Page 23 of Fierce-Baker

He still wasn’t sure. And that was where some of his problems lay.

He dragged a hand down his face. He shouldn’t be thinking about the way her smile hit him dead center. Or the fact that she’d looked even better out here. Real, relaxed, not behind a counter or in the chaos of work.

And her son. Micah.

That was a whole separate complication he didn’t have the right to think about.

He was the guy who stayed separate, kept his head down, and didn’t get involved in shit that didn’t belong to him.

Not anymore.

But that little fist dropping a dinosaur at his feet?

Yeah. That hit somewhere it shouldn’t have right along with the small feminine hand of Tasha’s brushing the curls away from her son’s face and smiling down as if she had all the patience in the world.

Something he’d had once in his life when it came to women.

He moved to his liquor stand, pulled out a bottle at random, one of his works, then poured a shot and threw it back.

He needed to get his head straight.

He’d been through enough to know better than to let a pretty face, a friendly laugh, and funny conversations scramble his brain. He’d made that mistake once. Fuck. More than once. More than twice. Guess it depended on how generous he wanted to be with his own self-delusion when it came to his ex.

She was the one and only that he’d ever let it happen to.

He wasn’t doing this again.

Tasha Robinson was off-limits, regardless of what Jolene thought.

Not because of anything she’d done.

Because he wasn’t built for whatever came attached to a woman who pushed a stroller with one hand and smiled like she hadn’t been hurt before. Like today was just another sunny day in the neighborhood and nothing was wrong in the world.

She was nothing like him.

He wasn’t the settling type. Not now.

Wasn’t the dependable type. Not anymore.

Wasn’t the father type. At least he was never given the chance to be.

But the worst part was that some tiny, dangerous part of him wished he was all those things he’d thought he could be years ago.

He threw another shot back, straightened, his jaw and chest so tight he thought he was going to crack something internally.

Nope. Not going there.

Not again. He hadn’t felt this way in years and the thought of it again was crushing every part of him he’d said he’d lock up and away.

He’d just stay out of her way and keep his distance. Keep his damn head on straight and avoid Jolene like he’d been doing for years.

It was only temporary. Less than two months and Tasha would be done working there and back with her students.

There. That was his plan.

Then he looked out the window and glimpsed her turning the corner, the stroller bumping gently over the curb, Micah holding his toy in his limp hand over the side, as if knowing his mother had him and always would.

His heart did that stupid, traitorous stutter regardless of the lecture he’d just given himself.