A Match for the Doctor by Marie Ferrarella Page B

Simon replied in avoice devoid of all emotion, “That would be the natural supposition for my asking you about the time.”
    Kennon was tempted to tell him that he needed to loosen up a little, for the girls’ sake as well as his own, but for now this was enough progress for one day. One step at a time, that was all she could logically hope for. Every journey began with a single step and ended with another one many, many steps later.
    Dr. Sexy Mouth had just taken his first, Kennon thought with satisfaction. Now the trick was to keep him going until he reached the destination where he needed to be.
    â€œGirls,” she called out, turning around to face them again. “Your dad’s going to be coming with us tomorrow.”
    He wasn’t prepared for the enthusiastic squeals and cheers, nor did he expect to have two overjoyed little girls rush up and, for all intents and purposes, effectively “surround” him.
    No, he wasn’t prepared for it, but he had to admit he rather liked it. Liked, too, the wide, satisfied smile he saw on his decorator’s face. A man could easily get lost in that face.
    The next moment, he turned away from Kennon and focused only on Madelyn and Meghan. It was a lot less unsettling that way.

Chapter Eight
    H ow one trip multiplied into two and a single, onetime-only exclusive Saturday outing mysteriously led to another—and another—in the two Saturdays that followed was something that Simon felt he needed to examine at length when he had the time. All he knew was that it’d happened so effortlessly, so naturally, that, at the time, he wasn’t even aware of it. Wasn’t aware of saying yes to Kennon until after the fact.
    Thinking back to how all this shopping came about was a little like searching for the seam in a skirt that appears to be seamless. You knew it wasn’t possible, there had to be a seam somewhere, but at first—and second—glance, it certainly looked to be without a beginning or an end.
    In other words, it seemed to be continuous.
    He also knew he had to put a stop to it before it became a Saturday-morning ritual to wander throughfurniture stores and import shops with his daughters on either side of him and the ever-effervescent interior decorator leading the way.
    Simon decided to make his stand on the fourth Saturday morning. Like clockwork, Madelyn and Meghan came into his room, rushing now instead of approaching hesitantly as they had that first Saturday when he had supposedly agreed to go to just one store and only to purchase bedroom furniture for them. Emboldened by their previous successes and by the headway they had made edging into their father’s world, this morning Madelyn and Meghan were energetic instead of the reserved girls they had been, and now burst into his bedroom with no qualms.
    Bouncing onto the bed, Meghan narrowly missed landing on his chest. Completely oblivious to the near collision, she scrambled up closer to him. “Guess what, Daddy?” she cried, her voice only a couple of decibels lower than a shout.
    â€œYou’re both getting married and moving out by noon,” he murmured, doing his best to come to.
    Meghan giggled. “You’re funny, Daddy.”
    Yes, he was, he realized, a little surprised himself. Somewhere along the line amid these safaris to out-of-the-way shops that were so far off the beaten path there was no path in sight, he had somehow developed a sense of humor.
    Or something very closely resembling one.
    Simon wasn’t exactly certain how that had come about. But he suspected, if he examined its origins, it had something to do with self-defense, as well as the woman who kept appearing on his doorstep six mornings a week with the same regularity as the sunrise.
    â€œYou’re not guessing,” Madelyn pointed out, climbing onto the bed beside her sister.
    At this hour of the morning, his brain moved with the speed of an arthritic gazelle. He