Single Dad Seeks Juliet

“Yeah, I see her a lot. And…well, so far, the women haven’t really been all that exciting.”

“And Holley is?”

“What are you trying to say?”

He sighs and lifts up both of his hands defensively before stretching out his shoulders by pulling them across his body and looking me directly in the eye. “Nothing, man. It’s just an observation. Some food for thought, you know.”

My mind reels with flashbacks of all the tiny moments I’ve had with Holley over the last two weeks or so. The laughs, the smiles, the dancing…the undeniably intimate moment Saturday night.

Garrett stares at me hard through it all before opening his mouth one more time. “At the end of this thing…maybe just pay attention to whichever woman you think about the most—no matter who she is.”

I nod numbly, truly considering the way Holley’s been making me feel for the first time.

Jesus Christ, how could I not have noticed before?

Seeing the look on my face, Garrett takes pity on me, shaking my shoulder softly and then patting me on the back.

“Ready to run again?” he asks, knowing me well enough to know I need the outlet.

I don’t pause long enough to do anything more than nod before taking off back down the beach in the other direction.

I need to run. Hard and fast and as long as I can.

The truth is there, waiting for me to find it.

I just don’t know if I’m running in the right direction.HolleyWhen Jake walks into the skating rink wearing his signature jeans and T-shirt, he looks even better than ever. I feel like I’m always saying that, but it’s always the truth.

The fit of his jeans is perfection, and a lavender T-shirt stretches deliciously across the muscles of his chest.

Thanks to the support from his light-purple apparel, his eyes stand out vibrantly. Hell, even from twenty feet away as he scans the arena looking for me, no one could miss that striking gaze of his.

When he finally spots me, at a high-top table in the corner, his mouth melts into a smile.

My God, the things I’d do to have a man that attractive look at me like that for the rest of my life.

I shake off my thoughts as he approaches, and I return the smile as naturally as I can manage.

I haven’t seen him since Saturday night when I spent the evening eating brownies and sundaes with him and Chloe while watching the first two episodes of Making a Murderer on Netflix. It’s been out for a while, but I’d never dared to watch it on my own.

It was interesting as hell, and the three of us—we got invested.

In fact, it was almost distracting enough to make me forget about the near kiss/grope/reveal of all my ugly feelings in the kitchen that happened just beforehand.

Almost.

I’ve spent the last few days tangled in a web of feelings even Rapunzel wouldn’t be able to get me out of.

When Jake texted Monday night to say he couldn’t make it to our date-planning session, I spiraled even further.

What does all of it mean? Does any of it mean anything? Am I being ridiculous?

I don’t want to be the patient who gets inappropriately emotionally attached to her therapist.

I mean, maybe none of it even means anything and I need to just chill.

That’s the last thought I have before Jake sets his phone down on the table between us and says hello.

I swallow the thick knot of saliva in my throat and try to act normal.

“Hey, Jake,” I say nonchalantly, forcing a smile to my lips that feels embarrassingly similar to Pennywise the Clown.

He studies me closely—almost as if he’s gathering evidence for a dissertation—before saying anything back. I fidget and blink rapidly under his scrutiny, unnecessarily retucking the hair that’s already behind my ear and licking my lips while trying—under much emotional opposition—to maintain eye contact.

He smiles then, looking around at the rink as the disco lights come down and a group of teenagers giggle their way out into the middle, and then back at me.

“I’m sorry you had to plan this date alone, but be honest with me…you chose it as revenge, didn’t you?”

“Skating is America’s favorite pastime, Jake,” I say smartly.

He smirks. “That’s baseball.”

“You’ll skate, and you’ll like it,” I threaten.

“You’re really cute when you’re vindictive.”

“Wha…what?” I stutter, my breathing suddenly erratic at the unexpected remark.

“You’re cute,” he says again, slowly and clearly and enunciating in a way I can’t deny. Not only that, but he doesn’t even add a qualifier this time. I’m just cute. Like, all the time?

What in the blackberry bush’s root system is going on here?

He raises an eyebrow in challenge, daring me to ask him what he means by that when a stunning woman with wavy auburn hair and a low-cut blouse I know to be Lydia, Jake’s date number three, sidles up to the table next to us and opens her stupid mouth.