Page 8 of Cluelessly Yours

“I want to drive a taxicab. Or a big truck like that,” he announces, pointing toward the scene. “And I definitely want to be able to honk my horn like that too! I bet it’s fun!”

Pretty sure neither driver is having the time of their lives right now, but I keep that information to myself. Just because adulthood has broken me, doesn’t mean it should break him. He still believes in Santa and fairy tales and that being a grown-up means you get to do whatever you want—just like I did when I was a kid.

It doesn’t even matter, though, because before I can even finish my thought, Seth is already on to the next thing. Abruptly, he bobs and weaves on the sidewalk, fake-punching the air like he’s some kind of ninja, and it takes everything in me not to roar at him like the Indominus Rex fromJurassic World.

I hate to be this way as a mother—it’s literally the least flattering image of myself I can visualize—but some days, I swear it’s all I can do to survive.

“Seth! Watch out!” I shout, just as an older man stumbles because my child juked in front of his trouser-covered legs. Instantly, I grab Seth by the shoulder and pull him back in front of me. He has the decency to look sheepish, but if someone were staring at me the way I’m staring at him, I’d tuck my tail too.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell the innocent bystander and usher my wild child forward on the sidewalk, trying hard to keep my cool. As we walk, I bend at the hip to speak directly into his ear. “Please, for the love of everything, I need you to relax and pay attention, buddy. There are a lot of people on the street today, and we’re in a hurry to check on—Umph.” I groan as the impact I’ve just made with a stranger radiates throughout my shoulder, down into my arm, and ends in a tingle of my fingertips.

We hit hard, and this time, it wasmyfault.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so,sosorry,” I start to apologize as the irony of lecturing my kid about paying attention whilenotpaying attention pinkens my cheeks. Seth’s small smirk says he noticed.

It also says that he might be a sociopath, but I’m kind of in a one-problem-at-a-time phase.

Dressed in one of his sleek, signature suits, I quickly find that the stranger I bumped into, as it turns out, isn’t a stranger at all. He’s actually one of my most regular customers at the restaurant. As our gazes meet, his green-hazel eyes and strong jaw melt from a grimace into friendly recognition.

“Sammy!” Gavin Evans greets warmly, as though I didn’t just body check his abs hard enough to cause an internal bleed. “What a nice surprise, running into you out here in the wild.”

“That’s really sweet of you to say, but I doubt you can appreciate beingbumpedinto this literally, Mr. Evans. I normally try to keep maiming people off my list of services.”

“Running into you is always a highlight, even if I have to endure injuries. But…Mr. Evans?” He groans dramatically. “Sammy, I think we’ve more than reached the point where you can call me Gavin. Plus, Mr. Evans sounds genuinely terrifying.” He winks, and his simple kindness in the middle ofmy stress is enough to bring my shoulders ever so slightly away from my ears.

I laugh, disarmed even more as he makes a kooky face at Seth that makes him giggle.

“I only hear it at my office, and even then, I can barely stand it. My father is Mr. Evans, and I like to think I’m still too young to be anything but Gavin.”

“Okay.” I swallow hard to wet my now-dry tongue. “Gavin.”

“Much better.”

I know from the many professional dinners I’ve organized for him at La Croisette, Gavin Evans is midforties and incredibly successful. He’s an important man in the information technology side of the business world, and his company is based in New Jersey and consults with a lot of companies in New York—hence the business dinners in the city.

He’s an incredibly attractive guy—confident and tall, with the striking features to match. His sharp black hair has a barely there sprinkle of gray at the temples, and his clean-shaven, strong jaw gives way to a genuine smile full of healthy white teeth.

His personality is both dynamically self-assured and friendly, and truth be told, every interaction I’ve had with him has been pleasant—even playful and flirtatious on his end from time to time.

And for someone who was wearing a crop top and low-rise jeans the last time she felt attractive, the positive attention is refreshing.

But beyond that, I know absolutely nothing else about him.

Gavin eyes me closely for a long moment before lowering his voice to a soothing murmur. “Listen, I was going to call you to set up another business dinner at La Croisette soon, but I also wanted to call you for a dinner…with you.”

My head jerks back in confusion. “With me?”

“With you. And me. You and me, to be specific.”

“And, like, someone else?”

“No,” he says through a small chuckle. “No one else, actually. Two is the magic number.”

“Y-you want to take me to dinner? Like, on a date?”

“I would say that’s an apt description of what I’m trying to do,” he answers without the slightest hint of nerves or awkwardness. “What do you say?”

A flutter in my chest saysI’m flattered.

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