Page 95 of Hello Single Dad

To celebrate, Cohen and I decided to grab dessert from Seaton Bakery before going to Seaton Pier. Most people from Emerson preferred Brentwood’s beaches, so the risk of being seen was pretty low.

He held my hand on the way to the bakery and told me about some of the music that came through the speakers as we drove. Most of the musicians on his playlist had played at his bar one night or another.

“I can introduce you to the bands when they come,” he said. “They usually have awesome stories.”

The hope in his voice hurt. “When we can be together in public.”

He gave me a look. “Academy parents don’t go to bars like mine.”

I tried to imagine any of the parents I worked with at Collie’s, either on the dance floor or drinking a five-dollar draft while eating peanuts. I couldn’t. “Good point,” I said.

He turned another corner and pulled into the parking lot. “And besides, I don’t think we’ll have to keep doing this in secret for long.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why do you think that?”

Taking both of my hands in his, he looked me in the eyes. “I’m taking the issue to the school board and changing the rule. It’s archaic. And frankly, a pain in the ass.”

I giggled. “It is. And I saw your speech.”

He tilted his head, confused.

“You left it on your bedside table.”

“Well then... any notes?”

“It was perfect.”

He leaned across the console and gave me a gentle kiss before unbuckling and getting out. Walking into Seaton Bakery this time already felt like home. Gayle greeted us with a smile, and despite the Saturday morning rush, Chris came out to personally say hello.

With our orders in, Cohen and I sat at a small table by the window. I watched people around us eating and enjoying each other.

“You’re very observant,” Cohen said.

“Says the person observing me,” I teased.

“Fair.”

I shook my head, smiling at him. “When I was growing up, I was only allowed to be around one kind of people. I was friends with the kids of my parents’ friends, and my parents were friends with people who could get them further in life.”

“I know the type,” Cohen muttered, looking at his clasped hands on the table.

My eyes traced his fingers. There wasn’t a hint of his ring anymore—no indentation or tan line. Just a tattoo of an ocean wave on his middle finger. “When did you get that?” I asked.

He glanced down to see what I was referencing, almost as if he had forgotten it. “Seventeen. My mom chased me out of the house with a frying pan, and I decided it was probably time for me to leave.”

My heart broke. Cohen didn’t open up much about his past, but every time he did, I found myself wanting to hug the sweet man in front of me and the hardened teen he must have been.

“You’re sad.”

I shook my head. “Only sorry.”

“Sometimes it feels like all of that happened to an entirely different person.”

“I feel the same way about myself in high school. If I saw myself back then, I wouldn’t recognize her.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. A snake doesn’t look at the skin it shed and see a snake.”

Gayle brought coffee and cupcakes to the table and gave Cohen a kiss on the head before walking away.

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