Page 118 of Scouting the Single Dad

I stare at the cursor blinking in Adult Programs. “Maybe I’m not lonely,” I say, too quickly. “Maybe I’m picky.”

And has she forgotten we live in a tiny resort town? Men are in short supply. I went to grade school with most of the eligible bachelors in town, most of them not so eligible.

“You’re allowed to be picky,” she says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Pick someone who makes you feel like the best version of yourself. Or at least someone who doesn’t pose with a trout.”

All men in this area pose with their fish. Or their dog. Or an elk. Or pose beside a boat/tree/mountain—take your pick! “I’m not downloading a dating app at work.”

Margo shrugs. “Who’s gonna know? Angelina? That nag is gone for the day, and I’m not gonna tell a soul.” She stands, brushing donut crumbs onto the carpet. “Can’t hurt to look. What girl doesn’t love a little window-shopping on their lunch break?” She winks at me. “I won’t tell.”

Margo sashays out of my office, back from whence she came, closing my door behind her.

“Hmph,” I scoff. “A man who brings me flowers.”

Flowers. Do I even like those?

Yes, yes I do, and the last man who gave them to me was my father for my graduation. And you know what? I Deserve Them, Dammit!

Why not? They’re not a grand gesture, but if a man is thinking of me in the grocery store and grabs a bouquet . . . that means something, doesn’t it?

I grab my cell. No new message from Hayes.

“Of course there isn’t,” I grumble, poking open the dating app I’ve had on my phone for years that I’ve never officially created an account for.

Name: Layla.

Age: Blah.

Pictures: I scroll through my camera roll. Smile at a few of me and Faith. Fall Fest action shots. The further down I go, the younger and more carefree I look. Some pictures of me with my parents’ dog, Snapper. Hiking. Kayaking. Holiday photos with my friends and family.

Then, there’s photos of me with Blake.

Delete, delete, delete.

Screw that guy! I wasn’t good enough for him then, and he’s not good enough to stay in my gallery.

Bio: Will beat you at cornhole. Loves cinnamon rolls, winter nights, fireplaces, sailing in the summer—and a gentleman. Someone who holds doors. Enjoys date night. Holding hands.

There. That’s not asking much, is it?

I hit Save and bite down on my bottom lip as matches begin appearing, and because I live where I live, I broaden my search to include the “neighboring town” fifty miles away. An hour is better than an airplane ride away, yeah?

A face appears, and it’s Duncan Riley, my middle-school boyfriend.

Swipe left.

Carl Lang. Moved here from Portland and works for the city salting the roads during the winter and clearing hiking trails in the summer, but no way am I dating someone from work!

Left!

Pete Drapper, who runs the small grocery store in town. Shit. Pete is single? How did I not know he and Breanna broke up? Dang, I wonder if anyone in the office would know the gritty details.

“No, Layla—we are not gossiping!” I continue swiping left.

See Tim, the mayor’s son. Grant from the maintenance department. Ethan McGuire, Faith’s brother, who just divorced his wife, Stella, because he caught her cheating, and damn does that dude come with baggage I do not have the time to explain.

Wait.

Hold up now—who’s this?