Page 94 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

A few hours—and one lonely shower—later, Logan and I are on a private plane back to Nashville.

A plane I have a feeling he’s about to purchase.

Normally when it comes to flying, I have my routine down. I either use it to sleep or work. I don't watch an in-flight movie. I don't read a book. To me, plane time is precious time to either catch a nap because I'm likely exhausted from traveling, or use the time to check off work that doesn't take effort, but time.

But today, I have none of that to do. And both are Logan's fault.

"Quit fidgeting," he says, though I don't know how he can tell since he's typing something on his laptop.

“I’m trying not to," I say. "But I don't have anything to do."

That makes him push the screen down. "How do you mean?"

"I slept like a baby last night, so I don't want to nap. And my only work for another week and a half is your home. And even that I have nothing to order or design. At this point it's allinstallation, or waiting on pieces to come in. Therefore I have nothing to do on this plane that took off..." I check my watch. "Twenty minutes ago."

Logan chuckles. "And here I thought that I'd get to hear Maeve's airplane snores again."

I narrow my eyes and hate that the seatbelt signs are still on so I can't reach over and smack him.

"I wasn't snoring."

I probably was.

"Stubborn to your core," he says, sending me a playful wink.

I slump down into the comfortable leather seat. I didn’t know seats like this could exist on airplanes, but apparently they do when it comes to private jets. I actually wish I was tired; this seat would be great for napping.

Allowing myself to get comfortable, and shockingly not feeling guilty, I pull out my phone and bring up a social media app. I don't scroll often—who has the time?—but apparently I'm a new woman in many ways right now, so might as well indulge a little.

Even though I haven't been on here in weeks, there's nothing new. Photos of families getting ready for Christmas. Posts in community groups asking about what the weird sounds and booms are. People vaguely asking for prayers for their children, making it sound like they're having major surgery when it's really just a routine dental cleaning.

Same ol', same ol’.

I’m just about ready to exit the app when a news story catches my eye.

CASTING CALL: Are you a wife and mother in Nashville? Then we want you for our new reality show.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," I say, laughing hysterically as I open the story.

"What's that?" Logan asks.

"Apparently they're starting some sort of Wish.com version of Real Housewives, but only in Nashville." Nashville is a special kind of city. It's not big like LA or New York, but it has the star power of it. Between the country music scene, the pro athletes, and now the tech boom we’re seeing, it's become a destination. Oh, the houses I could've decorated if I wasn't stuck in Man Cave Central. "Honestly though, kind of surprised it took them this long."

"You should audition."

Oh, my husband's got jokes...

"You're hilarious. I've said it to my sisters before, I'd be the worst reality star in the history of reality stars. I'm too mean and honest."

"I beg to differ. Those are the best ones."

I tilt my head. “Am I learning that the man I’m married to is a reality junkie?"

He playfully shrugs as he puts his laptop to the side. "I wouldn't say junkie. More like, sporadic observer who has a definitive order of Bravo shows. And before you ask, it’s all Kat’s fault. Though, if you had a show, I’d be much more than a casual fan.”

This man...I swear. We're married. I've said that I'm open to actually being a couple. Yet, he's still flirting with me.

And I didn’t expect to like it as much as I do.

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