Page 8 of Flirty Thirty

“And I say a lot of things I shouldn’t. I do a lot of things without thinking and then I over-analyze later. I’ve been jogging down your street for twenty-two days, and I’m not normally so flustered around a woman, but…” He waves his hand at me like I should know the end of his sentence.

I give him a look like I’ve eaten something sour and prod, “But…?”

He grins. “You areinsanelyattractive.”

My nose rumbles, a snort billowing out just to emphasize how “insanely attractive” I am. I think about my order—a bowl of fruit and a glass of water—something light because I’m packing pounds that are usually frowned upon in today’s society. My hair is still left a mess from earlier, there’s a tea stain I hadn’t noticed until we were on the way here, and yesterday there was whipped cream painting my nose.

I push from my seat. If he thinks I’m going to sit through this bullshit, he’s got another thing coming.

“Wait… I’m scaring you, aren’t I?” he asks, his brows etched inward, giving off that “family man” vibe I’d first thought of when I saw him.

I pause, halfway between sitting back down and standing up. “Yes, to be frank.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not good at… this part.”

I ease my way back into my seat. “What part?”

“Talking.” He laughs at himself, toying with the corner of his menu. “I’m a very forward person.”

“You don’t say,” I joke, referring to not only his “blurting problem” but the kiss. The dimple in his left cheek dips in, and my stomach flutters start to relax. He seems to have found the casual air between us as well, leaning back in his seat.

“What do you want in life?”

“What?”

He grins. “I want a family.”

“So you said.”

“A wife, kids. I want people to love and to spoil. I want to go on long road trips where everyone fights, yet we still have a good time. I want three dogs and a big backyard. I see people with those things, and I can’t help but think… yeah, I’m happy. But that? That’sjoy.”

I raise an amused eyebrow. “That’s quite the Hallmark movie you described.”

He laughs. “Maybe.” He reaches for his hat, pulling it from his messy, blond head. His hand runs through the strands, temporarily distracting me from our conversation.

“So… I come off a little strong,” he continues. “I’m not good at beginnings. Asking a woman out, dating, flirting… However, I think I’d be a great ender.”

My eyes narrow as I process. His tactic feels like conversational whiplash. Have to say, never met one like him… and it’s… well, it’s adorable. “This isn’t a business brunch, is it?”

An unexpected, yetveryattractive blush rushes over his face. “It’s all tied together, I promise. I thought I’d clear things up first.”

“Honestly, I’m more confused than enlightened at this point.”

He sits up. “All right… here it is. I was running yesterday, enjoying the scenery and trying not to get consumed with thoughts of whether or not the gorgeous woman who lives on my new route would be outside. I seriously considered avoiding her street altogether until I caught sight of her, checking mail on a Sunday, dancing with her mug and her nose painted with whipped cream. She finally said good morning as I ran past, and I nearly fell on my ass. I’d never heard a voice so beautiful, so enchanting, that I just… well… I kissed her, partly out of fear that I was imagining things, mostly because I’d lost my damn mind.” He tilts his head as if he just spouted off something as trivial as the weather. “Now that I know she’s very real, I want her to know where I stand in case I don’t get another chance.”

It takes me several moments to catch my breath, to process the words that are continuing to spin me around on a turn-table. I think I’ve found my exact opposite—a man with no pretense, no small talk or flirtatious dance. A man who just lays his entire hand on the table and hopes for the best. I admire that, even if I could never pull it off.

My breath comes out in a shakywhooshas I reach for my drink. “‘Forward’ doesn’t do you justice, does it?”

He grins, his tight shoulders relaxing in a stance that makes me wonder how many people are put off by his social faux pas. “I’ve been told.”

The waitress chooses that very convenient moment to take our orders—I change mine to something much heartier than I’d originally planned. If he can be himself, then I damn well will be myself.

“Am I still scaring you?” he asks, concern swimming in his pretty blue eyes. If I found him attractive before, it is nothing to how I see him now.

“No.” I let out a bemused chuckle. I used to dream of these impossible men. Men I’d convinced myself didn’t exist. I did such a good job selling the concept to myself that I hardly believe a word coming out of his mouth, and even if I did believe him, I’m set in my ways.

I swirl my straw around in my glass of apple juice. “Interesting that you pick a woman who isn’t interested in family at all.”

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