Page 1 of Parentmoon

Prologue

The Hello Day

April

My son is getting married.

He hasn’t officially delivered this news, but I have a sneaky suspicion the announcement is coming soon. A good suspicion fueled by mother’s intuition and my son’s bouncing leg beneath the table.

We sit inside The Belmont, an upscale downtown restaurant with an opulent and romantic atmosphere. Dark wood accents and soft flickering candles set the mood. The location overlooks the Chicago River and is the perfect place to pop the question, if Michael hasn’t already.

I couldn’t be happier. I adore Keli.

What I’m more anxious about is meeting her father, the famous Dallas Cole. Michael can’t stop raving about him. He’s worldly, wealthy, and wildly good looking. The evidence rests in pictures of him. With silver patches in his beard, he has more hair on his firm jaw than his head. The combination of white and black on his chin is a buffalo check gone awry. A pattern you want to rub against your skin for comfort. He’s nearly bald with a thin layer of fuzz on his head but that does not detract from how gorgeous he is.

I’ve also been told—warned, perhaps—that he’s a player.

I’m not concerned. I’m a divorced single mom who knows how to handle a man like him. It’s simple. Don’t handle him. A wily fox once led me down a rabbit hole of unhappiness. I won’t be fooled by this sexy silver one.

As Dallas was never married to Keli’s mother, I’ll be meeting her another time.

Michael stands as Keli approaches our table on her father’s arm. With a quick glance at Dallas, I catch a view of his eyes. Photographs have not done the deep-set blue of them justice. Dallas Cole is stunning in a Graham McTavish slash Dougal Mackenzie from Outlander sort of way. If he has a Scottish accent, I’ll be a puddle on the floor. Resistance, be damned.

Instead, his Southern drawl catches me like a lightning strike down my center.

“Jo Hudson, it’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’.” His heavy hand is warm as we clasp palms and I shiver despite the heat of his touch. Warning bells go off in my head while a girlish giggle catches in my throat at the endearment. My body is instantly a traitor to my decree to resist him and my heart does a little skip at the tenderness in a silly word.

“Nice to meet you as well, Dallas.”

As I stand, Dallas leans in for a cheek kiss. The action is forward of him, but I’m the one who overreacts, certain my face is flaming red. The attention is something I’m not used to.

Then again, he’s only trying to make an impression because I’m Michael’s mother.

After holding out my chair like a practiced gentleman, Dallas takes a seat to my left while Keli sits across from me. Michael and she have already greeted one another with a chaste kiss but I’m certain they’re holding hands beneath the table. My son is romantic, sweet, and genuine, despite his lackluster father. He’s everything opposite Craig, who lacked loyalty and respect as a husband, and patience and dedication as a dad.

While wine is being suggested by the waitress, Dallas leans toward me. “Bet you like pink. A crisp rose that’d match the pretty flush on your cheeks.”

His comment causes my skin to flame hotter. “Actually, I prefer red.”

Dallas’s gaze falls to my lips, which are painted a bright crimson shade intended to match the oversized poppies on my dress. He hums and places his order, while keeping his eyes on me.

“Malbec for the ladies. I’ll take a whiskey neat.” He tips his head toward Michael, allowing him to order his own beverage.

I’m torn between scolding Dallas for being so presumptuous and a little flattered that he just took the initiative and ordered for me. As if he knew me.

Which he does not.

This is our first meeting and after another scan of my cherry-colored lips, Dallas turns his attention to our waitress when she returns with our drinks.

“Thank you, sugar.” He watches as her lithe, young body pulls back after setting wineglasses and whiskey tumblers on the table. The thirsty look in his eyes follows her actions, like he’d like to sample her wine list. A prickling sensation runs down the back of my neck and is a trigger compliments of my ex-husband. The momentary, flirty tease of Dallas using an endearment and staring at my lips dribbles away like the condensation on my water glass.

Once the waitress walks away, Dallas lifts his tumbler and tips it toward me. “Pictures do not do you justice.”

There might be a compliment in the comment, but I don’t find it. Not after watching him blatantly follow the curve and bend of someone almost half my age. I’m too old for bullshit lines. Besides, when has Dallas seen a photograph of me?

I don’t reach for my wineglass to clink with his glass. Instead, Keli draws my attention away from her father’s toast.

“So, Daddy. Jo.” Keli’s Southern accent is softer than her father’s. “Michael and I have something to share with you.”