Page 69 of Summer Affair
After her last stop, Jillian had sped home to get ready for the barbeque. She’d made her deliveries in record time, the cakes had turned out beautifully, and the tasting couldn’t have gone better. She even met a new client for a fall wedding, which was amazing. Her little home business was finally starting to grow wings.
If things kept up like this, she’d start booking clients months out, and then she’d know exactly what her monthly income would be and exactly what her hours would be. Juggling work, Sammy, and life wouldn’t be as chaotic. She could practically taste the grand opening of her tasting room.
She decided on the way home that she wouldn’t rush. Sammy was already next door at the party, her cakes for tomorrow were ready to be frosted, and she wanted to take her time getting ready for the party.
It wasn’t often that she had a kid-free house and the luxury of primping. And today she wanted to feel pretty. She also wanted to feel prepared, so she turned on her favorite podcast.
Welcome back, this is Dr.Claire and on today’s menu is finding your perfect. Your person. Your unicorn in a herd of donkeys. Perfect is what we all want, right? For the perfect man or womanto walk into your life and then have the perfect relationship. News flash: There is no perfect partner. The person you’ve envisioned does not exist. There are no unicorns or Prince Charmings. The world is filled with real people who, like you, have real flaws.
For the first time, Jillian felt as if she were ahead of the curve. Call it age or motherhood, but she knew that perfect wasn’t real. Knew that relationships, no matter how matched two people were, took commitment and hard work.
Stop obsessing. Ticking off boxes won’t get you any closer. In fact, it might hold you back from some exciting experiences. Lists are the first wall of defense designed to keep you from being hurt. But you have to be open to love to find love. And that means being open to a variety of people.
Jillian was about to argue her case when she really internalized the heart of what Dr.Claire was saying. Were her lists a way of protecting herself? She’d been so crushed by the divorce, it had taken her three years and seven lists to put herself back out there.
My advice is to pick the two most important dealmakers and two dealbreakers, then toss out the rest. Otherwise, you’ll miss out on some great people because expectations and reality will never match up. Don’t look at dating as looking fortheone. Take the opportunity to meet a good guy or gal, who might challenge your beliefs about what your type is and what real love is.
Jillian flipped to her Perfect Guy list and scanned it. From height to hairline, being a single dad to being okay with not having more children, her requirements were shallow. She hadn’t thought of it as being too picky; she considered it being prepared. And as a single mom, being prepared had saved her butt more times than she wanted to count. But maybe preparation didn’t apply to the dating world. Maybe that’s why it took her three years to say yes to a drink.
It wasn’t that Jillian hadn’t received attention from men over the years. She’d had her fair share of flirty and fun guys offering to buy her a drink and chat her up, but she’d always found a reason to say no.
What were her real dealmakers and dealbreakers? Her mind automatically went right to Clay. He might be younger and married to his career, but he was kind and sweet and incredibly sexy.
Dr.Claire was right. Jillian didn’t need to commit to forever, she just had to commit to a fun fling with a good guy who made her feel sexy and alive.
Her world consisted of her and Sammy, and a lot of worry— about finances, business, Sammy’s happiness. For once she was going to live in the now and enjoy every single moment of what today and the next few weeks brought. So instead of the safe shorts and summer top that she’d normally choose, Jillian reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a flirty, more-fitted-than-not sundress, which may or may not make her bustline look like J.Lo’s. She also chose a bikini. Not the teal one, since she felt that was something private between them, but a yellow one—a little wink of a reminder.
She looked at herself in the mirror and found herself smiling. Every time she thought about Clay she smiled.
Taking care with her hair and doing a little touch-up on her makeup, she twirled in the mirror. She reflected a confident Girl on Fire looking for some fun in the sun.
Grabbing the container of cookie dough, which she made to go with Clay’s homemade ice cream, she slipped on a pair of strappy sandals and made her way next door. She didn’t use the bridge, instead going to the front door like someone who was arriving for a pool party.
Expecting it to take a while for someone to answer since it sounded like everyone was already enjoying the party in the back, she knocked. And then wondered if she should just head around the side yard. Only before she could decide the best course of action, the door opened and there stood Clay.
In board shorts, bare feet, and wet, spiky hair, he looked like an ad forSports Illustrated.Then she realized that he had been on the cover and made a mental note to google the image.
“Hi,” she said.
He didn’t speak, instead, his gaze tracked down her, taking a leisurely inventory of her bare legs, her dress, and the yellow bikini ties at her neck.
“I brought some cookie dough for the—”
She didn’t get to finish her statement because Clay shut the door behind him and planted one on her that sent her head spinning.
“I thought you’d be in back,” she whispered.
“I’ve been looking out the window since you drove up,” he said against her mouth, delivering another drug-inducing kiss.
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
“Which means I’ve been thinking about that kiss for twenty minutes so I might need another taste.”
And taste he did. Nipping and cradling her lips, his hands gliding down her back and over the edge of her sundress, where his fingers slid just under the hem—lightly brushing her skin and teasing her into a frenzy.
She did some touching of her own, running her free hand up and down his bare chest, from pecs to abs and even lower because his board shorts were wet and hanging from his hips. When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily.
He rested his forehead to hers. “Not that I don’t want to take this into my bedroom, but I bet we have less than two minutes before someone notices I’m gone and makes us.”
