Single Dad Seeks Juliet

I roll my eyes. “Not that kind of mess, Dad. Clorox wipes won’t do the trick.”

“Horseshit,” he snaps. “All messes are the same. They seem nearly impossible to tackle, but put in a little elbow grease and you’ll get ’em fixed up.”

“That didn’t work with Raleigh,” I contest with a sigh.

He snorts derisively almost before I can even finish my ex’s name. “That’s because Raleigh was a blowhard. Not a mess. You can’t fix blowhards, no matter how hard you try. They’ll always be whipping their dick out when they shouldn’t.”

“Dad!”

“Tell me it’s not the truth,” he challenges, and I shut my mouth.

“This is about that fella you’ve been following around, isn’t it?”

I turned surprised eyes in his direction, and he laughs. “A man can tell when an engine has been rebuilt, darlin’. You sound different, run smoother. It’s easy to spot if you know what to look for, and you’ve been cruising along just fine ever since he came into your life.”

Jake. I sigh. Just thinking his name spurs the deepest, most intense ache that starts from the pit of my stomach and doesn’t stop until it wraps itself around my heart.

God, I miss his teasing and his jokes and his laughs and his smiles. I miss the way he makes me feel and the way he makes everything so much more fun. So much better. I miss the way he challenges me and calms me and makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

I just…miss him. So much.

You’re in love with him.

We haven’t spoken since Sunday night at the bowling alley, when I fucked everything up.

But over the past few days, he has never once left my mind, and I’ve typed—and then immediately deleted before hitting send—more text messages to him than I can even count. If only I knew how to move forward after actually sending any of them.

“So, what’s the problem?” my dad asks, pulling my attention back to the external. “Why’d you make a mess of it?”

“Because, Dad. It’s complicated. He’s the bachelor in my contest for the paper. He’s dating five other women who are all vying for his affection. I can’t just…just…”

“You can,” he interjects.

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, girl. Ain’t no rules when it comes to love. Haven’t you heard that song? All’s fair in love and war.”

I nod, sinking my head into my hands. “Even so, I’ve messed it up beyond repair. He…well…something happened between us, and he wanted to talk about it, but I…well, I freaked out. I told him it was all a mistake.”

“So untell him.”

“Why do you think everything with men is so easy? So cut-and-dried?”

“Because it is,” he snaps with a laugh. “It’s you womenfolk who make us out to be way more complicated than we are. Tell him the truth. Tell him you were stupid. Tell him how you feel about him. That’ll be that.”

I guffaw. “If he feels the same way!”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I could find out the opposite is true. Maybe he completely regrets…everything with me. Imagine the heartache then!”

“Imagine the heartache of sittin’ on your asshole while he puts his ring on another woman’s goddamn finger.”

I scowl, and he nods, smiling. The bastard.

“Do you love him, Holley?”

When I don’t respond right away, he asks it again.

And then again.

And then again.

Until I finally shout my answer in frustration.

“Yes, okay! I love him!” I huff, and he sets down his rod before grabbing the end of mine and tossing it right into the water. Jesus Christ! I don’t really know much about fishing, but I know you’re not supposed to do that!

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Quiet,” he chastises, leaning into his knees. “I just sacrificed my favorite rod to get your attention, girl, so you better listen.”

I swallow hard.

“Real love—the kind I had with your momma—it doesn’t come around all the time. I don’t believe so much in the idea that there’s only one person out there for each of us, but I do think it’s a hell of a mission to find ’em. So, you can either sit out here on your ass with me and avoid dealin’ with your shit, or you can go back to that fella and tell him how you feel, consequences be damned.”

I chew on my lip as my stomach dances uproariously. Is it really that simple? And are those really my only two logical choices?

My dad waits patiently—possibly the most patiently Phil Fields has ever waited for anything.

When it hits me how right he is—how much the way I handle this could shape the rest of my life—I make a decision. The only decision.

“Take me back to San Diego, please. I have a party to get to tonight.”HolleyMy hand shakes as I sweep eye shadow across the crease in the lid of one eye and then the other. It’s a dramatic, smoky look, one I’m not known for sporting with any regularity at all.