Page 107 of Biggest Player
Baby steps.
When we pull up to the small brightly colored ice cream slash tourist shop, Wyatt is practically vibrating with excitement and frothing at the mouth for something sweet. The sign above the entrance readsScoops Ahoy!and the smell of freshly made waffle cones wafts through the air.
My mouth waters, and we’re not even inside yet.
It’s a whimsical wonderland of colors, twinkling fairy lights, and a dizzying array of ice cream flavors—not to mention T-shirts, mini cacti, hoodies, postcards, and other Arizona-themed treasures.
Wyatt beelines for the counter, licking her lips as she takes in her options, and I can tell by the look in her eyes she is wishing for and wanting each one of them.
“Can I get ... um ... chocolate chip cookie dough? No, wait! Mint chocolate chip! Or maybe both?” my child babbles, her indecision making Dex laugh—and me cringe.
I can handle it when my daughter gets hyper, but he’s not used to it.
I wonder what he’s thinking right now.
“Why not both?” Dex suggests, winking at me over the top of her head. “YOLO, am I right?”
I forget that he’s a man who makes a ton of money.
Wyatt’s eyes light up. “Really? Thanks, Dex! You’re officially my favorite person.” She hugs him tight around the waist, squeezing her eyes shut in the process.
“Hey!” I protest, feigning hurt. “What about me?”
She turns to me with a mischievous grin. “You’re my favorite too.” Pauses. “Obviously.”
I raise a brow. “How many favorites do you have?”
Wyatt starts counting out loud. “You, Dad, Mrs. Fletcher, my art teacher. Conrad, the lizard. The guy at the botanical garden who always lets me pick the daisies. Dex.”
“Dude, that’s a lot of favorites,” Dex points out.
My daughter shrugs. “I like a lot of things.”
We place our orders. Wyatt does order the double-scoop monstrosity that is her heart’s desire, while Dex and I opt for a hot fudge sundae we intend to share.
Wyatt scores us a booth by the window and immediately starts chattering, lacing her fingers together and setting her hands on the table.
“So,” she begins. “When are we getting together again?” Her gaze bounces between Dex and me.
“We’ll see.” We haven’t even had dessert yet, and she’s already ten steps ahead.
“Don’t you think it went well?” my daughter asks, putting me on the spot. “I knowIhad fun.”
Fun.
There’s that word again . . .
“Of course I think it went well,” I say, face flushing when Dex turns to watch me, curious, I’m sure, as to what I’m going to say next.
“Then why wouldn’t we get together again?” Wyatt urges. “We can go to San Diego or something.”
If I were drinking water, I would choke. “San Diego?”
Fortunately for me, Dex decides to chime in, splaying his hands on the tabletop, mirroring my daughter’s pose.
“Easy there, little spider monkey. Let’s have ice cream first before we take a road trip—thenwe can hijack all your mom’s plans to keep me in the friend zone.”
I relax, sighing back into the leather of the booth. “Dex and I will talkprivatelyabout whether or not we’re going to see each other again—and if you’ll be invited. Young lady.”
