Page 27 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Benson

I wake up Sunday morning groggy, with pulsating thoughts of Claire in my brain.

I also have a headache that only gets worse when Cinnamon refuses to take her pills.

Once I get the bright idea to coat the pill cushion things in peanut butter and dangle Milk Bones in front of her face, she finally gives in and takes them.

By Sunday afternoon, she’s gotten the hang of the doggie door.

“This is only temporary,” I reiterate to Cinnamon.

“Both the lodgings here and the doggie door. Don’t get any ideas.

” She only looks at me as she walks slowly toward me, waddling her hips side to side, her big brown eyes holding confusion.

Something must help, though, because I don’t have to clean up a single mess that day .

My father isn’t in the office on Monday, and the day goes by quickly as I attend meetings in his stead and then leave work early to pick up Dax and Indie from school.

They got back from Connecticut last night, and per the agreement Danica and I signed, if she needs to have the kids with her on my days—Friday evening to Sunday evening—then they can stay with me on school evenings the following week.

“Mom says we have to go to a park,” Dax grumbles when he gets in the front seat. The presence of Cinnamon makes him smile, though. She shimmies up next to him, getting in his face. “Ugh, did you just eat a smelly dog treat?” he asks her as he scratches her face and ears, grimacing.

“It’s the vitamin I gave her. Do you smell peanut butter, too?”

He leans in closer, giving Cinnamon the opportunity to lick his nose. “Yuck!” He pulls a face and then starts grinning again. “Yes, I do. I won’t be eating peanut butter for awhile.”

Indie laughs from the back seat. “I don’t care if Cinnamon smells like peanut butter, I still want some. I’m hungry.”

I glance at the rearview mirror and lock eyes with Indie. She grins from ear to ear. “You want peanut butter…” I point to her reflection. “…You shall have peanut butter. But what’s this about needing to stop at a park?”

Dax scoots the dog off his lap so he can rummage around his backpack. He pulls out a creased paper. When he tries to hand it to me, I hold up a palm. “Dude, I’m driving. I can’t read that right now. What does it say?”

“Science.”

“All it says is the word ‘science’?” I tease.

“Dad,” I feel more than witness the eye roll. “I have to finish filling out my ecosystem observation journal. ”

“School’s almost over for the summer. You still have to do stuff for class?”

“Yeah. I’m late turning it in because of the trip.”

“Okay, you want to stop at that park we found awhile back?” I hope so because it’s right on the way home.

Indie does a little wiggle dance in her seat. “We can play obstacle course at that one.”

We listen to Kendrick Lamar and Sabrina Carpenter (the clean versions, of course) on the way to the park. When we arrive, I tell them we can do the obstacle course competition when Dax is finished with his homework.

“I’ll start practicing now,” Indie says as she scrambles out of the car and runs to the playground.

Dax gets set up near the pond with his notebook and pencil and Indie asks me to time her as she does the route we always do: Scampering up the slide, then heading down the rock wall, then across to the other side where she jumps on the jungle gym, hops across the teetering stools, and finally crosses the monkey bars.

She gets it in three minutes and one second.

She’s only about twenty seconds behind our family record, which was done by Dax. My own record is quite a bit slower.

I feel old.

Indie wants to try again, so I time her, while keeping Cinnamon close to me, her leash tied to the bench.

Thoughts of Claire take over.

I find myself arguing the points, a sort of seesaw of logic. She’s eight years younger than me, which isn’t a huge deal, but it’s something. Our lives are vastly different. She’s never dated anyone long enough to have said “I love you” before. I was married for seventeen years .

She’s also smart, ambitious, witty, and gorgeous. And when I told her about my divorce, she was open to learning more—to understanding my past. I feel good around her. I smile a lot more than I have in a long time, even when I’m not around her.

But what about Dax and Indie? If Claire and I date, they’ll all need to meet, right? Eventually. And I’m not ready for that. They have a stable life now, but things haven’t been easy for them the past while.

I don’t need to introduce the instability of my own dating life into the mix.

Before Claire, I’d been in a fog—a long-term one. You know those wind tunnels at museums and amusement parks? You step inside and the wind is roaring around you. You can barely breathe. Everything’s a blur.

That was me through the divorce.

Taking the DNA test and finding the Tate family didn’t help at first. Things with Thomas were rough. Over time, though, I started dreaming of something more for myself, so when Thomas asked if I wanted to come help him with some software changes, and after a lot of thought, I came.

“Daddy, look!” Indie’s on the rock wall at the very top, her long, dark blonde hair flowing in the wind. She’s always losing her clips and elastics. “Take a picture of me,” she says, her hands and feet clinging to the pegs and turning towards me.

I remove my phone from my pocket and can’t help smiling as I capture a couple of shots. “You’ve never gotten that high before, Ind. Good job.”

Before we all ended up in Colorado, being apart from Dax and Indie made me physically hurt.

I visited as much as I could and flew them to my place as much as possible, too .

Inadequacy from the fallout in my marriage lingered like the scent of an unbathed Cinnamon. I was in that air tunnel, barely breathing.

But then, miraculously, the kids moved to Highlands Ranch, and I was complete. Finally, I could be with them every week. And things at Foundations Financial were going well. I was starting to feel like I belonged with the Tates.

I was doing fine.

And then Claire Lawson came around.

Now, I’m having intrusive thoughts of her big green eyes and stubborn determination and the way she lights up at photos of my kids. Thoughts of her are unrelenting, even when the chances of all our differences working out—of us working out—are slim. Still, I want to go for it—just ask her out.

I want to. But is that the responsible thing? Because I have to consider what’s best for Dax and Indie.

These thoughts of Claire are inconvenient, especially when I don’t realize Dax is standing in front of me, trying to get my attention.

“Dad, I’m done.”

I hold out my hand. “What have you’ve got?” He tends to rush through assignments, so I need to make sure he’s actually finished. I have him add a couple of things, but it fits the bill.

I set the notebook down on the bench after he makes the changes. “Ten second head start for Dads over forty!” I yell as I go tearing across the playground, wood chips flying.

Three minutes and twenty seconds later, I’m wheezing, but at least I got my personal best. I collapse down onto the grass next to Cinnamon and use my watch to time the kids as they take their turns .

Still lying in the grass, I scrub my hand along Cinnamon’s neck, and she steps right out of her sleeping position next to me and puts her paws right on my torso, all cozy like.

“You do smell like senior dog vitamins and peanut butter,” I mutter to her as I scrub under her chin. “And you need another bath.”

Cinnamon tilts her head to one side and stares at me, her dark eyes glittering as her tongue lolls.

“And you have a huge tongue,“ I add, as if to shore up my resolve that I cannot let myself get attached to this problematic dog.

Neither Claire nor Cinnamon are going to be in my life permanently. I can’t let either of them get to me.