Page 17 of Flirty Thirty

“It’s a lot of money,” I tell her after voicing the concern I have of meeting with him on a more frequent basis. “What’s a little harmless flirting, right?”

Holland tilts her head, giving me a soft smile. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am right now?”

I jolt away with a laugh, surprised by the reaction. “Of what exactly?”

“A man tells you he wants a family, kids, and he’s interested in you. He called yougorgeousand he’s straightforward, unafraid to express what he feels when he feels it. I’d say that’s pretty rare.”

“Even if it’s everything Idon’twant? It’s a little frightening.”

She shakes her head, leaning forward to grab onto my ankle. “I think it’sexciting.” She lets out a sigh. “That kind of excitement doesn’t last long. I say embrace the hell out of it.”

“It’ll never work,” I tell her, propping my half guzzled glass of milk on my knee. “I can’t be in the picture he’s painted for himself. I don’t want that.”

Her eyebrow tilts. “Still?”

“It’s okay for me to not want marriage or kids.”

“I know, but…” Her eyes drop to her stomach, and a sadness crosses her expression. “People change.”

I let my gaze fall to her stomach as well, the baby bump small, but noticeable. “You still want all of that, right? Youalwayshave.”

“Of course.” She sniffs and waves her hair back. “He was upfront with you. Be that with him.”

“I kind of was.”

“Bereallyupfront.” She laughs. “If he wants to take you out, he’s got to know where you stand exactly, and that you’re not going to budge.”

I drop my hands into my lap. I’m assuming we’ll be in a public place tomorrow night. Dinner, most likely. Maybe somewhere fancy with his bottomless wallet.

Sounds like the perfect opportunity to take Holland up on her advice.

8

Pajama Mama

“You ready to sign on your new place?”

Mr. and Mrs. Davenport look as gray as the siding on their first home I’m about to help them purchase. I bite back a laugh at their nerves and invite them into the conference room where the loan officer is sitting with a large stack of papers and a glass jar full of pens.

“Relax,” I tell them. “We’ll talk you through everything.”

Mrs. Davenport lets out a small squeak, and her husband grabs onto her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. They slowly turn to one another, take a synchronized deep breath, then laugh at how ridiculous the other looks. My eyebrows twitch upward as I ponder over the exchange; how natural some couples seem at first, but how different it is when kids come into the picture and interrupt it all.

My phone buzzes in my hand. “Jen will get you started,” I tell them, nodding to the loan officer. “I’ll just be a moment.”

They smile and I step outside the office and answer.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to call,” I tease, heart scampering in my chest in anticipation to hear Cooper’s response.

“You are my realtor, aren’t ya? I have this card here that says you are.”

His voice is light, easy,fun. My kryptonite.

“Is this a business-related call?”

There’s a pause in which I imagine that dimple creasing in his cheek, the whites of his teeth showing ever-so-slightly with that boyish grin.

“There should be a package on your desk.”

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