Page 32 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

I looked over my shoulder to see the guys chatting it up and snacking. “I have my ways,” I said.

He replied, “You only needed that smile.”

If he wasn’t right in front of me, I would have done a happy dance on my two left feet. But since he was, I looked at my trunk to hide just how happy that comment made me. With my facial expression somewhat managed, I handed him a thermos and a stack of Styrofoam cups before grabbing the other thermos for myself.

With everything organized and set up on the table, Tyler poured himself a cup of coffee—black.

“Is there anything you're needing from us this week?” I asked him after a sip of my heavily doctored cup.

“Actually,” he said, “if you could bring some paperwork by the city, that would be really helpful.”

“No problem,” I replied. “I'm really impressed by how much work you guys have done already. I almost can't believe this used to just be an empty field.”

He held the Styrofoam rim on his lips as he said, “That's one of my favorite parts of the job.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to be distracted by those lips.

His hazel eyes on me were just as distracting. “In a lot of jobs, you do the work and then you have to do it over and over again. With construction, you can actually see the effects of all the work that we're doing and the lasting results. Fifty years from now, I’ll be driving my kids by this building and saying, ‘When I was your age, I built this.’”

I pictured Tyler with children, and my mind went haywire. And speaking of children... “So I told my grandma about how you rescued me on Friday. And she wants to thank you personally at my nephew's birthday party on Saturday.”

Tyler grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “She does?”

I nodded. “In fact, I'm pretty sure if you don't come, she will call a senior ride and track you down herself.”

“Well, I can't disappoint Grandma.” He pretended to be at a loss of what to do. Adorable.

I bit my lip, smiling. “I don't think so.”

“What time?” he asked.

“It starts at five. Dad will grill hamburgers and hot dogs. We'll put on some TV for the kids and play card games. It'll be fun.”

“Sounds like it. Any tips on the gift? How old is he turning?”

“He’s four, and you don't need to get a gift,” I said. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“There’s no way I'm showing up empty-handed.” I got the feeling he wasn’t going to be talked out of this one, so I said, “Anything Paw Patrol is always a win with Kenner.”

“That’s a show, right? I don't have any nieces or nephews, so I’m not really up on the kid stuff.”

Teasing him, I said, “Are you sure you’re not fifty?”

He laughed. “My mom would lose her mind if I reached fifty without a single grandchild for her to spoil rotten.”

“I know the feeling.”

“The setups?” he asked.

“Yep, not to mention the sad looks at every family get together.”

He groaned. “And the wallet photos of every niece/cousin/daughter/cocker spaniel.”

I laughed. “Dogs too?”

“Can’t have a boatload of kids without a dog,” he replied.

“Fair. But I would go with something a little meatier for Texas. Maybe a Saint Bernard?”

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