“Yes, you do,” squealed Felicity. “And some on your chest!”

“Hey, listen. Where I come from, a man should have some hair on his chest. And I’m a man.”

But for a second, I wondered what Frannie had thought of my body. I wasn’t in my twenties anymore, and while I was physically fit, I didn’t have one of those carefully groomed, perfectly smooth, manscaped male bodies. She hadn’t seemed to mind, and I’d been too turned on to give a fuck about it last night, but now I hoped she hadn’t been disappointed … I found myself saying a quick prayer. Please, God, let it have been even half as good for her as it was for me.

Shoving last night out of my head, I rose to my feet and threw Winnie over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Be quiet now, and we’ll go find something for breakfast.”

They whined and protested, but they followed me into the kitchen and watched as I began opening the fridge, the freezer, and multiple cupboards. Of course, they rejected everything I offered them—waffles, oatmeal, pancakes, eggs, toast, cereal, granola bars.

“Come on, guys. You have to pick something. It’s going on eight, and I have a lot of snow to get rid of before we can go anywhere.”

“But we want monkey bread,” Felicity insisted.

“Well, I don’t fucking know how to make it.”

That’s when I heard my bedroom door open, and then footsteps on the dining room’s creaky oak floor. Frannie tiptoed into view, hair mussed, arms crossed over her chest. “Morning,” she said.

I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her. My heart skidded. My throat went dry. My dick twitched in my pants.

I moved behind the island and cleared my throat. “Morning.”

“Daddy doesn’t know how to make anything good for breakfast,” Millie complained. I felt like pinching her. “Can you make breakfast?”

Frannie smiled at her. “Sure. Let me just get dressed real quick, okay?”

“Yay! Okay.”

Without another look at me, Frannie went into the living room to retrieve her clothes. Then she must have gone upstairs to the bathroom to change, because she didn’t come back to the kitchen until she was fully dressed.

Our eyes met only briefly before she looked away.

“So,” she said, pushing up her sleeves. “In all honesty, girls, I don’t think we have the right ingredients for monkey bread. But from what I remember seeing in the pantry yesterday, I think we can make some awesome gluten-free banana muffins with chocolate chips. Does that sound good?”

“Yes!” Millie rubbed her hands together. “Can I help?”

“Definitely.” Frannie set to work, giving the girls small, age-appropriate tasks. “Millie, you peel and sort of chop up two bananas. Felicity, can you grab the sour cream and eggs from the fridge? And Winnie, can you help me remember where the chocolate chips might be hiding?”

I put on a pot of coffee and stayed out of their way, checking messages on my phone, texting Sawyer that I’d be late, glancing out the front window to see if the street had been plowed yet (it had), and the back to see how much snow the blower would have to handle (a lot). When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and asked Frannie if she’d like one, too.

“Sure, thanks,” she said without taking her eyes off what she was doing.

“Milk? Sugar?” I asked, wishing she’d look at me like she had last night, with adoration in her eyes. Or at least warmth.

“Just black.”

I poured her a cup and left it on the island while I sipped mine standing on the dining room side of the breakfast bar. The girls were happily following her directions, not arguing, and working harder than they ever worked in the kitchen for me. They were even rinsing the dishes as they went along, and putting them in the dishwasher. A few times, I tried to catch Frannie’s eye and smile, but she never seemed to look in my direction.

After a while, I gave up and went into my room to get dressed. I tried not to look at the bed and think of her bare limbs between my sheets, but it was impossible. Not only did I look, but I went over and grabbed a pillow, lifting it to my face and inhaling deeply. Her scent lingered on the cotton, sweet and sexy at the same time, just like she was. My stomach muscles tightened, and I—

“Daddy?”

I glanced at the door, which apparently I hadn’t shut all the way. Felicity had pushed it open and stood there blinking at me with owlish eyes behind her glasses. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I tossed the pillow onto the tangled sheets. “I was going to make the bed. What do you need?”

“We can’t find the vanilla extra. Do we have any?”

“Vanilla extract?” I frowned. “I have no idea. It’s not in the pantry? Or the cupboard above the fridge? Sometimes I stick stuff up there we don’t use that often.”

“We can’t reach that cupboard.”

“Ah. Okay, I’ll look.” I followed her back to the kitchen, where Frannie was doing her best to reach the handle above the fridge without much luck.

I puffed my chest out a bit, feeling like a Man Coming to Save the Day. “Here. Let me.” Coming up behind her—way closer than necessary—I reached over her head and pulled the cupboard open.

She immediately ducked out of my way.

I stared into the cupboard without seeing anything for a moment, then refocused. “Is this what you need?” I grabbed a small brown plastic bottle and handed it to Frannie.

She inspected the label, then twisted off the cap and sniffed it. “Yes. It actually expired this month, but it smells fine. Okay, girls …” She turned away from me and resumed baking with the kids. I realized she hadn’t looked at me once.

Fine. Be that way.

Irrationally angry, I stomped off to my room, got dressed, then stomped into the back hall to put on all my winter crap—boots, coat, scarf, hat, gloves—without looking at anyone. When I was ready, I risked a glance at her and caught her looking at me. Immediately she turned in the opposite direction.

I went out the back door and closed it with a bang.

After snow blowing my driveway and Mrs. Gardner’s next door, I shoveled both front walkways and porch steps, then moved on to the back. When I was done there, I grabbed a shovel and went out to the curb to dig out Frannie’s car, although what I really felt like doing was marching into the house and demanding to know why she was giving me the cold shoulder.

Because the more I thought about it, the more I decided this was not what we had agreed on. We said we were going to pretend it never happened and go back to the way things were before.

This wasn’t how things had been before!

Full of furious energy, I finished the job and stomped back into the house. The kitchen was blissfully warm and smelled heavenly. But I was grumpy as fuck. “Can I have your keys?” I asked Frannie, who was loading the dishwasher.

Without answering, she went over to her purse and took them out. Then she handed them to me without meeting my eyes or saying a thing.

I glanced toward the living room, but didn’t see the kids. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting dressed.” She put a detergent pod in the dishwasher, closed the door, and started it.

“Are you mad at me?” I blurted, unable to stand it anymore.