Firefly Island Read Free Page B

halfway up the congressional staff ladder. There were plenty of young kids hungry for advancement, and each of them had two good feet. My only advantage was charm and the fact that, even though I’d tried for anonymity, word had gotten around. People knew who my father was.
    Daniel stood up like he’d been pushed out of his seat by a loose spring. He reached for the documents. “Here. You look like you could use some help with those.”
    The rest was history, or a whirlwind, depending on your point of view. I asked about Daniel; he asked about me. Faber’s personal assistant gave us irritated looks for muddying up a congressional office with an obvious flirtation. We exchanged business cards before Daniel headed for a consultation in Faber’s office. After he’d passed the snotty personal assistant, he turned around, pointed at her and made a face, then mouthed, I’ll call you , as if we’d known each other forever.
    The grouchy lady swiveled a stern look over her shoulder. Daniel made a show of turning around and heading for the congressman’s door.
    I giggled.
    I fell in love.
    My ankle didn’t hurt anymore, because I wasn’t standing on it. I was floating a few inches off the ground.
    Within four hours, my artsy cast and I were having dinner with Daniel at a hole-in-the-wall Italian place with decor that was vintage Dollar Store. I didn’t mind. The food was good, and it hadn’t taken me very long to figure out that my newly discovered prince, my gypsy king, my romance novel cover guy was, unfortunately, fairly broke. He had a master’s degree in biochemistry, two years of university research experience, two years of interesting stories from having traveled the world doing crop science for an underfunded non-governmental organization, and a couple years of teaching experience at a city college. His recently acquired position at the USDA was his first real eight-to-five job. He also had a healthy supply of student loans, medical bills from a car accident a few years back, and a three-and-a-half-year-old son who, that particular week, was in Ohio with grandparents.
    It was a lot to take in on a first date. I had a feeling that Daniel didn’t usually share so much information so quickly. I wondered how much of his life he normally offered up to women he’d just met. Then I found my brown eyes going a little green over the idea that he met other women. Ever. I felt strangely possessive.
    That didn’t matter, as it turned out. For the next two weeks, we were together every evening. Both of us knew we didn’t want to see anyone else.
    Kaylyn started hounding me to pay her romance novel bills and to admit that Amy Ashley’s Irish love legend had validity. Irish magic aside, the night before Daniel’s son was to come home, I was worried. Other than roughhousing with my nieces and getting them in trouble with their mothers, I had no idea what to do with children of any size, particularly not a three-and-a-half-year-old. Aside from that, I’d grown up in a family full of girls. Boys were a complete mystery.
    I was trying not to classify little Nick as a stumbling block, but a sense of loss and foreboding had begun needling me, even though I didn’t want it to. It wasn’t mature to think of a preschooler as the competition, but I liked things the way they were. Life with Daniel was . . . perfect. We were perfect. Just the two of us.
    I hated myself for having that thought. I really did. I knew all about Nick. He was adorable—a towheaded version of his dad. I’d looked at his pictures in Daniel’s apartment. I’d laughed at many a “Nick” story over dinners and lunches with Daniel. I’d stood in the doorway of Nick’s room when Daniel wasn’t looking, studied Nick’s toys and his little race car bed, trying to imagine him there. I’d sympathized with Daniel when he’d snuggled