Page 7 of Parentmoon

“I told you, you don’t have to go,” Dallas mutters, lowering his head before peeling his aviators off his face. The depth of his eyes hits me hard. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much.

What would it be like to have a man look at me all the time with eyes so focused like his right now?

“But I shouldn’t stay.”

He tilts his head to the side, questioning me with suddenly narrowed lids. “Why not?”

His tone hints I’ve offended him, but that couldn’t be the case. Dallas could have any woman in the world with a wink and the sexiness of the hair on his jaw. He definitely is not interested in me and that should be the sole reason for wanting me gone.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Says who?” His brows hitch and a damn smirk curls his lush lips. A dimple beneath the thin layer of hair on his jaw peeks out, bracketing his mouth, and I hate how I’m a sucker for a flirty divot.

“We’re practically family.” I point between us. “Mother of the groom. Father of the bride.”

“But we aren’t,” he reminds me. The words are like a gavel on wood, hammering home the loss. “The wedding was called off.”

The sorrowful truth echoes around us, and Dallas has the grace to lower his head. His lips twist. His jaw ticks and his rigid expression suggests he’s as puzzled as I am.

“Did Keli tell you anything?” Hope and hesitation fill the softly spoken question.

Dallas shakes his head while looking up at me. “What about Michael?”

“Nothing.” I exhale, shoulders falling. “Difference of opinion. That’s the only explanation I got.”

Dallas pushes out his lower lip, like a frustrated pout, and slips his hands into his pockets. Disappointment rests on his edgy cheeks, matching the sinking sensation in my stomach. Michael respects Dallas and the last thing he’d want is Dallas’s ire. However, Keli could be to blame and I’m ready to defend my son when Dallas speaks.

“Keli can be stubborn. She gets that trait from her mother.”

That trait most likely came from the man standing before me. Keli is nothing like her mother. Katherine is a Southern belle, judgmental and sharp-witted. She’s demanding of attention and ignorant of her daughter’s opinion. She’d wanted a lavish and garish wedding while Keli initially wanted understated and refined. Katherine disagreed with every decision Keli made, from the size of the guest list to the wedding dress. The dinner menu and the venue. And especially the location. She wanted an elaborate wedding in Texas. Keli was adamant that she and Michael would marry in the city where they fell in love.

Personally, I didn’t think Katherine should have had a say in anything.

While Keli grew up living with her mother, she was one hundred percent a daddy’s girl. Surprisingly, she was open with me about the conflicting relationship she had with her mother and the love she felt for her father. I’d been able to relate. I’d been closer to my father when he was alive. My mother had scorned me the moment I came up pregnant out of wedlock, and then married a man she disapproved of.

Twenty-seven years later, I am forty-five and she still holds a grudge.

“And what traits has Keli inherited from you?” I tip my head at the question, teasing him for an answer.

Dallas’s smirk grows to a two-hundred-watt grin. “Good looks, of course.”

“Thank goodness it’s not your ego.” I laugh despite myself. “Let’s hope she doesn’t go prematurely bald.”

“I’m not bald,” he defensively chuckles, rubbing a hand over his head. The bristly sound of his palm over stubble whispers between us. The scratch has my body humming again, wondering what it might feel like to run my own hand over his head and along his jaw, fingertips digging into that swath of facial hair. I tremble at the thought, admonishing myself for the magnetic pull I feel toward Dallas. Reminding myself the attraction would never be reciprocal.

“Okay, nearly bald,” I tease.

Dallas huffs while still lazily smiling.

Thick silence falls between us. We don’t have much in common and it’s another reason we rarely spoke to each other during our children’s engagement. Dallas didn’t actively participate in discussions about the wedding arrangements and Keli preferred to include me in most decisions. I was honored. As mother of the groom, I could have been pushed aside, told to wear beige and to keep my mouth shut. Instead, Keli wanted my opinion on everything and sometimes deferred to me to play interference between her and her mother, talking Katherine down by reminding her the big day was about Michael and Keli.

“So,” Dallas says.

“So.” I pause, flipping my phone against the counter. “If you really don’t mind, it looks like I’m stuck at least a night. I’ve tried to get ahold of Michael to help me move up my airline ticket. I should be out of your hair by tomorrow.” With that said, I glance up at Dallas’s lack of hair and we both chuckle.

The tension between us eases a little bit.

“How long did Michael have you staying?”