Page 25 of The Single Dad Dilemma

There’s a large man with his back to me at the door. The parts of his arms I can see are covered in tattoos. I’m not a small man or short, by any means. But this guy makes me look like atoddler. He turns as I approach, and his expression goes from stone to recognition in a flash.

“Ridge, right? At Bird’s Eye?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, still trying to place him.

“Dude, you did some work on my buddy last month. I came in with him,” he says, pointing at himself.

My mind conjures up a single image of him in the shop. I nod, playing along that I remember him much better than I actually do.

“Hey, yeah. How’s it going?” I ask.

“Good, man. I was actually hoping to make an appointment with you soon for some work.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve gotta cut this short. My friend is in there. She needs me.”

“Say no more.” He moves away from the door.

“Thanks, man. Call the shop. We’ll get it set up.” I walk past him in a hurry, practically yelling the words back to him as I make my way inside.

The place is crowded. It’s practically wall to wall. The DJ is playing some mix of country pop, and there’s a group of women at the bar celebrating a bachelorette party. They’re dressed in white, and the bride-to-be is wearing a small veil and sash. They’re so loud I can barely hear the awful music.

I block out everything and scan the crowd for Darcy. My eyes brush over every face, searching for those familiar freckles over the bridge of her nose. I push farther into the room, into the crowd. I must say “Excuse me” twenty times, bumping shoulders with one after another, my eyes never abandoning their search.

And there she is. Her back is to me, but I know it’s her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Let’s just say her freckles aren’t the only thing about her that is familiar to me. The curve of her hips, for example. I could probably pick them out of a lineup.

She’s facing a man, which annoys me. He’s standing over her in a smothering way. In a way that makes me think she doesn’t want to be that close to him. From the look of his bloodshot eyes, he’s been drinking a fair amount.

Darcy tries to take a step backward, and the guy grips her waist, his fingers curling around her flesh. And I don’t like anything about it. She wobbles on her feet, and I know in an instant that she’s been drinking too much.

I squeeze past the last couple of people in my path to her and place my hand on her elbow for two reasons. One, to get her attention. Two, to steady her baby-deer legs.

“Ridge,” she says, hiccuping. “You’re here.”

I’m twisted in knots seeing how overserved she is. It’s much worse than my view from afar let on. With my hand on her now, I can feel just how off-balance she is.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I say.

“Hey, man,” the guy in front of her says. “She’s with me.”

“No, I’m not,” Darcy says, her words slurred.

The guy looks at her like he’s wounded and begins to step toward her. I put her behind me, staring at the guy as I block his path to her.

“You heard her,” I say firmly. “She’s not with you. So you should probably go home and sober up.”

“I know her, dude,” he says, gravel in his mouth. “It’s okay. I’ll get her home.”

“No,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “You won’t.”

He steps back, looking me up and down, and I know he’s trying to decide if he can take me. He’s assessing me with a bit more care than I expected him capable of at this stage of drunkenness.

“Whatever,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He takes a swig of his beer and eyes Darcy just past my shoulder. “I’ll text you later, Darcy.”

He walks toward the pool tables in the back, stumbling as he goes. Once I’m satisfied that he’s not waiting to surprise attack me, I turn and place a guiding hand on the small of Darcy’s back. She trips, nearly spilling onto the floor, but I catch her. My guiding hands are quickly replaced with an arm around her to help hold her up.

“Just a couple more steps to my truck,” I say. “I got ya.”

“You came,” she says, head bobbing back.

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