Page 19 of Tastes Like Summer

I laugh, her small, soft hand still in mine. “Persnickety?”

“Persnickety.”

“Okay, then.”

“Friends?” She looks up at me with a hopeful expression that tugs at something in my chest—weird—her caramel cheeks flushed in anticipation.

Friends. Something about the word doesn’t sit right with me, and I’m not sure why. Regardless, friends would make my life easier. Being friends with Diana would make Rachel’s life easier, too.

So: “Yes, let’s be friends.”

“Oh, good!” Daisy pops up once again out of nowhere. “You’ve introduced yourselves. Saved me the hassle!” She laughs as she looks nervously between us, then at our still-held hands, and back again. “Wow, that sure is a long handshake.” Daisy laughs once more, though her disappointment and discomfort is impossible to hide this time.

Jesus, this is awkward.

Diana pulls her hand from mine with a little too much force, though her expression remains unchanged—the perfect picture of zen. As if she meant to hold my hand for longer than usual, and she stands by it. As if this young counselor isn’t acting out of line.

“Right, well. I just came over to see if you two needed some help, but it looks like you’re doing just fine. So I’m just gonna…”

“Yup. No issues here,” Diana says, voice saccharine. “Thanks so much for checking up on us.”

Daisy clears her throat once, visibly uncomfortable. “Okie dokie. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?”

Once she’s out of earshot, we burst out into laughter.

“God, that’s so fucking embarrassing. I am so sorry for her,” I tell her, shaking my head.

“Is she always like this with you?” Diana asks, slipping her apron over her head and tying it behind her back. The movement pushes her chest out, forcing me to look away even though I really, really didn’t want to. It’s not a conscious effort, like it was with Daisy. And it’s certainly not one that isn’t well-received. Diana has a perfect set of⁠—

Whoa! Slow down there, cowboy.

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh, a little frazzled by my own train of thought. “But it’s bordering on harassment. She kept touching my arm while she was helping set up right before you got here. She also always seems to catch me at pick-up to give me an update on Rachel. Which, at first I appreciated but, like, I don’t fucking want her to tell me what they did at arts and crafts every day? Unless it’s something important about her safety or happiness, I want my daughter to tell me about it. So Rachel and I can bond over it. I think it’s pretty evident this seemingly-innocent crush she has on me has turned into a full on inconvenience.”

“Oh my god,” she says with a laugh. “That’s crazy. You’re like twelve years her senior! What is she thinking?”

“You calling me an old man?”

“No,” she smiles. “Just saying that’s a big age difference. Duh. She must be, what, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

I dig through the basket of utensils, find the food signs, and place them in their respective spots. “Here.” I take a few items and hand them over to her so she can help set up. She takes them from me with a smile. “But yeah, absolutely. She’s way too young. I would never date anyone who doesn’t pass the ‘half plus seven rule,’ you know? Too weird.”

“The what?”

“The ‘half plus seven’ rule? It’s what determines whether someone is age appropriate for you. The minimum age you can date someone has to be half your age plus seven. So the youngest I could date without any weirdness—or too much of it—would be⁠—”

“Twenty-four.”

I nod and she takes a beat to think about it.

“I still think that might be too young for you.”

“Now you’re telling me who I can date?” I poke her in the side with a pair of tongs with a laugh.

She swats my hand away and shoots me a menacing look. Still, though, she suppresses a smile.

“No. I’m just saying there is a huge difference in where someone is in their lives in their mid-thirties and their early twenties.”

“Not necessarily. I could find myself a twenty-four year-old looking to have kids and settle down immediately.”