Page 15 of Hunter's Baby Girl

“It’s not exactly my dream job,” I admitted. “I don’t think it’s really a dream job for anybody. It’s one of those situations where I took the job right out of school because it paid better than anything else I’d come across, but then my mom died, and I had to take care of her bills and the house on my own. It’s a good, secure job. I just need to remember that.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “And your father?” he asked. “Was he not part of the picture anymore?”

I tensed up. He must have felt it. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked.

“Oh, no. That wasn’t because of anything you did,” I said. “My dad died when I was little.” Even I heard the way my voice changed. For some reason it was still, after all these years, difficult to talk about him.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he murmured. His touch was gentle and smooth on my skin, and it provided a measure of comfort.

“He had cancer, had it for a while, and didn’t want anyone to worry about it until it was too late. He just collapsed one day, and that was it,” I told Hunter. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I think it’s that lack of closure, you know?”

“How old were you when it happened?”

“I had just turned 8,” I replied.

“Wow. You were very young. I’m sure it made an impression on you,” he sympathized.

I was lost again; this time, it was memories that had me wrapped up. “It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother; it’s just that Dad was different. He made everything feel fun and magical. He used to take me to the park, down the street from here, every single night. No matter how tired he was or the kind of day he had, we’d go to the park after dinner. There’s a big, wooden castle there for kids to climb on and inside of. The kind with a slide, you know? And I’d play in there and imagine being a princess waiting to be rescued by her prince.

“Even after he died,” I continued, “I would sit in that castle for hours at a time. All alone. I’d wish and pray that my prince would come to rescue me. And guess who the prince always was in my dreams?”

I felt Hunter’s hand, the one without the lotion, squeeze my shoulder. I patted it gratefully.

“My best friend, Megan – oh, of course, you know Megan,” I remembered. “She’s sort of an armchair therapist, if you know what I mean. Anyway, she calls me a total textbook case of a girl with Daddy issues.”

Hunter snorted. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” he said.

“It’s okay, really,” I assured him. “I get the humor. That’s the whole reason she brought me along with her on Friday night. I’ve always dated men much older than myself. She tells me I’m looking for a replacement father figure. I guess she thought it was time for me to meet a Daddy.”

I felt Hunter’s hand, still caressing my skin. “I’m glad she thought it was time,” he said softly. I was glad he couldn’t see the blush that touched my cheeks or the ear-to-ear smile.

Dinner arrived soon afterward, and we spent the rest of the night eating and talking and watching TV. Just like any normal people.

But we are normal, I reminded myself. Just as normal as anybody.