Page 5 of Single Daddy To Go

“What’s your opinion, Mr. Lockhart? You’d know better than either of us.”

My fingers twitch. I have a very strong urge to pull Ally’s hair, right here, right now, as if I’ve been transported back to the playground myself. I stare at her brown curls, studying the gentle waves shining under the fluorescent overhead light. I don’t pull them, but only because I have built up significant self-control through years of practice. I wouldn’t have made it to where I am, leader of a successful business empire, if I couldn’t keep my base impulses contained.

“Boysarevery weird,” I growl, interlacing my fingers together to reduce the temptation. “It’s a bizarre thing.”

Both girls laugh. Katie’s giggles are like the tinkling of a Christmas bell, while Ally’s are like the sound of a songbird. It’s all very beautiful. Neither of them knows how close I am to acting like a caveman right now. I join in the laugh fest, keeping my animal urges to myself.

“Well, Ally, it’s been lovely to meet you,” I rumble when the girls have finished being amused by the mad behavior of the male species. “I trust that you’re taking very good care of my daughter, and helping her with all the weird boys?”

She smiles again, sweet and true.

“Girls can be weird too. I’m sorry I was harsh to you when you arrived. I just hadn’t seen you before, and we’re not supposed to let just anyone pick up our kids,” she says.

It turns me on, the way she saysour kids.But I have to keep it together. After all, she and I just met.

“No, I’m not bothered. I wouldn’t want you to let my daughter go with some random stranger. But now you know who I am. I won’t be coming every day, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Before I met the woman, I wasn’t looking forward to coming back here, but now I’m certain I’ll find the time.

Ally nods.

“See you later,” she says, with a big, warm smile. Her brown eyes meet mine and electricity flashes in the air between us, before she turns away quickly, her cheeks flushed.

As a father, I feel happy that my daughter’s care is entrusted to someone with such a good heart. But as a man, I can feel the sparks flying between us. After my divorce, I told myself I was done with women, but this one makes me feel somethingdifferent. I don’t know that I’ll do anything about it, but Idoknow I’ll be back to see her again.

“See you next time,” I call over my shoulder, taking Katie by the hand. “O.K. sweetheart, let’s go home.”

“Which home are we going to?” my daughter asks innocently.

It stabs, but I don’t let her see it. “My big house, baby,” I say.

We walk out of the door and out to my black Rolls Royce, waiting outside the day care center. Katie waves at my driver, Alex. He produces a strawberry lollipop, which in turn, elicits a huge grin. The Russian sure knows his way to a child’s heart.

I sit in the back on the luxurious leather seat with my daughter as she prattles on about what she’s learning and her interactions with other kids. I learn more than I ever needed to know about the names and personalities of a particular line of plastic pony dolls. Something about the purple pony being better-educated than the pink? It’s weird how toy manufacturers invest so much into the toys’ back stories.

My mind drifts and suddenly I’m thinking about Ally Summers again with her gentle smile and generous curves. I don’t think she knows how beautiful she is, which makes her all the more appealing.

“Daddy!” Katie’s voice rises, breaking me out of my reverie.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” I say. I suppose I haven’t been listening.

“Didn’t you hear me? Which pony is your favorite?”

I make a show of deliberating. “Sparkle Pony,” I answer, certain that was one of them.

She laughs her Christmas bell laugh. “No, Daddy,” she scolds. “That’s not a pony! You’re so silly. Let me tell you about all of them again.”

I try my best to pay attention but it’s hopeless. The beautiful brunette is all I can think about as my daughter chatters on beside me. Ally Summers. When will I see her again?

3

Rob

Traffic is terrible, but the Rolls is so comfortable that it doesn’t really matter. We arrive some time later to the concrete skyscraper that houses my Park Avenue penthouse.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I say to my daughter while ushering her into the building. “Let’s get you changed out of that uniform.”

My doorman is a portly older gentleman with a pronounced Brooklyn accent, his bald head concealed beneath a jaunty cap. “How’s my favorite blonde?” he teases Katie as I lead her into the foyer.

Katie thinks about it. “Pretty good,” she replies. The doorman smiles. My daughter is one of those little kids that’s an absolute hit with everyone she meets.