‘No. Because, actually, it’s true,’ he said. ‘Anyway. The main thing is that we both know where we stand—we’re both single, and we’re both planning to stay that way. And we can just get on with looking after Tyler.’
‘Yeah.’ She raised her glass again. ‘To Tyler. I wish things could’ve been different—but I think we’re managing to be the next best option for him. Even if we do have to rely on looking things up in a book or asking my mum, half the time.’
‘Absolutely.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘To Tyler, and to being the best stand-in parents he could ever have.’
* * *
Somehow the awkwardness between them had vanished, and Emmy was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Dylan. And to discover that they had shared loves in music and places they wanted to visit.
She was beginning to see why Pete and Ally had made that decision, now. She and Dylan had their differences, which would be good for Tyler; but they also had much more overlap than either of them had ever imagined. She actually liked his company.
And she was shocked by how late it was when she finally glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better call a taxi. And I’d better ring Mum and let her know we’re on our way back.’
‘You ring your mum, and I’ll call the cab,’ Dylan said.
In the taxi, their hands kept brushing against each other, and it felt as if little electric shocks were running through her veins. Which was crazy. Dylan was the last man she could afford to be attracted to. This shouldn’t be happening.
But what if it did?
What if Dylan held her hand?
And then she stopped breathing for a second when his fingers curled round hers. Was he thinking the same as she was?
She met his gaze, and the remaining breath whooshed out of her lungs.
Yes. He was.
She wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but then his hand was cupping her cheek, hers was curled into his hair, and his mouth was brushing against hers. Slow, soft, gentle kisses. Exploring. Enticing. Promising.
He drew her closer and the kiss deepened. Hot enough to make her toes curl and her skin feel too tight. This was what she wanted. What they both wanted.
And then she was horribly aware of a light going on and someone coughing.
The taxi driver.
Clearly they were home. And they’d been caught in a really embarrassing position.
She looked at Dylan, aghast. Oh, no. This was a bad move. Yes, she wanted him and he wanted her. But what would happen when it all went wrong? Tyler would be the one who paid the price.
So they were going to have to be sensible about this. Stop it before it started.
‘Um. That shouldn’t have happened,’ she muttered, unable to look him in the eye.
‘Absolutely,’ he agreed, to her mingled relief and regret. ‘Blame it on the champagne. And it won’t happen again,’ he added.
Which ought to make her feel relieved. Instead, it made her feel miserable.
‘Go in. I’ll pay the driver.’
‘Thanks.’ She fled before she said or did anything else stupid. And tonight, she thought, tonight she’d have a cold shower and hope that her common sense came back—and stayed there.
DYLAN PUT THE phone down and leaned back against his chair, his eyes closed.
This was potentially a huge deal.
And it came with an equally huge sticking point: the client was a family man who liked to work with people who had the same outlook on life.
Strictly speaking, Dylan wasn’t a family man. He was an almost-divorcee who happened to have co-guardianship of his godson. His marriage breakdown would certainly count against him; and his arrangement with Emmy was hardly conventional.
Could he ask her to help him out?
After all, he’d helped her when she’d needed it. And she had offered...
He thought about buying her flowers, but that would be manipulative and tacky. No, he’d just ask her once Tyler was in bed. Talk it over with her. And maybe she’d have a creative way round the situation—because Emmy definitely had a different take on life from his.
It helped a bit that it was his turn to cook that night. And he totally appreciated now why she’d tried to cook the monkfish. Except he played it safe, with pasta. ‘Emmy, can I ask you a favour?’ he asked over dinner.
‘Sure. What?’
‘I’ve put in a tender for a project.’
She looked thoughtful. ‘So you’re going to be working longer hours and need me to pick up the slack for a bit? That’s fine, because you did exactly that for me. Of course I’ll do it.’
He grimaced. ‘Not exactly. I’m learning to delegate, so I don’t need you to pick up the slack. Anyway, I haven’t got the deal yet.’
She frowned. ‘So if you don’t need me to take over from you, what’s the favour, then?’
This was the biggie. ‘The client. He’s a family man. He likes to work with—well, people who have the same outlook.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that discrimination?’
‘It would be, if he was employing me,’ Dylan agreed, ‘but this is different. It’s a project and my company’s put in a bid for it, so the client can choose his contractor however he likes.’
‘And you want him to think you’re a family man?’ She looked wary. ‘Dylan, this is a seriously bad idea. You’re not a family man.’
‘I’m Tyler’s co-guardian, so technically that makes me a family man.’
‘But you and I...’ Her voice faded and she looked slightly shocked. ‘Oh, no. Please tell me you’re not expecting me to lie for you and pretend that you and I are an item?’
‘I’m not expecting you to lie. Just...’ How could he put this nicely? ‘Just fudge the issue a little.’
She shook her head. ‘It’ll backfire. When he realises you lied—and he will realise, if you get the contract and he works with you—then he’ll have no faith in you. Professionally as well as personally. Which will be a disaster for your business.’
He folded his arms. ‘What happened to looking out for each other?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I am looking out for you, Dylan. This isn’t the best way forward, and you know I’m right.’
There wasn’t much he could say to that, so he remained silent.
‘But,’ she said, ‘I’ll help you. Invite him round to dinner. I’ll cook.’
He looked at her. ‘Thank you for the offer, but I think I’ll pass on that one.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not going to let me forget that monkfish, are you?’
‘It was pretty bad,’ he said. ‘Not that I could do any better myself. Which is why I think inviting him to dinner’s a bad idea. The kitchen isn’t my forte or yours.’ He frowned. ‘Though I suppose I could buy something from the supermarket that I just have to put in the oven and heat through.’ His frown deepened. ‘But could I ask you to do the table setting, please?’
She