Page 57 of The Fall Back Plan
I blink. I hadn’t expected her to say no, and I rethink those couple of minutes in her kitchen and the other times I’ve sensed a connection. “No to a date?”
“Right. No to a date.” She gives a single, quick nod, like she’s punctuating her answer.
“Have I misread the situation? I haven’t been on a date since I got Brooklyn, so maybe I’m way out of practice, but I thought…” I trail off as she shakes her head.
“You haven’t misread things. I’m sure any woman would tell me I’m crazy for saying no right now, but it does come down to Brooklyn. If you and I don’t work out—and my track record says we won’t—I can’t be for her what she needs.”
I sit back and study her. “That’s a lot to pick through. I’m trying to figure out where to start. How about with your ‘track record.’ What does that mean?”
“It means I ended up back in Harvest Hollow because the one serious relationship I’ve ever had fell apart when I had no clue there were problems. And suddenly, I realized I didn’t have what it took to be in that relationship. Or my job. Or even Chicago.”
Whew, that’s a lot. “I have so many questions. But I guess the main one is clarifying: if you weren’t getting over your breakup, you’re saying you would still say no because of Brooklyn?” When she confirms it, I think about this for a second. “Explain to me why it would be an issue for you to mentor her if you and I go out on a terrible date?”
She’s biting her lip again, worrying at it like it’s going to reveal the answer. Got it: this is the thing she does when she’s having a hard time spitting out what she thinks she needs to say.
“It’s okay, Jo. Lay it on me. I can take it.”
She sighs. “Do you think it would be one date? Just one? If it was, that wouldn’t be a big deal, I agree. We’d be like ‘oh, well,’ and I’d be fine coming by for Brooklyn whenever. But what if it goes well? What if it’s not one date? What if it’s one, then five, then a relationship? And when that doesn’t work out, it gets super awkward for everyone, especially Brooklyn. She’s the last person who needs to come up short in any me-and-you scenario.”
I love that she’s so focused on doing right by Brooklyn, but I’m also torn between laughing at how far into the future she’s thinking or asking the half-dozen more questions her concerns have raised in my mind. I do the only thing that makes sense, and I stand and cross to where she’s sitting to get down on one knee in front of her. She looks surprised at first, and when I reach out and take both her hands in mine, she looks downright nervous.
“Jolie McGraw. You are absolutely right. I should be taking this all way more seriously.”
She tugs her hands. “Lucas—”
“Wait.” I keep a light grip on them and continue. “Jolie.” I look as deep into her eyes as she’ll let me, hers blinking rapidly as she fights the urge to look away. “I’m not proposing marriage, Jo,” I say in my most earnest voice. “I was thinking more like a burger.”
She freezes, her eyes locked on mine. Then she busts out laughing, pulls her hand away, and shoves me hard enough to topple me sideways. I grin at her from the floor.
“Thanks for clearing that up,” she says as I pick myself up and go back to the sofa. “But I’m not a casual dater. And that means I have to think through all the consequences.”
“What if I’m a casual dater?”
She gives me a funny look. “Are you?”
I think about this. “No? I haven’t had a lot of relationships because I can tell by a third date or so if we’re going to work out, and if the woman isn’t looking for something convenient and casual, I make it clear that I don’t have more to offer.”
Now she’s looking at me like I’m a bug or something. “So if she says she wants something long-term, you say ‘See you, bye’? That’s not awesome.”
“I say that if I know we’re not a good long-term fit. I’ve had long-term relationships where it wasn’t true love or anything, but we both knew that. I haven’t been in love before. I’ve been in like. I’ve been in comfort. I figure it’ll help me recognize love when I see it, and when I do, I’ll be all in. But like I said, I haven’t dated since I got custody of Brooklyn.” I sit back and give her a long look. “You’re sure a date is off the table for the two of us?”
She hesitates, her eyes traveling over my face—and, I’m conceited enough to notice, my pecs—and I get the sense she’s weighing the pros and cons. “I’m sure.”
“No problem.” I slap my thighs in that “conversation over” way that old men have and stand. “In that case, could you excuse me again for about three more minutes?”
She stands too. “Uh, sure. You need the bathroom or something?”
“Nope. Be back in a couple.” I walk out to my truck and put on my Appies hat. Then I climb the three steps to her porch and knock again.
She yanks the door open like she was waiting for me. “What are you—”
“Hey, friend.” I give her a big, friendly smile.
“Hey,” she answers, still obviously confused.
“I put on my friendship hat.” I point to it. “I thought I better make it literal so you could tell the difference between Date Lucas and Friend Lucas.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she says.
