Page 121 of Scouting the Single Dad

My phone buzzes against my thigh.

I don’t look.

“Am I your first date since moving here?” I ask.

Grady doesn’t even blush at the question. “Nope.” He takes a sip from his coffee. “Had one last week with a woman named Stella.”

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out, Oh my God, that’s my best friend Faith’s ex-sister-in-law who cheated on her husband, Ethan!

But I don’t. I manage to keep it all inside.

He smiles. “Date was fine. We didn’t click.”

Yeah—’cause she’s a Cheater! I want to tell him, but again: I keep that shit inside.

“How about you?” he asks. “Am I your first?”

“My first coffee?” I tease. “Today, yes. First date recently? Yes and no.”

Grady tilts his head. “Yes and no? What does that mean?”

“It means . . . I met someone and we hung out, but he’s too far for it to work out.”

“You mean he was a tourist?”

“He . . .” Let’s see, how do I put this? “Was in town for the fall festival, which I’m sure you heard about. And since he’s from Arizona, it was never going to work.”

My date goes quiet for a few moments, and I can see the wheels turning in his brain. “Are you talking about Hayes Fielder?”

Crap. Was that too obvious?

“He and I are just friends.”

“Friends,” he repeats, brows furrowing. “The guy who had people lined up for an hour to take pictures with him, who played in the Super Bowl last year, and who made half the town swoon? That guy?”

Hayes played in the Super Bowl last year? How did I not know that?

Teasingly, I give a little eye roll. “He did not make half the town swoon.”

Grady disagrees. “Men and women drop their shorts for NFL players.” He lets out a low whistle. “If that’s my competition—even as a friend—it sounds like I need to show up with my A game.”

I toy with the handle of my coffee mug, laughing it off. “Competition implies there’s a game.” I scoff, though my cheeks warm. “Grady, please do not compare yourself to Hayes Fielder.” The fact that I’m even uttering that sentence is bonkers to me.

“Uh, correction: Super Bowl Hayes Fielder.” He tips his head, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Tell me the truth: Are you secretly into athletes? Is that your thing?”

My laugh bursts out, too loud for the quiet café, and several heads turn. “No! That’s not a thing.”

“Good.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip. “Because I don’t plan on being the guy who lost out to Hayes Fielder.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” I shake my head. “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t even had a second date.”

He studies me like he’s deciding which truth to pick. “Maybe. But I’d like to.” He leans back in his chair. “For the record, I make the best carbonara. From scratch, down to the pancetta. Also, my niece says I’m ‘top-tier’ at winning stuffed animals at the county fair.”

Top-tier.

My chest does an unfair little flutter, reminding me of something Benny would say in her goofy little nine-year-old way because she’s trying to sound older. And cool.

“You said you wanted kids?”