Page 19 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

Not for any other reason.

I try not to make it obvious, but I glance over to him. Maybe in the daylight, and him not teasing me, I can realize that he’s not as sexy as he was last night.

Much to my disappointment, he’s even better looking now. Because of course he is.

Gone is the suit and tie. Instead we have a fitted henley and a pair of blue jeans. I’m sure they’re designer, but just the look of jeans and a shirt makes him seem so…normal. Combine that with him wearing his glasses and his messy brown hair, and no one would guess that the man is worth billions.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a man in a suit. Especially a custom, tailored one like he had on last night. But this look? The one of relaxation and a guy who you could picture sitting at a sports bar with his buddies? That also scratches an itch for me.

And a man who can be both? Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m never going to see him again.

Needing something to distract me, I take my cell phone out of the seatback pocket. I didn’t want to check my phone on this flight, wanting a few hours of being off-line, but when I decided that, I didn’t realize my one-night-stand was going to be sitting next to me.

At first I don’t see anything alarming when I connect to the airplane WiFi. A few back and forths on the family group chat, as we begin preparations and planning for the holidays. Thanksgiving is in two weeks and Christmas is right around the corner, which means not only coordinating my family’s schedules, including when Jayce will be with his dad and when my sister Quinn will be coming home from Arizona over her winter break.

I ignore the texts and head over to my emails. I doubt there’s anything urgent, but the little red number at the corner of the icon says I have thirty-four emails, and that’s just unacceptable.

Zero notifications is where I like to live.

I scroll through, reading, replying, or deleting what I need to. Nothing major. Clients wanting follow-ups or additions, now that their spaces are done. A few past clients wanting to know if they can hire me for holiday parties.

Just as I’m getting down to the final emails, I read the name that makes my blood boil every time it pops up in my inbox.

To: Maeve Banks, Banks Interiors

From: Katherine Smith

Subject: Reschedule?

“Fuck my life, not again,” I groan as I read the email. I mean to keep it to myself, but I know I said it louder than I should’ve.

Though in my defense, if they knew I’ve now received six of these emails from Miss Katherine Smith—who I am starting to think is a fake person—you’d let out audible obscenities too.

Ms. Banks,

We’re sorry to have to cancel our consultation. The client’s schedule has changed and won’t be able to meet with you tomorrow at the agreed upon time. Please let me know what your availability is next week so we can try and make this happen.

Regards,

Katherine Smith

6

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“Un-fucking-believable!”

I nearly jump at the hissed outburst from Maeve. I had turned away from her, knowing I needed to because the amount of staring I was doing when she wasn’t looking at me was borderline harassment. But now that I’m looking at her again, her face getting red as she throws her phone into the seat pocket in front of her, only for it to bounce back into her lap, I can’t help but think back to last night when I made her cheeks red for a whole other reason.

Bothsets of cheeks.

“Is everything okay, Love?”

She snaps her narrowed eyes my way and I flinch. “I know there was a bet and I lost and blah-blah-blah. But that was past me. I was a very different person last night. So I’d appreciate it if you quit calling me that.”

“A different person?” I say it in a teasing way, because I have a feeling she doesn’t mean that. No, clearly whatever has her tossing her phone is making her say such things. “So what kind of person are you today? You know, since I didn’t get to ask you that this morning.”

I wasn’t surprised when I felt Maeve slip out of bed before the sun came up. Frankly, I was surprised she didn’t do it sooner. I knew last night was out of her comfort zone. I’d be a liar if I said I’d never snuck away in the middle of the night from an encounter. Then again, mine was to avoid the paparazzi. Maeve’s was to avoid me.

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