Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance) (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Mark made his way through the house, turning on lights
and fluffing throw pillows as he went, his ear turned toward the driveway for
the sound of his mother’s car. For far too long, he’d sat in the gathering dusk
replaying his time with Emily—remembering every smile and every laugh they’d
shared.

Desperate for something to deaden the ache in his chest, he
strode into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator, liberating a rare can of
beer from the top shelf and popping the tab. Try as he might, he couldn’t get
the image of her beautifully toned and naked body out of his thoughts.

One-night stands had never been his thing, even during his
pre-Sally days. And last night, when he’d made love to Emily, that hadn’t
changed. What, exactly, he’d thought they had or could have, he wasn’t sure, but
he knew he’d wanted to see her again.

Yet all that had changed the moment he’d heard Seth’s voice
juxtaposed against the last photograph he’d taken of Sally and Seth
together.

It didn’t matter what he thought of Emily. It didn’t matter how
alive she made him feel or how perfect it felt to be inside her. He wasn’t a
single man. He was a single father. There was a big difference between the
two.

“Daddy?”

He placed his beer can on top of the refrigerator and met his
son in the hallway, squatting down and holding out his arms. “Little man! You
sure are a good tiptoer. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Seth stopped just shy of Mark’s arms. “I didn’t use my tippy
toes, Daddy. I even banged the door, but you were making that silly face.”

Dropping his arms, he studied his son closely. “Silly face?
What silly face?”

“This one.” Seth leaned against the wall, opened his mouth a
little and stared off into space, before breaking the pose with a giggle.
“See?”

Mark had to laugh. “Oh, sorry. Daddies get distracted, I
guess.” Then, opening his arms once again, he greeted his son in the way he’d
intended before letting his thoughts stray to a topic best left in the shadows.
“Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you, little man?”

It was true. Seth was the glue that kept his life together, the
reason he got up every morning and came home from work every evening. Without
him, Mark would be lost, his life empty of any real purpose.

Seth squeezed him with all his might, a curious aroma of
Play-Doh and chocolate chip cookies clinging to his hair. “Gam wants you to wave
before she leaves.”

Lifting his son into his arms, Mark made his way to the front
door and blew his mom a kiss before locking up for the evening. “So did you make
your castle with Gam out of that great big box you told me about when you
called?”

Seth nodded. “I did! And it is so-o-o neat, Daddy. Gam said I
could show it to you next week when I’m back in camp and you have to pick me up
at her house after work.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” He carried his son into the living
room and set him down on the couch, claiming the cushion to Seth’s left. “Maybe,
if I can find another box, we can add on an addition. Like a throne room or
something.”

His son’s eyes brightened with genuine excitement. “I bet my
princess would like a special room for all her fancy dresses.”

“Your princess, eh? Is she pretty?” Mark teased, ruffling
Seth’s hair with his fingers.

“Yupper doodle. The prettiest.”

He considered the little boy’s words with all the seriousness
he could muster, and consciously relaxed his shoulders. “That’s quite a claim,
little man. Tell me about her.”

Tucking his legs beneath him, Seth took a deep breath,
releasing it along with a lengthy description. “She’s got great big brown eyes
that twinkle with so much pixie dust that some of it falls over the top of her
nose and across her happy cheeks. She’s got short yellow hair that curls right
here—” he pointed at the sides of his face “—and a really big smile all the
time.”

“Wow. She
does
sound pretty.
Special, too. Just like you.” Mark pulled the little boy’s head onto his lap. “I
missed you last night and this morning. I didn’t have anyone to make my special
pancakes for.”

Seth giggled. “You could make me some tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, I can.”

“So what did
you
do, Daddy?”

“I ate cereal.”

Seth’s giggle grew louder. “No, silly. What did you do last
night while I was at Gam’s?”

Mark forced a smile and did his best to keep his voice light.
“I played some horseshoes.”

“Is that a game?”

“Yes, it is.” He tapped Seth’s nose with his finger and
animated his voice. “You use real horseshoes, just like the kind real horses
wear on their feet.”

“Where’d you play with those kinda shoes, Daddy?”

“At a barbecue I went to.”

“Whose barbecue?”

“No one you’ve ever met.”

Seth sat up, eyes wide. “You went to a stranger’s house, Daddy?
You know you’re not s’posed to do that. It could be dangerous.”

He tried not to laugh at his son’s solemn expression. “Well,
they weren’t strangers, exactly. The people having the barbecue are friends of
the person I went with.”

“Who’d you go with?”

He exhaled into the palm of his hand, his discomfort over the
shift in topic increasing exponentially. “I went with Emily.”

“Emily!” Seth parroted, just before a smile spread his lips
wide. “Oh, wow, I like Emily. Bunches and bunches!”

Clapping his hands together, Mark seized on the only sure-fire
conversation changer he could find. “You know what I found in the cabinet
earlier today?”

Seth shook his head.

“Butterscotch sauce and a bag of mini chocolate chips. And I
figured, if you’re up for it, maybe we could make our own ice cream sundaes
right here at home,” he said in his best conspiratorial voice. “So what do you
say, little man? Does that sound like a yummy plan for after dinner?”

“I already had dinner. At Gam’s. She made me eat all my
broccoli.” Seth looked toward the door and lowered his voice to a near whisper.
“It wasn’t very good.”

“But it’s good for you.” Mark scooted to the edge of the couch
and glanced back at him. “Come on. Let’s have a treat.”

“Did you find whipped cream, too? ’Cause sundaes are s’posed to
have whipped cream, Daddy.”

Grateful for his son’s one-track mind where ice cream was
concerned, Mark rose to his feet and motioned for him to follow. “As a matter of
fact, I did. A great big tub of it.”

When they reached the kitchen, Seth climbed onto his stool at
the counter and Mark grabbed a pair of bowls from the cabinet, along with two
spoons from the utensil drawer. Then, with as much pomp and circumstance as he
could muster, he set about getting everything they would need for their sundae
bar, including the jar of sprinkles Seth spied while Mark was extracting the
chocolate chips from the pantry.

“Do you think Emily likes ice cream, Daddy?”

He paused with his hand on the freezer door, his back to his
son. “I can’t answer that, Seth.” Reaching inside, he pulled out two cartons and
held them up. “So what’ll it be? Vanilla or chocolate? Or—” he winked “—a little
bit of
both?
”

“I betcha she likes vanilla best, just like me,” Seth
declared.

Mark’s shoulders drooped. So much for changing the subject.

He carried the cartons to the counter and set them beside the
bowls. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Then, with the help of the old
spoon-under-warm-water trick he’d learned from Sally, he scooped two small
mounds for Seth and two for himself. “Mmm. Finding that butterscotch sauce today
was a pretty nice surprise, wasn’t it?”

Seth propped one elbow on the counter and reached for the sauce
with his other hand. “Can I put it on all by myself, Daddy? Please?”

If it’ll make you forget about
Emily…

Aloud, he said, “If you’re really, really careful, sure. But
let’s try to make that bottle last for a while, okay? That way we can have
sundaes again another day.”

“Okay! Maybe Emily can have some then, too, right?” Seth pulled
the lid off the butterscotch sauce and carefully tilted it in the air above his
bowl. Slowly, carefully, he poured some across the top of his ice cream, and
then did the same to Mark’s. When he was done, he turned the container upright
and smiled. “See? I saved plenty for Emily.”

Not wanting to stomp all over his son’s mood, Mark made a show
of adding a dollop of whipped cream to both bowls and then allowing Seth to
decorate them with a few tiny handfuls of chocolate chips and a quick shake of
the sprinkle jar. Once the last chip was placed on each sundae, Mark declared
their concoctions ready to eat.

“Now, what do you say we try and see which one of us can eat
all our ice cream from start to finish without making a peep? Whoever wins gets
to pick which story we read before bed.”

“Can I say it’s yummy if it’s yummy?” Seth asked.

“No, sirree. No yummies, no lip smacking of any kind, and—” he
sat on the stool next to Seth and touched his finger to the little boy’s nose
“—most especially, no burping.”

A fit of giggles gave way to the quietest ice cream eating Mark
could ever remember, and he was glad. Whatever it took to keep Seth from talking
about Emily. Mark’s feelings for her were still way too close to the
surface.

All day long he’d revisited moments from the barbecue, his
favorites revolving around the game of horseshoes he’d failed at again and
again. She’d been so good-natured and easygoing that she’d coaxed the same
qualities out of him despite his lack of prowess or points. And when they’d gone
climbing inside her office building, she’d made him feel as if there wasn’t
anything he couldn’t do.

But it was the part that came later—in his bed—that he’d found
himself lingering on. Every touch, every sound, every move was replayed in his
thoughts until he’d had to force himself to focus on something else.

Now that Seth’s chattering had ceased, though, Mark found
himself pressing the play button in his mind once again. And sure enough, an
image of Emily looking up at him as he made love to her flashed before his eyes,
making him drop his spoon into his bowl with a metallic crash.

“Daddy, you made a noise!” Seth accused. “A great big loud
one!”

Shaking away the memory, he turned to the towhead sitting
beside him. “So I did.”

“I won! I won!” Seth jumped off his stool and headed down the
hallway to his bedroom. “And I know exactly the story I want to read. It’s my
very, very favorite!”

Thirty minutes later, once Seth had had a bath and brushed his
teeth, Mark settled atop his son’s covers with the selected book—a story about a
young prince and princess and their fairy-tale castle in an enchanted forest.
Mark tried hard to make the story come alive by calling on his best repertoire
of voices for all the main characters. The effort delighted his son.

When they reached the end, Mark closed the book and laid it on
the night table. “I think that’s my favorite story, too.”

“Daddy?”

He looked down at his son and smiled. “Yes, little man?”

Seth let out a big yawn. “When can we see Emily again?”

Closing his eyes, Mark searched for yet another way to change
the subject—something he could say to end their evening on a happy note instead
of one tinged with guilt and the kind of highlight reel that was sure to haunt
him as he slept. Yet all he could come up with was a truth Seth needed to hear,
if for no other reason than Mark’s own sanity. “Son, I’m afraid we won’t be
seeing Emily anymore.”

Seth’s eyes widened with questions Mark was simply too tired
and too strung out to answer. Instead, he swung his legs over the edge of the
bed and made his way to the door, stepping out into the hallway and flipping off
the overhead light as he did. “Good night, little man. Sweet dreams. I’ll see
you in the morning.”

* * *

S
ETH
STARED
UP
AT
THE
sliver of light the moon cast on
his ceiling, and wiped the wetness from his cheeks. The lump in his throat kept
getting bigger and bigger no matter how hard he tried to swallow it away.

He was trying to be brave, like a big boy, but it was hard. God
kept taking all the happy, smiley princesses for himself.

Like Mommy.

And now Emily, too.

Rolling onto his side, Seth pulled his stuffed giraffe,
Geronimo, against his damp cheek and stared out the window into the night, the
sadness on his daddy’s face when he’d told him about Emily making the tears come
faster.

He remembered Emily saying she was sick, but he hadn’t known
she was going to leave so fast. And once again, just like with Mommy, he hadn’t
gotten to say goodbye.

Daddy had. Daddy got to hold Mommy’s hand when she went to be
with God. But
he
was too little. He’d had to stay
with Gam.

Daddy got to go to a barbecue with Emily and see her smiles one
last time. But
he
didn’t. He was having two whole
bowls of ice cream with Gam.

Why didn’t anyone ever let him say goodbye? Didn’t his goodbyes
matter, too?

Sitting up, he looked into the giraffe’s black shiny eyes. “I
want to say goodbye, too, Geronimo. Don’t you think Emily wished I could say
goodbye just like Daddy got to?”

He nodded the animal’s long neck in agreement.

“Yeah. Me, too, Geronimo.”

His mind made up, Seth slipped from his bed and tiptoed over to
the closet for his quietest pair of sneakers and his favorite backpack. Then,
being extra quiet, he put his softest baby blanket and his special picture of
Mommy inside the main pocket and zipped it up tight, his uneaten Pop-Tart from
yesterday still packed safely in a side compartment.

Careful not to make any noise, he made his way across his room
to his bedroom door, which Daddy always left partway open. With a quick left and
a right, Seth headed over to the sliding glass door in the living room and
stopped. Then, peeking over his shoulder toward his daddy’s room, he pushed the
little silver lever into the unlock position. When he was sure Daddy hadn’t
heard the click, he stepped outside and slid the door shut.