Playboy Prince, Single Dad (Love Is Priceless Book 4) Read online

  Emma

  The coffee shop is one I’ve been to many times before, but I’ve never actually stayed to drink my coffee here. I usually just pick up a cup of something on the way to or from a tutoring engagement.

  “Why don’t you find us a table,” Tomas suggests, “and I’ll get the drinks. What would you like?”

  “A cappuccino would be great.”

  He nods and goes to get in line at the counter. The place is a little crowded, so I choose a two-person table by the window so we won’t be taking seats away from other customers. I deliberately take the seat that faces the counter, telling myself I’m only doing it so I’ll know when Tomas is coming back. So I won’t be taken by surprise.

  Not so I can check out the fit of those pants as he waits in line. Definitely not.

  My God, what’s going on with me? I’ve never been this head over heels about a guy before. I’ve had crushes, yes, and I’ve been known to let myself get a bit carried away, but every time I look at Tomas, it’s like I forget how to think.

  You know better, I berate myself. This isn’t a date. He’s just interested in your pictures.

  My pictures aren’t that good, though, my mind argues back.

  I shake off the thoughts as Tomas turns and heads toward me, a coffee mug held carefully in each hand. He moves gingerly, and when he reaches the table, I can see why: the barista has created beautiful shapes in the foam on top of our drinks. I recognize the herringbone pattern of an elm leaf.

  “Wow,” I say, turning my cup to admire it. “I almost don’t want to drink this.”

  “I know what you mean,” Tomas says. “It smells amazing, though.”

  I nod and lift the cup to my lips. It tastes better, somehow, than the takeout coffees I usually get when I stop here. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s in a mug instead of a takeout cup, or maybe it’s the atmosphere of this little shop. But then, maybe it’s none of that. Maybe it’s just that my heart is leapfrogging its way around my body, carried away with the sensation of this new crush.

  I take another long drink and try to push that thought from my mind.

  “Can I see some more of your photos?” Tomas asks, reaching for my camera.

  I place a hand on top of it. “Only if I can see yours.”

  He nods and slides his camera across the table to me. I pick it up, releasing mine to him, and begin looking through the pictures.

  They’re mostly of one subject, I realize quickly, a little girl of about eight years. I’m captivated by a series of shots of her in a leotard, tutu, and ballet shoes, arms raised high in the air like a fairy princess. Her blond hair is secured in a neat bun.

  “Who is this?” I ask, turning the camera so Tomas can see.

  He looks at the picture. “That’s Lara,” he says. “My daughter. I took that photo right after her dance recital last month. She was so excited, she didn’t want to take off the tutu for hours, even after the performance was over. She actually fell asleep wearing it.”

  He takes the camera from me, scrolls forward in the pictures, and hands it back. Now the little girl is draped over the arm of a plush sofa, deeply asleep, looking like an angel.

  “Your daughter,” I repeat, trying not to let the rush of emotions coursing through me show on my face.

  God, I’ve been silly. Here I was, worrying about whether or not this was a date, and he has a family! He would think I was so stupid if he knew what I’d been thinking. I scroll to the next picture. It’s little Lara again, this time outfitted in purple overalls and a straw hat, smiling up at the camera.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say.

  “She is, isn’t she,” he says with a smile. “She’s the love of my life.”

  “You and your wife must be very proud.” Suddenly I don’t want to look at his pictures anymore. I hand the camera back to him, and he tucks it in his pocket.

  “I am,” he agrees. He hesitates and then says, “I’m not married, though. Lara’s mother…she’s not in the picture.”

  Again, a confusing rush of emotions. It’s a terribly sad thought, the realization that the beautiful little girl in the pictures doesn’t have her mother. But I can’t deny that my heart fills a little when he says he isn’t married after all. Stupid crush…

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I manage. “Is that difficult for you?”

  “It is and it isn’t,” he says. “She was only twenty when she got pregnant, and she wasn’t ready to be a mother. I’m grateful to her for sacrificing nine months of her life so that I could have my daughter, even if she didn’t want to be involved in raising her. But it is hard sometimes, seeing my little girl grow up without a mother.”

  “So you have sole custody?” I ask.

  He smiles at that. “I do. And that’s the most amazing thing I ever could have asked for. The two of us are so close. We do everything together. I even practiced her ballet routine with her every night the week before the performance. I’m pretty good, if I say so myself.”

  I laugh. “I bet you are.”

  “Nothing compared to her, of course. She’s an amazing ballerina. And smart, too. Incredibly precocious. She reads everything she can get her hands on. She’s well-spoken—”

  “You’re the proudest father I think I’ve ever met.”

  “Anyone would be proud of her! She’s an amazing kid.”

  Talking about Lara seems to light him up inside. The tug on my heartstrings that’s been present since I saw him across the park grows more insistent. Not only is he handsome and easy to talk to, but he also has a beautiful daughter he dotes on. I couldn’t have crafted a more perfect man.

  Easy, Emma. Watch your step. You know there’s always a catch.

  “Well, she’s lucky,” I say, sipping my coffee. “Lucky to have such a devoted father.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely. And I’d be willing to bet she thinks so, too.”

  He smiles. “It’s sweet of you to say so. Do you have any children?”

  “No,” I say. “I work with children, though.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a tutor. I teach English as a second language to kids from other countries. Mostly the children of foreign diplomats. That’s what I was doing before I came to the park today, actually.”

  He nods. “Sounds rewarding.”

  “It is. I like kids.”

  “Do you ever want children of your own?” Immediately, he looks surprised at himself. “I’m sorry, that was forward of me. You don’t have to answer.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say, surprised to find that it’s true. “Yes, I’d like to have kids someday, maybe. With the right person.”

  “You’re not married, then?”

  “No, I’m very single.” I can’t believe I’m opening up this much to a man I just met.

  He nods pensively. “So am I.”

  “I guess being a single father doesn’t leave much time for dating.”

  “That it doesn’t.”

  A long silence settles between us, and the air is suddenly tense. It feels as if we’ve each suddenly realized the highly personal nature of the things we’ve been discussing and have realized we ought to back off.

  I play with the strap of my shoulder bag, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Where do we go from here? What do you talk about after you’ve established that you want to start a family someday?

  Why would I share that with someone who’s almost a perfect stranger? That’s not something I talk about, not even with my closest friends. I joke about my perennial single status. I never let on that it’s something that hurts me, that I might like to fall in love and start a family someday. And now here I am telling everything to a man I hardly know.

  Finally, Tomas speaks. “So, photography,” he says awkwardly. “Have you photographed anything especially cool?”

  “Nothing out of the city,” I say, so relieved to get the conversation moving again that I’m willing to seize on any topic. “Some architecture. A lot
of days in the park, like today. But I’ve never traveled to take pictures. I’d really like to do that.”

  “Where would you want to go?”

  “France,” I say immediately. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing the Château de Villandry. Do you know of it?”

  “Sure I do,” he says. “I’ve been there.”

  “You have?” A thought occurs to me. “You’re not French, are you?”

  “No, I was just there on vacation.”

  “I couldn’t place your accent.”

  “Most Americans can’t,” he agrees, a smile playing about his lips. “French wasn’t a terrible guess. No, it’s just a favorite vacation spot of ours. I took Lara to Villandry two years ago and we walked through the gardens.”

  “I’m jealous,” I admit. “I’ve heard it’s really remarkable to see.”

  “It was beautiful,” Tomas says. “Lara mostly enjoyed running around in the maze. She didn’t know I could see over the tops of the hedges, so she thought she was hiding from me. Of course, even if I hadn’t been able to see her, the sound of her giggling would have given her away. Six-year-olds aren’t very subtle, no matter how clever they are.”

  “The maze is the part I’ve always wanted to see most,” I say. “Would I have been able to see over the tops?”

  “You? Probably not,” he says. “I’m just tall.”

  “I think it would be fun to get lost in there,” I say. “And I bet there are all kinds of cool shots you could take. I’d want to lie down on the ground and take pictures looking straight up. I think that would look pretty amazing.”

  “You do a lot of looking up, don’t you?” Tomas asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I never thought about it in those terms before.

  “In the park you were looking up into the trees,” he says. “It was ages before you noticed me.”

  “I noticed you as soon as you came into the clearing,” I protest.

  “No, you didn’t. I was watching you for at least two full minutes before you saw me.”

  So that’s why he didn’t accuse me of being a creepy stalker! He was the one doing the creepy stalking! I bite down on a laugh before it can escape, not wanting to have to explain what’s suddenly funny.

  “I can imagine you in the maze,” Tomas says.

  “Can you?”

  “I can picture you lying on the ground, taking photos of the aphids on the leaves and the sun coming through the branches,” he says, smiling. “I think you’d like it there. The light quality would suit your style. You should definitely go.”

  “Easier said than done,” I say with a laugh. “Plane tickets to France don’t exactly come cheap.”

  “Well, that’s a fact.”

  I finish my coffee and, somewhat reluctantly, get to my feet. “I should really head home,” I say.

  As much as I’d like to stay here and lose myself in the pleasures of a new crush, I know it’s not a good idea to get attached. This was a fun chance encounter, but that’s all it is. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can start putting him out of my mind.

  Tomas stands. “May I walk you home?”

  That’s not a good idea. I know that’s not a good idea. It’s only going to make me feel more attached. But it would be rude, wouldn’t it, to deny him? He’s been so friendly and generous, and it’s such a little thing to ask. Besides, if I’m honest with myself, I do want to prolong our time together.

  “That would be nice,” I say. “Thank you.”

  The ten blocks to my house seem to fly by. I usually listen to a podcast while I make this walk, but today it seems I would hardly have had time to press play on my phone before arriving home. I know it must be because I’m with Tomas, because I’m enjoying his company so much.

  He tells me more stories about his trip to France, delighting in memories of what Lara had to say about a wide variety of different French dishes. The little girl sounds like an adventurous eater, and I’m impressed. I deal with a lot of diplomats’ children, and I know they have experience with a wide variety of cultures, but they still seem to prefer basic foods much of the time.

  “This is me,” I say when we reach my red-brick walk-up. “Thank you for walking me home…and for everything else, too. I had a really nice time.”

  “I had a nice time too,” Tomas says. “It doesn’t need to be over, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d like to keep getting to know you,” he says. “I’d like to see where you live, and to continue this conversation…” He trails off suggestively.

  I get his point. He’s asking if I’d like him to come up. And I can’t deny that a part of me would. The attraction I felt to him in the park has been growing steadily, and I can’t stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss him. I don’t know what might happen between us if I invite him upstairs, but there’s a part of me that really wants to find out.

  But no. I can’t. We just met. I don’t know him well enough to trust that his intentions are good, and the last thing I want is to get into another relationship that’s just about sex. I can’t stand the thought of investing my heart again only to have it broken.

  “I think we’d better call it a night,” I say.

  Tomas looks surprised. “Really?”

  He wasn’t expecting me to say no. I see it on his face. For a moment I reconsider…but only for a moment.

  “I have to work in the morning,” I say. It’s an excuse. I don’t have any tutoring clients tomorrow. But I want to let him down easy.

  Tomas frowns. “Well…here.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a scrap of paper, and scribbles something on the back. He hands it to me. “My phone number,” he says. “If you change your mind, give me a call. I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”

  I take the number, even though I know I’m not going to use it.

  “Thank you again,” I say. “I really did have a wonderful time today. I’m glad to have met you.”

  “Likewise.”

  He extends a hand, and when I accept it, he pulls me in for a quick hug. It’s more than I was expecting and for a moment I stiffen in his arms—but he’s strong and gentle and the hug is relaxing, and he smells wonderful, like sandalwood and leather. We both hold on a little longer than is standard for a hug between acquaintances, or even friends, and I feel unsteady on my feet.

  He pulls away, or I do. I’m not sure. All I know is that there’s a space between us now, and he’s looking at me with naked curiosity. All I know is that I can’t stand here any longer waiting to see what’s going to happen. I raise a hand in a pitiful sort of farewell and jog up the stairs and into my building. I don’t stop or look back until I’ve reached my apartment on the fourth floor, let myself in, and crossed to my window seat. There I lean against the glass and look down on the street below.

  Tomas is gone, as if he had never existed.

  Getting him out of my mind is harder, especially as the sun goes down and I’m alone in my apartment. It’s the kind of thing I should be used to by now, and most of the time I am—you don’t make it to the age of thirty-three without gaining some degree of comfort with being single. But some days, all the same, I feel lonely, and the nights are definitely the worst. At night I often wonder what it would be like to share my life with someone. What it would be like to cook a meal together every night, to talk about the day we’d each had, even just to move through the same space exchanging casual touches when our paths crossed. To have that constant, visceral reassurance that someone cared.

  Maybe I should have let Tomas come up. It’s true that I’ve had bad experiences with men in my time, but who hasn’t? I’m going to have to give someone a chance eventually if I really do want to marry and have kids someday. I can’t just let myself keep avoiding all romantic situations for the rest of my life.

  And he was so perfect.

  Maybe I should just call him. He did give me my number. He might be somewhere right now hoping I’m going to change my m
ind. So maybe I should call him and tell him that I have. Maybe I should give him a chance.

  No. No, I know that’s not the right decision. He’s handsome and fascinating, and yes, I do want to see him again, but all the same, I can’t trust him. He’s not really perfect, is he? He’s only almost perfect. Because he did try to come up to my apartment after just one date. And in my experience, that’s a pretty good sign of what it is he’s really after.

  I have a crush, and I think he’s probably just looking to get laid. So I have to stay away. I have to protect my heart. It’s just the smart thing to do.

  Chapter 3

  Emma

  Still, over the next couple days, I can’t help feeling that something doesn’t quite add up.

  It takes me a while to put my finger on it. Tomas is never far from my mind, and that’s disturbing, because I’ve never been one to get so carried away by a crush. True, I’ve been emotionally leveled when what I thought were long term relationships ended unexpectedly. But that’s happened to me enough now that I’ve learned the lesson. I know now that men can’t be relied upon, that they never seem to return the feelings I have for them. I know Tomas doesn’t have a crush on me.

  Don’t I?

  The more I think this, somehow, the less true it feels.

  It’s ridiculous, and I know it. He’s incredibly handsome. He’s from another country, one he’ll no doubt be returning to any day now. He’s a father, preoccupied with the joys and concerns of raising a little girl by himself. He’s not walking around with his head in the clouds like I am. He couldn’t be.

  And I shouldn’t be either, because it’s getting distracting.

  I’m losing focus at work. At a tutoring appointment one day, I completely zone out and forget to pay attention to my student reading aloud from the novel I’ve given him. Aleksandr has to say my name several times to get my attention, and I know he can tell I wasn’t listening because he gives me a wounded look before continuing. He’s right to be upset, I know. I’m at work, for God’s sake, and I’m allowing my performance to be impaired because I can’t get my mind off a man? That’s not acceptable.