Page 22 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“Well now, Mabel,” he says coyly. “I’d have to say that depends on the circumstances.” His eyes cut to mine before he adds, “And the space available.”

My face lights on fire as Mabel says, “Flexible, I like it,” and writes something down in her notebook. Why she needs this information I’ll never understand, and God knows I’ll never ask, but she scribbles with the intensity of a reporter at a White House press conference.

“Top or bottom what?” Lucy asks between licks of her ice cream.

“Bunk beds,” Bo says, his gaze staying on mine a beat longer before looking back at her.

“Daddy’s always on top,” she says, matter-of-fact.

I can’t help it, I laugh. We all do. Because what is even happening here?

By the time ice cream is over, I realize it was fun. Really fun.

I secure Mabel and her walker in the minivan while Bo straps Lucy into her booster seat.

Lucy is screaming invitations for me to come over and play, and Mabel is shouting her home address for Bo to make a house call. We slam the doors on both of them.

“Sorry about that,” I tell him as we stand between our vehicles.

His, “I’m not,” comes with a cheeky grin.

“You have a kid,” I say.

“And you have a nymphomaniac,” he replies, nodding toward where Mabel is staring lewdly through the windows.

“That I do.” I laugh.

“Do you want to join us for dinner?” he asks, leaning on the side of his cherry-red Jeep. “It would be rude not to extend the invite Lucy so graciously keeps screaming.”

As if scripted, Lucy’s muffled shout comes from the other side of the door.

“I can’t date you, Bo,” I tell him with a lift of my chin.

His laugh surprises me. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t date you either.”

My eyebrows pinch and he reads my confusion.

“Birdie, I have a kid. And wife…” He shakes his head. “But you seem like you can use a friend.”

I scoff, not bothering to hide my offense. “What the hell isthatsupposed to mean?”

“For starters, you told Gran and I you don’t have a social life. And you spent your birthday alone at a bar pretending to be someone else.” My chin pulls back, mouth gaping, but he doesn’t stop. “You need help.”

“Hel—”

“Gran told me about your situation,” he says, cutting me off. “Your surgery. And decisions. And what this year means to you…”

My face heats, and I don’t know if it’s anger or embarrassment or both. “And?” My arms cross over my chest.

“And you seem to be someone who wants to stay alive but doesn’t know how to live. Alive but not living. Not really.”

Alive but not living?Is he right? No…No.

Again, I scoff, because he doesn’t know me. I’m living. Aliveandliving.

“Just because you spent one night with me doesn’t mean you know me, Bo. I’ll have you know the reason I can’t have dinner with you is because I have plans. Which, I’m guessing shocks you since you apparently think I’m some kind of lonely loser with no life.”

He laughs. “I didn’t call you a loser.” I try to ignore the fact he leaves out the lonely part. “What kind of plans does Pam Beesly from the Rockies have on a Friday night?”

---