She handed over the keys and hurried out.
He turned off lights, locked the doors, ignored his daughter’s none-too-subtle babbling about how much she liked Lily and belted the matchmaking little magpie into her booster seat.
“She has pretty hair and eyes and hands,” Isabella said, “and she’s very nice, too.”
“That’s enough now,” he told her firmly. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. Understand?” Isabella nodded, but he’d seen that look in her eye before. “I mean it. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“If you had a wife—”
“I had a wife,” Tate reminded Isabella softly. “I don’t want another.” She quieted finally, and he pulled out his cell phone, saying casually, “I’m going to call ahead and order our burgers now, but this is not a date. It’s just a nice thing to do for someone new in town on a holiday. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He doubted that, but he tapped his daughter on the end of her button nose and closed the truck door.
Lily came skipping down the stairs a couple minutes later in skinny jeans, athletic shoes and a snug red T-shirt.
Tate tried not to gulp, but he had the sudden feeling that he’d just made a very big mistake.
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