. I didn’t know you could draw.”
She was fucking with me. I’d punish her for that later.
“Can I bring anything?” she asked.
I licked my lips and forced myself to stop picturing her naked and moaning underneath me. It’d been happening all the time lately.
“Just yourself. And that smart mouth of yours.”
“Well, my mouth is attached to the rest of me, so I guess we’ll both be there.”
She gave me a wink before standing up and exiting my office, leaving me alone with thoughts of fucking her playing on a loop in my mind.
I kept the fact that Brooklyn was coming over for dinner to myself for the time being. Until she was actually at the door, it wasn’t real. Anything could happen between now and then. Plus, I didn’t want Clarabel getting all excited and then disappointed if something came up and Brooklyn couldn’t make it.
But when the doorbell rang right at six thirty, just like we’d planned, my heart began racing in my chest. I forgot what it was like to want someone. To not only put your heart on the line, but your kid’s as well. It was more than a little jarring.
“Clara, can you go answer the door?”
“Me?” she asked through her excitement.
I was always the one who answered the door, making sure that she was safely behind me.
“Okay. Coming!” she shouted into the air as her little feet echoed as she stomped.
I watched as my daughter threw open the door and started jumping up and down. “Waffle Princess? What are you doing here?” She launched at Brooklyn’s legs and hugged them tight before Brooklyn leaned down to give her a proper hug.
“Your dad invited me,” Brooklyn answered, releasing my daughter before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.
I noticed her take in the surroundings before focusing her attention back on Clara. I suddenly grew self-conscious, wondering if I had anything up that would be deemed weird or awkward. I’d never even thought about it before. Never really cared about what the walls of my house looked like. But with Brooklyn standing in the entryway, I found myself caring about every little thing.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Clara asked, her little voice filled with enthusiasm.
“I am. Is that okay?”
She gave a little fist pump in the air before shouting, “Yes! Come with me. I have to show you something.”
Clara grabbed Brooklyn’s hand and pulled her into the living room, pointing out the plethora of drawings that were literally scattered everywhere. I hadn’t had the heart to ask her to put them away.
“Look at all these pictures. Are these of me?” Brooklyn asked sweetly.
I appreciated that she’d acted surprised even though I’d warned her earlier.
“Yep! And some of you, me, and Daddy. We’re like a family. See? I missed you so much!” Clara beamed as she threw out words I’d never heard her say out loud before.
My breath caught in my throat.
“ We’re like a family. ”
“Do you like them?” Clara asked, clearly wanting Brooklyn’s approval.
“I missed you too. And, yes, I love them so much.” Brooklyn sounded as excited as my daughter.
I wondered if my heart could take much more of this interaction without bursting inside my chest.
I wasn’t so sure.
“Wow. It smells really good in here.” Brooklyn closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath.
Before I could say anything, Clara shouted, “It’s a chicken potpie.”
“From the diner?” Brooklyn’s eyes grew wide, but Clara shook her head, giggling.
“No, silly. Gloria the Cooking Queen made it.”
I finally spoke up for the first time since she’d set foot in my home. “Gloria the Cooking Queen is Mrs. Green. She’s Clara’s sitter. She lives across the street.”
Brooklyn’s eyes met mine, the softness there almost bringing me to my knees. When had I fallen so hard for this woman?
“And she makes you food?” She cocked her head to the side.
“She does,” I answered with a smile. “Trust me, I need all the help I can get in the kitchen.”
“Can I do anything?” she offered, but I had everything under control.
“I got it. Can I get you something to drink?”
She looked at Clara first before looking back at me, as if unsure of how to answer the simple question. It struck me immediately that she was taking the fact that Clara was around into consideration. Clara was a part of her decision-making process without my prompting.
“What are you having?”
“Probably a beer.”
“I’ll take one too then.”
“Me too, Daddy,” Clara said, and I shot her a look while Brooklyn laughed.
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine. I’ll have apple juice, but in a fancy glass. Please.”
It was Clara’s way of compromising while still being damn demanding.
I poured the drinks before grabbing three plates and setting the table. When I returned with the drinks in hand, Clara and Brooklyn had rearranged the settings and were sitting next to each other instead of across from one another, the way that I’d planned.
“So, what are you going to be for Halloween?” Brooklyn asked as she took a sip of her beer, and Clara got even more excited, if that was possible.
Her head swung toward me. “Daddy, can I show Miss Brooklyn my costume? Can I? Can I?”
“Sure,” I said as I made my way back toward the potpie that was now cooling on top of the granite countertop.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t move. It’s a surprise!” she insisted before running upstairs and disappearing into her bedroom.
Brooklyn got up from the table, beer in hand, and made her way straight to my side. “Your house is really lovely. It so homey and comfortable. I like the way it feels.”
“Thank you.” It was kind of the ultimate compliment for a single dad like myself. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed to hear it.
“You weren’t kidding about all the pictures.”
She grinned, and I shook my head once.
“I told you.”
Her hand slid down my back briefly before she pulled it away. The gesture was intimate, and I wanted more of it. Almost kissed her right then and there, but stopped myself.
“Hey, you guys moved! Well, here I come!” Clara shouted from the top of the stairs.
I started choking on my laughter. I’d thought my daughter was going to run up to her room and grab her costume, not put the damn thing on.
Her long black wig was crooked, and the hat on top was barely staying in place with each step she bounded down. Her black tutu was full of white lights and sparkles, and her tights had holes in them that I swore hadn’t been there before. She carried a broom in one hand while the other held a light-up wand that matched the rest of her.
“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” Brooklyn asked as soon as my daughter ran up to us.
“A good witch, of course. That’s why I have sparkles!” She spun around and around, her fake hair flying, making her hat fall off.
“And a wand,” Brooklyn added as she reached for the discarded hat on the floor.
“Yep! The wand is for spells. The broom is for flying,” Clara explained like this was all factual information.
“Makes sense to me.” Brooklyn smiled. “You look perfect. I love the lights.”
“Thanks, Miss Brooklyn. Do you dress up for Halloween?”
“Not usually,” Brooklyn answered, and Clara looked so sad.
“Maybe next time, we can be matchers,” Clara offered with a shrug.
“Matchers?” Brooklyn asked.
“Yeah, you know, we can be the same thing. Have matching costumes. Be like twins,” she shouted before spinning again.
Good God, this child was going to kill me.
“Okay, sweetheart. Dinner’s ready. I know you just got into your costume, but you need to take it off before we eat. You don’t want to ruin it before Halloween,” I instructed, and she only pouted for a second before agreeing.
“Be right back.” She disappeared once more.
“I think my daughter might like you.” I held the potpie in my hands as I made my way toward the dinner table and set it on top.
Brooklyn took her newly assigned seat. “I like her too. Not sure about her dad though. He’s kind of wishy-washy.”
“Wishy-washy, huh?” I repeated.
No one had ever called me that before, and I wasn’t sure if she meant it or was just trying to mess with me.
“I’m back.” Clara ran to her seat, all out of breath.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I rushed as fast as I could,” she answered, still breathing hard.
I dished out messy pieces of potpie onto each person’s plate, wishing I’d grabbed bowls instead, as it refused to hold its shape. No one seemed to mind though since the conversation practically slowed to a stop as we dug in. After finishing off her beer, Brooklyn nudged Clara with her shoulder.
“So, do you go trick-or-treating on Halloween, or do you guys go the night before?”
We had a tradition in Sugar Mountain that revolved around the holiday. All the businesses on Main Street were open for trick-or-treating on October 30. That was also the day we held our annual trunk-or-treat at the resort. The two events happened at separate times though, so they didn’t interfere with one another.
Both were considered safer alternatives for parents who weren’t comfortable with their kids walking around after dark, asking strangers for candy at their homes, even if they went with them. Sugar Mountain had always been a safe place to grow up, but there was something about Halloween that put some people on edge. So, instead of taking the experience away from their kid altogether, they got to trick-or-treat in a different, safer way. It felt like a win.
“The uncles come and go with me and Daddy. And then we bring all my candy over to Pops’s house to look at it,” she said before taking another bite of her dinner.
“You bring your candy to your Pops’s house? How come?” Brooklyn was thoroughly invested now. I could tell by the way she leaned closer to Clara without even realizing it.
“Well”—Clara swallowed her food—“’cause Daddy says I have to share. He says it’s too much candy for one little girl.” She made a face like she wholeheartedly disagreed. “So, we go to Pops’s house, I dump all the candy on his table, Pops goes through it to make sure there’s nothing bad in it, and then we split it all up.”
Brooklyn shot me a look that told me she did not approve of this. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. You just give all your candy away after doing all the work?”
Clara giggled. “Not alllll of it,” she said, dragging out the word.
I put up a hand to stop them both. “To be fair, we do also go to Main Street the day before. She gets more candy than any single person needs.”
“One time, I ate all my candy without sharing, and I got real sick.”
My eyes squeezed shut at the memory. It had been awful. And smelled horrendous. And gotten in her hair.
“Oh.” Brooklyn’s tone was soft now. “Did you throw up?”
“Mmhmm.” Clara made a yucky face and shook her head. “Daddy and the uncles call it Pukegate.”
“Very creative.” Brooklyn flashed me a quick grin.
“Haven’t thrown up one time since you started sharing though, have you?” I directed the question toward my daughter, who was growing up way too fast for my liking.
“Nope. Not one time.”
“Then, I think it’s a nice compromise. You don’t get sick, and everyone gets some of your sweets,” I said, and my daughter reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Do you think me and Waffle Princess can go watch a show?” Clara asked as she pushed her plate away. “I’m full, Daddy.”
I glanced between the two females staring at me, my heart pounding for no damn good reason other than the fact that my daughter was clearly attached to this woman and it was going to break us both if she didn’t feel the same in return.
“It’s fine with me. As long as it’s okay with Brooklyn?” I said, and Clara whipped her head to look at the woman seated next to her.
“Of course it’s okay,” she answered like I’d just asked the world’s stupidest question.
“But only one show and then bed.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Brooklyn pushed away from the table and stood, gripping her plate in her hands. “I can help clean up.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said with a wave. “I’ve got this,” I lied because I did not even remotely have this.
My sweet Clara took Brooklyn by the hand and led her to the couch. She pressed some buttons on the remote control. She waited for Brooklyn to sit down before hopping right next to her and leaning her head on the woman’s shoulder. Brooklyn carefully maneuvered around for a blanket just out of reach, and when she had it in her fingertips, she pulled it over Clara’s tiny body and tucked her in tight. Her interaction with my daughter was making my heart do somersaults inside my damn chest.
She glanced behind herself for only a second, her eyes crashing into mine, and I swore my legs almost gave out. I wondered if this woman had any idea of the kind of effect she had on me. I decided that as soon as my daughter was asleep, I was going to make sure she knew.