Page 20 of The Single Dad Dilemma

“Are you sure we waited long enough?” She asks.

I check my watch again, just to show her that I’m making absolute sure. “Yep, it’s definitely time.”

I gently lift the bag and open the end, then dip the lip of it down into the water so the fish can smoothly transition from bag to tank. The pair swim out and split off in opposite directions, instantly exploring the whole tank.

“Have you thought of what you’ll name them?”

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully,placing her thumb and index finger on either side of her chin. “I think the orange-and-white one should be called Tater Tot.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fun.”

“And the black one will be Prince Charming,” she says, her eyes following the royal fish.

“I think those are great names,” I say reassuringly. “Very creative.”

Man, I hope this was a good idea. She’s very convincing. But I can also see how this could be looked at as a huge overstep. Maybe I didn’t think this through. Great, I might have just gotten myself fired after one week.

I look down at Lou, who hasn’t taken her eyes off Tater Tot and Prince Charming since they went into the tank. Her smile is ridiculously big. And that smile might just be the thing that makes getting shitcanned worth it.

In an effort to make up for this possible mistake, I turn my attention to tidying up the house and leave Lou to stare at her fish. In the kitchen, I clean the dishes from breakfast and putthem away. I make sure the living room is picked up and spot a pair of Lou’s socks tucked into the couch cushion. I’ve noticed she has a habit of pulling them off if she puts a blanket over her when we’re reading.

I take them into the laundry room and throw them into the basket she previously told me was for dirty clothes. From the corner of my eye, I notice some clothes hanging out of the open dryer door. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m reaching in and pulling out what is obviously one of Ridge’s black T-shirts. The fabric is soft and worn, but the color isn’t faded. Without thinking, I press the garment against my face and inhale. The clean scent of his detergent hits my senses, and I realize it’s not the same smell as the blanket on the couch. The throw is this plus… something else. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s some sort of fabric freshener or room scent.

Absentmindedly, I think about the warm, masculine notes on the blanket I always smell and begin folding the rest of the clothes in the dryer. It looks to be a load of nothing but his shirts. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved that his underwear are not in here, because on the one hand, they’re just underwear, but on the other, I bet myself he wears those short boxer brief numbers that show off the thighs and ass and bulge so nicely. Now, it must remain a mystery.

I contemplate for a moment if I should just leave them on top of the dryer or put them in his room, but my curiosity gets the better of me in the end, and I tiptoe down the hall with a stack of his shirts, telling myself I’ll just set them on his bed.

When I open the door, I instantly realize something that’s been nagging at me. The scent on that blanket in the living room is definitely Ridge. I hadn’t noticed when he gave me the tour, and I haven’t ventured in here since, but that delicious aroma is one hundred percent grade A Ridge. Great. I’ve been lusting overthat man’s smell. My boss, of all people. It might not be so bad if he was flawed in some way. So far, I haven’t found one.

I set the stack of folded shirts near the bottom corner of his bed and contemplate putting them into the drawer he pointed out before, then immediately abandon the idea. His room is nice, clean. Not overly masculine but there are definitely no touches of femininity either. Did Lou’s mom live here with him? If so, he seems to have erased all remnants of her. Well, aside from the photo on Lou’s other nightstand.

Vanessa was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, tanned skin, and not very many ounces of body fat. Also known as the exact opposite of me. I’ve got pale skin and freckles, unremarkably dark hair, and plain eyes. Hers were this icy light blue, while mine resemble cloudy skies. I certainly havemore body fat, too. She has that sophisticated petite frame, like a ballerina, whereas I have tits so big that it’s hard to find cute bras sometimes.

Ugh. What did that one guy say?Comparison is the thief of happiness?Or something like that. Truer words have never been spoken.

“What are you doing?” Lou’s voice calls from behind me.

“Oh,” I yelp. “You scared me.”

“Are you looking for something?” she asks.

“I folded these,” I say, placing my hand on top of the pile of shirts. How long have I been staring off into space in here? How long has she been watching me from the doorway? Yikes.

“Oh,” she says. “Can I have a snack?”

“Of course.” I run my hands down my sides and step toward the door. The door clicks behind me quietly as I close it and shift the focus to food.It seems like as good a distraction as any. “What were you thinking?”

“Apple slices with peanut butter?” she asks, a hopeful inflection in her voice.

“Ooh, that sounds good. I think I’ll have some, too.”

I grab the cutting board and a knife from the block on the counter. Lou grabs two apples and washes them in the sink, then hands them to me. She goes to the pantry to retrieve the jar of peanut butter and stands next to me, watching me carefully cut each of the apples into wedges.

“I like how you cut the apples better than dad,” she says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he cuts them too thick, in my opinion,” she says.

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