“Nope.”

My head jerks up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never been—” I look at Sophie, but decide to risk the word “—married?”

“No.” Before I can ask, he adds, “Never met the right woman.”

“Oh.” Heart pounding, I look down again. I am so not going to ask him what the right woman would be like.

The silence that stretches out this time isn’t altogether comfortable, at least not on my part. If it were just me, I could just take things one day at a time and not worry about it. In theory, anyway.

I’ve never known a man like Dante. On the surface, he’s so wrong for me in so many ways, but when I’m with him none of that seems to matter. Still, all we have is chemistry and the fact that Sophie likes him.

With an inward sigh, I force myself to let it go. For now.

“You done?” Dante says.

I look up, startled. “Done with what?”

“Stewin’ about stuff in your head.”

My lips compress. “It’s all right for you. I have to worry about how everything is affecting my daughter.”

“You’re a good mom. That’s why you’re here.”

I can’t wrap my head around that. “What?”

“What’s good for you is good for her. You getting what you need is what lets you give your girl what she needs. If I were bad for you, I’d be bad for her. And you wouldn’t be here.”

My mouth drops open. It takes me a few seconds to realize there’s food in there and snap it shut again. I start chewing like an automaton, but my mind is whirling.

Try as I might, I can’t argue with his logic. And I’ve never thought about it that way before. My whole life revolves around Sophie … but that means taking care of me, too.

And not just at the level of keeping body and soul together.

Raising my eyes to his, I say softly, “You’re very wise.”

I’ve surprised him again. In an equally soft voice, but an octave or two deeper, he says, “If we didn’t have an audience, I’d show you what I’m feeling right now.”

I squirm some more. “But we have to go to work.”

“That, too.”

Rising, I start to clear the table, and we work together until everything is done. When the kitchen’s clean, I ask, “Can you watch her for a minute while I get ready?”

“Sure.”

It’s a big step, but Dante’s right. From the start, I’ve instinctively felt safe with him. If my hindbrain considered him a threat to me, or Sophie, I never would have set foot under his roof.

Still, I don’t waste time getting Gina’s bags and going to work in the bathroom. A minute or two later, I hear the soft, low rumble of Dante’s voice, punctuated by occasional sounds from Sophie. It sounds like it’s coming from the living room.

Tiptoeing past the crib, I peek out the bedroom door.

Dante’s sitting in the armchair, Sophie in his lap. He’s reading her a picture book; from the cover, it’s something about animals. Her eyes are glued to the pages, and she’s pointing and saying her own special Sophie words.

My heart swells, my eyes get wet, and I back hastily away. In the safety of the bathroom, I have to grip the edge of the sink for support.

I could fall for this man. Really fall for him. In a deeper, much realer way than ever happened with Chandler.

And right now, I can’t think of a single good reason why I shouldn’t let it happen.

“Work,” I whisper, and force myself to finish getting ready.

* * *

When we get to the café, the morning breakfast rush is in full swing. Dante parks behind the building, and we come in the back door, where a hallway leads to the office without us having to go through the dining area.

When the playpen is set up in the corner and Sophie’s in it with her toys, he says, “I’ll be right back,” and goes out. I sit in the chair behind the desk and swing it back and forth, not willing to touch anything until Vic gives me the all-clear.

A couple of minutes later, Dante sticks his head in the door. “I’ll see you at lunchtime. You need anything, you call me.”

“Okay.” I give him a little smile, and then he’s gone and Vic’s there.

Hands on hips, he looks at the chaos. “I don’t have time to show you the ropes on this. Basically, I’d say just start sorting it into categories, like putting all the invoices in one stack, and all the correspondence in another stack. Anything you’re not sure about, put in a question stack.”

“Easy enough. Thanks, Vic.”

He shakes his head. “You get this mess sorted out, it’ll be me thanking you.” Crossing to the playpen, he looks down. “How’s my girl?”