Page 58 of The Difference Between

Our eyes hook and hold, and I’m whacked by the urge to ask about his love life. Remy said he was single, and unless he’s playing a game, him asking me out—repeatedly—confirms this. Even if he knows the bartender—even if they’ve slept together—they aren’t now. She’s down the bar talking to other customers, not paying us any mind.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Darts,” he explains. “Every Friday.”

I straighten. “You’re here for the darts tournament?”

He brings his beer to his mouth, pausing before taking a sip. “You a darts fan?”

“Do you know Leland Cooper?”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah.” This must be what an FBI agent feels like when they get a lead on a case. “Why?”

“Um.” I swallow. How do I explain this? “Well . . .”

And then there he is, Leland Cooper, stepping up to the bar and clapping Gavin on the back. They exchange hellos then Gavin says, “Leland, this is Reese—” He gives me a devious look. “Who I find very age appropriate.”

I give Gavin a flat look as I shake Leland’s hand—I will never tell my mother about this—and introduce myself while taking note of his neon orange jersey. A jersey. This man needs the fashion police called on him, stat.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

And then he turns sideways, and I see it: his nose the size of a small country.

To Gavin, he says, “See you in a few?”

It’s rude, but I blatantly stare. At his nose. When he faces me dead on, it camouflages into his face, but he turns again and there it is: A profile worthy of a punchline. I can’t not see it. It’s huge. It’s the biggest nose I’ve ever seen. If Gavin wasn’t sitting next to me, I’d pull up his profile picture to see how I missed it.

I can’t have a baby with a schnoz like that, which is why as soon as he’s out of earshot I say, “I can’t have a baby with a schnoz like that.”

Gavin’s brows pinch. “A baby . . . ?” He looks at Leland across the room like I’m talking about someone else. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t have a big-nosed baby,” I repeat. “That thing’s like Pinocchio went on a lying bender.”

Gavin chokes on his beer. “What?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’s married.”

“Really?” Now that shocks me. How did I miss that? And what is the situation where someone’s husband has sperm bank deposits? “I wonder if she knows.”

“Knows?”

I bat the question away and bite my lip.

A big nose?

There are loads of talented plastic surgeons in the city, but I don’t want to bring a baby into this world with a beak like that if I can avoid it. They’ll be teased relentlessly, which will result in me throwing down with some pint-sized playground punks and their parents. I’ll go to prison, and then my child will end up in prison because that’s how the cycle of intergenerational criminality works. I refuse to let that happen over a nose. I won’t do it.

My work for the night is done: Leland’s off the list. I can overlook his ridiculous fashion choices—but that nose? It’s cruel and unusual.

“Reese?” Gavin nudges my knee with his. “What are you talking about?”

I blow out a breath, debating. It makes sense Gavin would know him: They’re both in the prime sperm donor age range living in a small town surrounded by other small towns.

“Reese?” he repeats.

His blue eyes bounce—I can’t tell him the truth.

“Reese?” Gavin tosses another barbaric handful of trail mix into his mouth, chewing as he says, “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Work.” Not a lie. “A work project. That’s why I’m here.”

He brushes his hands off—this time near the community bowl—and narrows his eyes. “A Chicago PE firm sent you to Fontain to see Leland?”