by Sarah Adams
I look back to Garrett and do a quick assessment of him: nice, dark hair, well-trimmed beard, taller than me, a nice body, and an open smile. And overall, he’s not setting off any alarms that make me feel like I should ask a security guard to walk me to my car when I leave here.
But the truth is, all I can think about is Jake. I like Jake. I want to date Jake, not this guy. “You seem nice, Garrett, which is why I feel like I should be honest and tell you that I’m sorta-kinda seeing someone.”
Garrett gives me a nice-guy smile and nods. He then reaches into his laptop bag that’s slung over his shoulder and pulls out a pen. After grabbing a clean napkin, he writes his number on it and hands it to me. “Well, since ‘sorta-kinda’ doesn’t sound like you’ve set a wedding date yet, here’s my number. Call me if you find yourself in need of a fun date.”
“Hitting on my girl? Not cool, dude,” says none other than Tyler Murray after somehow sneaking up behind me and dropping his arm over my shoulder like he owns me.
Tyler pulls the slip of paper with Garrett’s number on it out of my hand and tears it in two. Because, yep, that’s the kind of guy Tyler is.
Garrett gives me a look that says I’m an idiot for dating a jerk like Tyler. I flash an apologetic smile, but don’t worry, I’m just waiting for Garrett to walk away before I throw my elbow into Tyler’s southern regions.
He knows me too well, though, because the second that Garrett walks away, Tyler jumps back with a big grin. “You were going to hit me, weren’t you?”
“Why are you saying it in the past tense? The threat is still real.”
Tyler is still very much the same man who moved to New York five years ago. He’s wearing a dark-gray suit that hugs his toned body. He’s tall with chestnut-colored hair and dark-chocolate eyes. And he’s still got the same smile as the devil. He openly scans my body and then raises and lowers his brows. “Well, shoot, Eves. You look even better than the last time I saw you.”
I roll my eyes and turn around to return to my seat next to Jo. “Go away, Tyler.”
He chuckles and tries to catch my arm, but I’m faster. “Wait. Don’t you want this phone number? I’d be willing to paste it back together for a kiss.”
I would tell him he could kiss my butt, but he would likely just treat it like an innuendo and say something that grosses me out. “Nope. Don’t need it. And now you’ve filled your douchebag quota for the day, so you can scurry on back to the vermin hole you climbed out of.” Charlie and I are weaving in and out of tables, and unfortunately, Tyler is keeping pace with me.
“Why don’t you need it? Have you finally decided to marry me after all?”
When I walk up, Jo hands me my phone and, before she realizes Tyler is right behind me, says, “Jake texted you something sappy again, and I asked him to send a picture of his backside.” I know she’s kidding, so I don’t press it. At least…I hope she’s kidding.
But I really wish that she hadn’t just mentioned Jake’s name in front of Tyler. It’s not that I think Tyler is some crazy guy from the movies who will kidnap me and stuff me in his trunk until I agree to marry him, but I do know that he’s enough like my parents to go to extreme manipulative measures to get what he wants. He’s always been that way. It’s why he’s such a good attorney.
“Wait, who’s Jake? Don’t tell me my Evie Grace has a boyfriend,” Tyler says, coming to stand far too close to me. He’s like a pimple. I just want to pop him—or punch him, or step on his toes, or slap him—but I know that if I do, it’ll just make things worse for my complexion. Best to ignore him and wait for the breakout to pass.
“I’m not yours, Tyler, and I never will be. Now leave me alone and find someone else to bug.”
“Come on, Eves. You know we’d be good together.”
“Do you seriously not think it’s completely insane to marry each other just because you own your daddy’s portion of the business now?” I’m asking because I genuinely want to know.
“I think it makes sense. You know this life better than anyone else. You know what it takes to be a good wife to a man like me, and I know that you look ridiculously good in a cocktail dress. So, yeah…I’m willing to sign that contract.”
“You mean marriage certificate?”
“Same difference.”
“Yeah. Go away, Tyler.”
He chuckles like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve been saying. Like he thinks I’m cute for turning him down. I swear, if he pats my butt like he did last time he came to visit, I will tear his favorite limb right off his body.
“Tell you what. If you’re so worried about it, let me take you out. I’ll wine you and dine you, and if you're lucky, I might even—”
“If you finish that sentence, I promise you I will dump this drink all over that fancy suit of yours.”
His eyes widen like I’ve just threatened to shoot him. He relaxes back into his sleazy grin and tugs on his suit lapels. “Your parents want this, Eves, and so do I. So, don’t think that by me walking away right now, I’m giving up. I’ll find a way to show you that us being together is the right choice.” He tries to kiss my cheek as he passes by me, but I turn my head away. And whoa, someone should tell that man that a spritz is all it takes. He is a walking bottle of cologne.
“Oh, I hate him,” says Joanna once Tyler is out of earshot.
“Me and you both,” I say and then turn around just as Tyler makes it to the far end of the restaurant and is standing in line to order. I smile a big ol’ blinding smile and call out to him so the whole restaurant turns and looks. “Oh, Tyler! I forgot to say that the ointment you had me pick up for you is on your desk at work! The pharmacist said it should clear your rash right up but that sex is not advised for the first three weeks!”
I have the privilege of watching the scumbag’s mouth fall open, and the woman in line in front of him (who he had just been checking out relentlessly) turns her shoulder firmly away from him. Even from this far away, I can see his face turn beet red. And then, just as I had hoped, he steps out of line and leaves.
“That was too satisfying to watch,” says Jo with a high five.
I should feel satisfied, too, but I don’t. Because the only takeaway I have from this whole situation is that I have no idea what sort of relationship I have with Jake, and I really need to figure that out. Are we exclusive? Is he dating other people?
A minute ago, I was thrilled about my date with him. Now, I’m feeling nervous. I can feel a big fat DTR on the horizon, and if I know the male sex at all, Jake is not going to be excited about this conversation. But it needs to happen so I can know whether I should pocket the phone numbers from cute strangers in the future, or if I should put my blinders on and pretend that I no longer notice other males in the vicinity.
Chapter Twenty-One
JAKE
It’s Friday, aka a major day for me.
Not only is today the first time my daughter will spend the night away from home since being diagnosed with epilepsy, but tonight, I will have my first date with a woman other than Natalie in about eleven years.
As I’m searching through my closet for something to wear, I realize how out of touch I am. I think my mom got my birth certificate wrong, and I’m actually one hundred years old instead of thirty-three. Do I wear a T-shirt? Do I wear a tux? A tux is probably a little much.
Okay, breathe, Jake. You know you can’t wear a freakin’ tux.
My jeans are on, but I’m still naked from the hips up when I hear Sam scream from her bedroom. I drop the shirt I was contemplating wearing and run into her room, expecting to find her in a pool of blood on her floor.
Nope.
But I do find her in a pool of clothing. Her dark, wide eyes look up at me, and she says, “I have nothing to wear!” What?! How can we be having the same dilemma?
“What do you mean? I see lots of clothes.”
“Daddy!” She rolls her eyes and sounds way too exasperated at me for stating a fact. “These are all day-clothes. I don�
�t have any cute PJs! All of the girls are going to have the perfect slumber-party PJs, and I’m going to have to go in these old, stained, polka-dot pants that are way too small for me!”
This is catching me completely off guard. I had no idea that fashionable PJ attire was a must-have to attend an eleven-year-old’s slumber party.
Although…now I feel like I should have known this. I’ve seen the cheesy teen movies.
I sigh and look at my watch. “Okay. We have an hour until I have to have you at Jenna’s. Grab your stuff, and we’ll swing by the store on the way and get you some new PJs.”
“And a bra.”
“What?!” I’m going to have a full-on panic attack now.
“Daddy, I’m almost a teenager!” Hardly. “All the other girls that will be there have already been wearing them. It’ll be embarrassing if I’m not.”
My gut instinct is to pull the emergency lever and shut this whole thing down here and now, because honestly, I’m having trouble breathing. My daughter is almost a teenager, and she’s wanting to wear bras, and up next is the sex talk that I don’t feel at all ready to give her. But after I give myself a mental slap, I remember that I’ve been training for this very moment. A man doesn’t watch all nine seasons of Gilmore Girls for nothing. I know to stay calm. Don’t panic. Stop, drop, and roll. Basically, do anything besides make my not-so-little girl feel uncomfortable about her changing body.
Channel your inner Lorelei Gilmore. I will not be that single dad that sucks.
“Got it,” I say with a firm nod and start ticking things off on my fingers like it’s no big deal. “New bra. New PJs. And probably a new toothbrush because I’m guessing you don’t like that princess one I bought you last time?”
She smiles, and I feel like I can sigh with relief. And then she looks at my bare chest, and she scrunches her nose. “And a new shirt for your date.”
“Perfect. Meet me downstairs in five minutes.”
I go back to my closet, throw on a plain white tee that’s good enough for shopping and dropping her off at her friend’s house, and then hustle downstairs. Sam and Daisy are already waiting for me when I reach the bottom floor. It’s then that I notice something in Sam’s eyes that I saw in my own the last time I looked in the mirror.
We look at each other for a long minute, both of us heavy with emotion. We are moving on with our lives, not letting the obstacles of this year hold us back.
I pull her in for a hug, and she doesn’t resist. “It’s okay. I’m a little scared too, kiddo.”
“You are?” she asks, sounding relieved.
“Yep. But we’re both going to do great. The first steps into change are always the hardest.”
She pulls out of my hug and picks up Daisy’s leash. “I wish Evie could help me pick out my new bra. I don’t really know what to get, and I’m guessing you don’t either.”
Should I be worried that she’s wishing for Evie right now and not her own mom? I probably would be if I didn’t completely get it. Natalie basically abandoned her. It’s hard to want someone who doesn’t seem to want you back. Evie, however, has been more invested in Sam’s life over the past several weeks than Natalie has all year.
I would love to be able to call Evie right now and beg her to go with me and Sam to pick out a bra. I bet she would be perfect in that role. I’ve no doubts that she would make Sam feel special and grown-up without making it awkward like I probably will. But Evie and I haven’t even been on a real date yet. I can’t call her.
I can feel myself trying to sprint. Slow down. Turtle speed, remember?
But maybe I can at least text her when we get there about tween bra sizes. Would she think that’s weird?
EVIE: OMG. I loved my first bra. Get her a white one and a gray one so she has something to wear with both a light and dark outfit. Size: Small. No underwire and nothing with the words “push up” unless you want to have a heart attack. And whatever you do, get in and get out as quickly as possible without saying anything remotely close to “My baby girl is growing up so fast.”
So…I guess she doesn’t find it weird. And now I look like a major perv, standing in the girls’ bra aisle, smiling like a lunatic.
I drop Sam off at Jenna's house with a backpack filled to the brim with turquoise-and-white PJs that have some kind of sequined koala face on the front of the shirt and the words “Don’t wake me until noon” on the back. She talked me into not only a white and a gray training bra, but also a pink.
All in all, I think I’ve kinda crushed the single-dad thing today.
When we pull up in front of Jenna’s house, Sam tells me I can stay put in the truck. I suggest dropping her off a block away so she can walk back—that way, no one will even need to know that she has a dad. And she just replies with a simple, “Not this time,” like it wasn’t even a joke and she was really contemplating it.
She’s in for a treat if she thinks, for one second, that I won’t be sitting a row behind her at the movies on her first date.
Sam jumps out of my truck with Daisy in tow and her bag strapped on her back. She darts toward the house with one of her friends that has also just told her parents to keep the car running and drive off as soon as her feet hit the grass. But my kid—the good one—pauses and looks back at me. She comes sprinting back and jumps up onto the running boards of my truck to kiss my cheek through the open window. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, Sam. Have fun. Call me if...” I let the statement dangle because, somehow, I’m afraid that if I say the words out loud, I’ll be responsible for a seizure if she has one.
She smiles and nods. “I will.”
And then my little girl goes into her friend’s house for her first ever slumber party. My heart squeezes painfully, and I’m glad now more than ever that I had the forethought to plan a date to distract me tonight.
I put the truck in drive, and I’m headed home to get ready for my date with Evie when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. A text that makes my stomach plummet to the ground.
NATALIE: Headed back from Hawaii soon. Thinking of coming to visit when I get back. Hug Samantha for me. <3
Chapter Twenty-Two
EVIE
Jake asked if I wanted him to come pick me up for our date, but I thought that would be silly for him to come all the way over to my place and get me, only to drive right back to his house. We went three rounds until he gave up and let me call an Uber. But he was adamant that he was going to pay for it.
Now, I’m very aware that society would tell me to stand up for myself and own my female empowerment by showing him that I can take care of myself monetarily. But since I’m broke, I’ve decided that there’s room enough for me to feel empowered and also let Jake feel like a hero. It’s a give and take.
He’s giving me his money, and I’m taking it.
I’ll act more empowered next time.
The Uber pulls up in front of Jake’s magazine-worthy farmhouse, and I’m still in disbelief that I get to even go inside this home, let alone date the man that owns it. (Don’t get all judgy right now. I’m not after Jake for his money or his belongings—I’m after his abs.)
Charlie and I get out of the Uber, and I tug on my high-waisted jeans to put them back in their correct placement of hugging my butt and trimming my waist. I paired them with a cute pale-pink blouse, and I won’t lie, I’m feeling pretty adorable right now. I even took the time to curl my hair in long, loose waves. I look like a walking ad for a beachy-waves hair product, and I wonder how I got so lucky to not wake up with a zit today.
Everything feels too good. I’m still waiting for that hammer to drop while also trying to be more optimistic like Jo suggested.
I ring the doorbell, and the feel of my heart thudding in my chest helps me count the seconds it takes for Jake to answer the door. Ten.
As he’s opening the door, my nervousness overcomes me, and I wonder if it’s too late to play ding-dong-ditch and hide in the bushes. Yeah, it’s too late. He�
�s seen me. And OH BOY, do I see him.
“Hi,” he says in a sultry voice with a smirk that says, Yeah, I know I look hot. He puts Garrett’s paltry little “hi” to shame. Jake is tall and muscular, and he’s wearing a form-fitting, slate-blue shirt and day-old stubble on his jaw. His jeans are dark and trim, and I’m sure that he has them tailored to fit him like a glove. I like this look on him. No, I love it.
“Hi yourself,” I say, and NOPE, sultry doesn’t sound good on me. I sound delusional and like I have a throat bubble.
I’m just considering jumping into the bushes again when Jake steps out to where I’m standing and captures me around the waist. He leans down and brushes my cheek with a kiss from his deliciously scratchy jaw and whispers in my ear, “You look beautiful.”
Well, okay then. I guess I’ll stay.
I smile against his cheek, and then he releases me to pat Charlie on the head and take my hand, pulling me inside. The smell of herbs and spices fills my senses, and the sound of Leon Bridges plays softly from the speakers in the ceiling. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s turned on the very album I was listening to the night he came over.
The lights are dimmer than normal, and my body is hyperaware that Sam is not home, and this is officially Jake the Man’s house and not Jake the Dad. My nerves are humming, and buzzing, and ping-ponging with excitement, and suddenly, I don’t know what to do with my hands. They don’t make real pockets on women’s jeans, so I’m forced to clasp them behind me like a kindergartener who’s been told not to touch anything.
“Come on in; I’m just finishing up a few things.” He goes into the kitchen, and I follow a few paces behind him, afraid to say anything.
Someone please tell me what to do right now! I’ve stood in this kitchen dozens of times. I’ve spent the last few weeks talking to Jake every single day. But this feels different. The air is different. It’s rich with anticipation.
