“Sleepy, Mama,” Rosie murmured as Dante carried her to the bed.
I smiled and walked behind them, cooing to her softly.
“I know, Baby Girl. Sleep now,” I said in a hushed tone as he lay her down gently.
He was such a sweet man.
The way he handled my daughter—so tender and careful—was enough to make me swoon.
And I meant really swoon, like a heroine in one of those romance novels I was constantly reading. The kind who clutched her chest and fanned herself whenever the hero was in sight.
He was just so, so everything.
Dante Bianco, the enigma of a man, was surprisingly paternal for someone who’d never had a family of his own.
A single man who’d never even dated a woman, at least as far as I knew.
Well, I mean, he’d been a virgin before we slept together, so I was pretty confident he hadn’t gone out with a lot of women, specifically single moms.
The thought of that—of how he’d saved himself, even unintentionally—brought a flush to my cheeks.