Page 40 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Okay,” Maggie called, running into the kitchen to get her and Bryce’s shared cell phone. It was basic, only allowing for texts and calls from preapproved numbers. If I could swing it, I’d keep them off social media until they were thirty. Knowing my daughter, however, she’d find some corner of the dark web that would tell her how to circumvent any protections I could put in place.
Being a parent for kids their age was impossible. They were being pushed by the world to learn more, to experience more. A world that was telling them things that were both wildly inappropriate and entirely educational. They felt older and more mature than they really were. And it was impossible to protect them. No matter how badly I wanted to make their lives easier, to remove their obstacles and stress, I couldn’t.
Nights like this were like watching sand escape the hourglass in real time. Still so innocent, still naive to the toughest lessons I’d had to learn, but in a lot of ways, smarter and more aware than I was ready to give them credit for.
She was already tapping on the screen.
“I want to see the message before you send it.”
Maggie nodded, typing three times faster than I’d be able to manage on my own. “Okay. How’s that?”
The message was enough to melt any reserve that might be lingering.
Hi Lily. Happy Christmas Eve Eve. I loved the cookies from your last batch. Can you help me bake some tomorrow? No one should be alone on Christmas, and Dad said if we have the ability to help someone who is, we should do something, so we’re inviting you over tomorrow. We’re playing games and going to church and eating. You can even choose your favorite Christmas movie. Please come?
P.S. This is your friend Maggie.
My voice was rough when I told her, “It’s perfect.”
She beamed, hitting send with a nervous little exhale. “So now what?”
“Now you wait to see if she says yes.” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “And if she says no, then we respect her answer, okay?”
Maggie nodded solemnly, but I could see in her eyes she was not prepared for that to be the case.
Bryce came back in the room, arms loaded down with board games, the top few wobbling dangerously. “I think I’ve got enough. Can someone help me?”
Chapter Ten
Lily
“What the fuck am I doing?” I breathed, my hand poised in the air, unable to make contact with the front door of the King house. “It’s just ... people. People hanging out together in a house. And he’s not going to give you shit in front of his kids.”
I was about 84 percent sure of that fact, but the sheer number of times I’d replayed our littlethingat the concert was reaching sickening heights. It hadn’t been like the other times we’d interacted. It’d held tension. Tension meant things I didn’t particularly want to uncover.
Except wasn’t that the point of a good ol’ mental spiral? We uncovered like a motherfucker, over and over and over, until the scab was well and picked open.
The moment I’d gotten his text saying I didn’t need to watch the kids the day after the concert thing, I knew that man was full of shit if he said he wasn’t thinking about ourthingtoo.
My own musings were trapped in a three-part loop.
First, I had gotten arm tingles when he touched me. In general, I avoided tingles from complicated men like him.
Second—and a somewhat problematic second point it was—I hadflirted. Denying said flirting was stupid, because even when I did it, I knew what the hell was happening. He may not have, though. Somepeople had the gift of subtle flirting, and I was one of them. There was a fine line between being mean, giving someone harmless shit, and actual flirting. I straddled the fuck out of that line. But I couldn’t help it. Me being nice would’ve made his head explode.
Third, and most important, he had not flirted back. What hehaddone was react in such a perfectly grumpy way that a sick little thrill shot up my spine whenever his eyes met mine.
After Maggie’s concert, we didn’t converse further. After effusively praising Maggie’s performance and giving both kids a hug, I escaped back to my car—safe from any more loaded Barrett eye contact or interactions with spineless married dweebs.
Which was good, because that man with the wandering eyes and skinny arms was not my type.
What my typewaswas not a concern I needed to deal with at the current moment, because this sweet little invitation from the kids, who were rapidly becoming my favorite people in the world, had nothing to do with my ... type.
Not that Barrett was anything of the sort. The muscles were fine. Big and defined and clearly well maintained. The jaw and the dark eyes were ... whatever. Anyone could have a cut jawline, and it didn’t make me want to remove my undergarments. Trust me, a good profile wouldn’t make your life easier.
That was the other part of my spiral that I didn’t want to touch with several ten-foot poles. I didn’t even know what my type was. It felt impossible to think that anyone would want to deal with me—long term, at least. But the thought of only having short-term dealings for the rest of my life ...
That left me feeling like my chest was strangely empty. Like all I’d ever hear were echoes of the things I didn’t have, clanging around against my ribs. The worst part was, it would somehow be even scarier if he was sweet and thoughtful and saw through the worst parts of me.
