A Forever Family: Their Doorstep Delivery

She paused at the meat cooler and surveyed the selection of pork roasts. Several weeks earlier, she’d found a recipe that she was eager to try, but the roasts seemed like too much for one person. Of course, she could freeze the leftovers for future meals—or maybe invite Irene and Jerry to come over.

After selecting what she needed from that department, she moved to the fresh food section and from there on to the nonperishable aisles. Cat food was on sale, so she stocked up on Westley’s and Buttercup’s favorite flavors. Then she remembered that she needed kitty litter, too, and added a bag of that to her cart.

And then she rounded the corner and nearly collided with Braden Garrett.

“I guess it’s a popular day for grocery shopping,” she said lightly.

Saige was seated in the cart facing her father, but twisted around when she recognized Cassie’s voice, a wide smile spreading across her face.

“I’m here at least three times a week,” Braden admitted. “Because I never seem to remember everything I need to get it all done in one trip.”

“You don’t make a list?”

“I usually do, and then I usually forget the list on the table at home.”

Cassie smiled as Saige offered her a package of string cheese. “Those look yummy,” she commented.

The little girl nodded her enthusiastic agreement.

“What other treats does Daddy have for you in there?”

Saige dropped the package of cheese and picked up a box of yogurt tubes. “Chay-wee.”

The flavor noted on the box helped Cassie interpret. “You like the cherry ones best,” she guessed.

Saige nodded again.

“Me, too,” Cassie confided, as she glanced from Braden’s shopping cart to her own. His was almost filled with family-size boxes of cereal, multipacks of juice, and bags of fresh fruits and vegetables; Cassie’s basket wasn’t even half full and her biggest purchases were the cat food and kitty litter.

“We’re on our way to the prepared foods section, because I forgot to take dinner out of the freezer this morning,” Braden told her. “Why don’t you come over to eat with us?”

“Thanks, but I have to get my groceries home and put away.”

“You could come over after,” he suggested.

She considered the offer for about two seconds before declining. Because as much as she didn’t want to be the lonely old cat lady, she also didn’t want to be the brokenhearted librarian. Again. And since the kiss they’d shared in the basement of the library four days earlier, it would be foolish to continue to deny the chemistry between them. The only thing she could do now was avoid situations in which that chemistry might heat up again.

“I could get a tray of three-cheese tortellini,” he said enticingly. “It’s not Valentino’s, but it’s not bad.”

She ignored the temptation—of the food and the man. “Maybe another time.”

His direct and steady gaze warned that he could read more of what she was thinking and feeling than she wanted him to.

“We’re at twenty-eight Spruceside in Forrest Hill, if you change your mind,” he finally said.

But she knew that she wouldn’t—she couldn’t. “Enjoy your tortellini.”

When Cassie was finished making and eating her own dinner, she turned on her tablet to check her email. Then she snapped a picture of the cats wrestling on the carpet in front of her and posted it to her Facebook page. Scrolling through her newsfeed, she saw that a friend from high school—who had married in the Bahamas just before Christmas—was expecting a baby. She noted her congratulations, adding hearts and celebratory confetti emojis to the message.

Buttercup jumped up onto the couch and crawled into her lap. She stroked her back, her feline companion purring contentedly as Cassie’s fingers slid through her soft, warm fur.

She had so many reasons to be grateful: terrific friends and a great job that allowed her to spend much of her time working with children. But recently, after spending even just a little bit of time with Braden and Saige, she was suddenly aware of the emptiness inside herself, a yearning for something more.

She was twenty-nine years old with a history of broken or dead-end relationships—it would be crazy to even think about getting involved with a widowed single father to an adorable baby girl who made all of her maternal instincts sit up and beg “pick me.” And while Braden had flirted with her a little, and kissed her exactly once, she didn’t know what he wanted from her. But she knew what she wanted: a husband, children, a house with a second chair on the front porch and a tire swing in the backyard.

Unfortunately, she had a habit of jumping into relationships, falling in love before she had a chance to catch her breath. Most of the time, it was infatuation rather than love, but she usually only realized the truth after the relationship was over.

She wondered whether it was some kind of legacy from her childhood, if losing her family had created a desperate yearning in her for a meaningful connection. She didn’t have a list of qualities that she was looking for in a partner, although she wouldn’t object to meeting a man who would make her heart beat from across a room and her insides quiver with a simple touch—and Braden Garrett checked both of those boxes.

She also liked the way he interacted with his little girl, leaving absolutely no doubt about how much he loved his daughter. And she liked the way he talked about his family—not just his parents and siblings but his aunts, uncles and cousins and all of their kids.

And she really liked the way she felt when he looked at her.

She hadn’t felt that stir of attraction in a long time—and she didn’t want to be feeling it for this man now. Because as gorgeous and charming as he was, she’d vowed to stay away from men who had already given their hearts away.

But she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued to see his house in Forrest Hill—or maybe she was just looking for an excuse to see him again. Whatever the reason, she set her tablet aside and picked up her keys.

Braden settled Saige into her high chair with a bowl of tortellini while he put the groceries away. She used both of her hands to shove the stuffed pasta into her mouth, ignoring the spoon he’d given to her. When her bowl was empty, she had sauce—and a happy grin—spread across her face.

“Did you like that?” he asked her.

She nodded and pushed her empty bowl to the edge of her tray. “Mo’.”

“Do you want more pasta or do you want dessert?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Zert!”

“Yeah, that was a tough question, wasn’t it?” He chuckled as he wiped her face, hands and tray.

He was looking in the fridge, considering dessert options, when the doorbell rang.

He unbuckled Saige and lifted her out of her high chair, then went to respond to the summons. He wasn’t expecting company, but it wasn’t unusual for his parents or his brother Justin, or any of his cousins to stop by if they were in the neighborhood. The absolute last person he expected to see when he opened the door was Charisma’s sexy librarian.

“I changed my mind,” Cassie said.

Despite the assertion, she looked a little uncertain, as if she might again change her mind and turn right back around.

“I’m glad,” he said, and moved away from the door so that she could enter. “Saige and I have already eaten, but there is some pasta left.”

“Zert!” Saige said.

Cassie smiled at his daughter. “I had dinner,” she said. “And then I decided I was in the mood for ice cream, so I went back to the grocery store and came out with all of this.”

He glanced at the bags as she stepped into the foyer. “That looks like a lot of ice cream.”

“It’s not just ice cream. There’s also chocolate sauce, marshmallow topping, chopped peanuts, toffee bits, sprinkles and maraschino cherries.”

“I cweam?” Saige said hopefully.

Braden chuckled. “Yes, Cassie brought ice cream. And it sounds like a whole sundae bar, too,” he noted, taking the bags and leading her through the living room.

Cassie shrugged. “I didn’t know what you and Saige liked.”

“What do you like?”

“Everything,” she admitted.

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”

But Cassie shook her head. “I’m only here for the ice cream.” Then her gaze shifted, to take in the surroundings as she followed him toward the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost six years.”

“So you’ve had time to paint—if you wanted to,” she noted.

“Dana picked the colors,” he admitted.

She squinted at the walls, as if looking for the color, and he chuckled.

“I know it’s hard to see the difference, but the foyer is magnolia blossom—no, the original color was magnolia blossom,” he remembered. “Now it’s spring drizzle or summer mist or something like that, the living and dining rooms are vintage linen...I think, and the kitchen is French vanilla.”

“In other words, every room is a different shade of white,” she commented.

“Pretty much,” he admitted, depositing the grocery bags on the counter so he could put Saige back in her high chair.

“I cweam!” Saige demanded.

“Yes, we’re going to have ice cream,” he promised.

His little girl clapped her hands together.

“Do you like chocolate sauce?” Cassie asked his daughter.

“Chay-wee.”

“I brought some cherries, too,” she said. Then, to Braden, “What I didn’t bring was an ice-cream scoop.”

He opened a drawer to retrieve the necessary implement, then reached into an overhead cupboard for bowls while she unpacked the bags.

“You should make Saige’s sundae,” she said, nudging the tub of vanilla ice cream toward him. “Because you know what she likes and what she can have.”

“She likes everything, too,” he told her. “Although she probably shouldn’t have the toffee bits or peanuts. Or a lot of chocolate.”

“Which is why you should do it,” she said again.

So he scooped up a little bit of ice cream, added a drop of chocolate sauce, a dollop of marshmallow topping, a few sprinkles and three cherries on top.

“You need to use a spoon for this,” he told Saige, setting the bowl in front of her.

“’Kay,” she agreed, wrapping her fingers around the plastic handle of the utensil.

“How many scoops do you want?” Cassie asked him.

“How many can I have?”

She put three generous scoops of ice cream into the bowl, covered them with chocolate sauce, nuts, toffee bits, marshmallow topping, sprinkles and cherries. Then she prepared a second, much smaller bowl of the same for herself.

“I’m not sure why you came all this way to bring us dessert, but I’m glad you did,” he told her, digging into his sundae.

“Bingeing on ice cream seems like one of those things that shouldn’t be done alone.”

“I seem to be the only one bingeing,” he pointed out. “And as good as this ice cream is, I can think of other and more satisfying things that shouldn’t be done alone, either.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as she dipped her spoon into her bowl.

“And maybe I wanted to have a real conversation with another human being as much as I was craving ice cream,” she admitted.

“Conversation, huh?” He scooped up more ice cream. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but okay. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“No.” She slid her spoon between her lips, humming with pleasure as she closed her eyes. “Oh, this is good.”

He knew she wasn’t being deliberately provocative, but he recognized her expression as that of a woman lost in pure, sensual pleasure, and he found himself wishing that he’d been the one to put that look on her face. Because her blissful smile, combined with the sensual sound emanating from deep in her throat, had all of the blood draining from his head into his lap. To cool the heat pulsing in his veins, he shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“What did you have for dinner?” Braden asked, hoping that conversation would force her to open her eyes and stop making those noises that were making him aroused.

“A microwaveable chicken and rice bowl,” she admitted.

“That sounds...incredibly unappealing,” he decided.

She licked her spoon. “It wasn’t that bad.” And then she shrugged. “I do occasionally cook, but it’s not a lot of fun to prepare meals for only one person.”

“You can make dinner for me anytime,” he told her.

“That’s a generous offer,” she said dryly.

He grinned. “I’m a generous guy.”

“Hmm,” was all Cassie said to that, as she spooned up more ice cream.

“Aw dun!” Saige announced.

He shifted his attention away from Cassie. “And it looks like you put more in your belly than on your face this time,” he noted. “Good girl.”

She smiled and rubbed her belly. “Mo?”

He shook his head. “No more ice cream for you or I’ll never get you to sleep tonight.”

“Chay-wee?” she said hopefully.

Before he could respond, Cassie had scooped one of the cherries out of her bowl and held her spoon out to Saige, who snagged the piece of fruit and popped it into her mouth. Then she smiled again, showing off the cherry caught between her front teeth, making Cassie laugh.

His attention shifted back to her, noted her curved lips and sparkling eyes. He’d always thought she was beautiful, but looking at her here now—in his kitchen, with his daughter—she almost took his breath away.

“Chay-wee?” Saige said again.

“I’ve got one more,” Cassie said, this time looking to Braden for permission before she offered it.

He shrugged. At this point, he didn’t think one more cherry was going to make any difference.

So Cassie gave Saige her last cherry, then pushed away from the table to clear away their empty bowls. While she was doing that, he got a washcloth to wipe off Saige’s face and hands. He was returning the cloth to the sink just as Cassie closed the dishwasher and turned around, the action causing her breasts to brush against his chest.

She sucked in a breath and took half a step back—until she bumped against the counter. “Oh. Um. Sorry.”

He held her gaze, watched her pupils dilate until there was only a narrow ring of dark chocolate around them. “Close quarters,” he noted.

She looked around, managed a laugh. “This is not close quarters. You should see my kitchen.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked.

She tilted her head, as if considering. “Maybe.”

He smiled and took a half step forward, so there was barely a breath between them. “I think we’re making progress.”

The tip of her tongue swept over her bottom lip, leaving it glistening with moisture. “Are we?”

He dipped his head, so that his mouth hovered above hers. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our first kiss,” he admitted.

“First implies the beginning of a series,” she pointed out.

He’d noticed that she had a habit of reciting definitions and facts when she was nervous. Apparently he was making her nervous; she was definitely making him aroused.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed.

“And I haven’t decided if there’s going to be a second,” she said, the breathless tone undercutting her denial.

“That’s okay—because I have,” he said, and brushed his lips against hers.

Her eyelids fluttered and had just started to drift shut when the phone rang.

She immediately drew back; he cursed under his breath but didn’t move away.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked him.

“If my choices are answering the phone or kissing you, I opt for door number two,” he told her.

But when the phone rang again, she lifted her hands to his chest and pushed him away. “I need to get home,” she said.

With a resigned sigh, he stepped back.

A cursory glance at the number on the display panel had a whole different kind of tension taking hold of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I do have to answer this.”

“Of course,” she said easily.

Nothing was easy about the emotions that coursed through his system as he lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Garrett.”

“Lindsay?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed.

He hadn’t heard from Saige’s biological mother in months, and the last he’d heard, she was in London. The 330 exchange, though, was Ohio, which meant that she was back at her parents’ house.

As endless thoughts and questions tumbled through his mind, he vaguely registered Cassie lifting a hand in a silent goodbye before she stepped out of the room and then, out the front door.

Chapter Nine

Cassie didn’t hear from Braden again until Friday afternoon when he came into the library. She was guiding an elderly patron through the self-checkout process and showing her how to unlock the DVDs she wanted to borrow. He waited patiently until she was finished, pretending to peruse the books on the Rapid Reads shelf, but she felt him watching her, his gaze almost as tangible as a caress.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Garrett?” she asked when Elsa Ackerley had gone.

“You could accept my apology,” he said.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Not having a chance to say good-night before you left the other night.”

“You were obviously focused on your conversation with...what was her name?”

“Lindsay,” he told her.

“Right—Lindsay.” She kept her tone light, feigning an indifference she didn’t feel. Pretending it didn’t bother her that less than a minute after his mouth had been hovering over hers and anticipation had been dancing in her veins, he’d forgotten she was even there as he gave his full and complete attention to Lindsay. Proving to Cassie, once again, how unreliable her instincts were when it came to the opposite sex.

“And it’s not what you think,” Braden said to her now.

“I’m not thinking anything,” she lied.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it again when Helen approached the desk. After retrieving the basket of recently returned DVDs, she steered her cart away again.

“Have dinner with me tonight and give me a chance to explain,” he said when Helen had gone.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” she assured him. “And I’m working until seven, anyway.”

“Then you’ll probably be hungry when you’re done,” he pointed out.

“Which is why I have a pork roast in my slow cooker at home.” Although she hadn’t been able to firm up plans with Irene and Jerry, she’d impulsively decided to cook the roast anyway, figuring she’d take the leftovers to her friend on the weekend.

“I was offering to take you out for dinner, but that sounds even better,” he decided.

She blinked. “What?”

“Dinner at your place is an even better idea than going out.”

“I didn’t—”

But he’d already turned and walked away.

Cassie huffed out a breath as she watched him disappear through the door. She didn’t know if she was more amused or exasperated that he’d so easily manipulated the situation to his advantage, but there was no doubt the man knew how to get what he wanted—though she was still uncertain about what he wanted from her.

And while the prospect of sharing a meal with Braden filled her with anticipation, she couldn’t help but wonder if he only wrangled dinner with her because Lindsay had other plans.

He wasn’t waiting outside the door when she left the library and he wasn’t in the parking lot, either. Cassie exhaled a sigh as she headed toward home and told herself that she was relieved he’d changed his mind. But she was a little confused, too. Braden had deliberately twisted her words to suggest an invitation she’d never intended, and then he didn’t even bother to follow up on it. Maybe she hadn’t planned to invite him, but she still felt stood up.

She shook off the feeling that she refused to recognize as disappointment and focused on admiring the many colorful flowers that brightened her path as she walked to her modest one-and-a-half story home that was only a few blocks from the library. The spring season was evident in the sunny yellow jessamine, vibrant pink tulips, snowy bloodroot and bright purple irises, and she felt her mood lifting a little with every step.

Her steps slowed when she spotted an unfamiliar vehicle parked on the street in front of her house. A late model silver Mercedes sedan. And leaning against the hood of the car, looking ridiculously handsome, was Braden Garrett with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

He smiled when he saw her, and her resolve melted away like ice cubes in a glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day.

“You said you were cooking a pork roast,” he said by way of greeting. “And while some people claim that pork is the other white meat, you once mentioned that you preferred red wine so I picked up a bottle of my favorite Pinot Noir.” He offered her the bouquet. “I also brought you flowers.”

“Why?” she asked, unexpectedly moved by the commonplace gesture. Because commonplace or not, it had been a long time since any man had brought her flowers.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a first date, but I always thought flowers were a nice gesture.”

“This isn’t a date,” she told him.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s you mooching my dinner.”

“I offered to take you out,” he reminded her.

She nodded in acknowledgment of the point. “And then you deliberately misinterpreted my refusal as an invitation.”

“You weren’t asking me to come here for a meal?” he asked, feigning surprise—albeit not very convincingly.

“The pork roast isn’t anything fancy,” she told him, as she unlocked the front door. “And there’s nothing for dessert.”

“No cheesecake?” he asked, disappointed.

She was helpless to prevent the smile that curved her lips. “Sorry—no.”

“Well, I’m glad to be here, anyway,” Braden said, following her into the house.

Waning rays of sunlight spilled through the tall windows that flanked the door, illuminating the natural stone floor. The walls in the entranceway were painted a warm shade of grayish blue and the wide trim was glossy and white.

He was barely inside the door when he felt an unexpected bump against his shin. “What the—” He glanced down to see a cat with pale gold fur rubbing against his pant leg. “You have a cat.”

“Two actually.” She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s Buttercup. She’s much more sociable than Westley.”

It took him a minute to figure out why the names sounded familiar. “The Princess Bride?” he guessed, carefully stepping around the cat to follow her into the bright and airy kitchen.

She seemed surprised that he’d connected the names to the story. “You’ve read the book?”

He frowned. “It’s a book?”

Cassie shook her head despairingly, but another smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It was a book long before it was a movie.”

“I haven’t read the book,” he admitted, as he looked around to admire the maple cupboards, granite countertops and mosaic tile backsplash. “But it was a great movie.”

“One of my favorites.” She took a meat thermometer out of a drawer and lifted the lid of the slow cooker to check the temperature of the roast. “And the book was even better.”

“You’re a librarian—you probably have to say that.”

“Why don’t I lend it to you, then you can judge for yourself?” she suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Mmm...that smells really good.”

“Hopefully it tastes as good,” she said. “It’s a new recipe I’m trying out.”