Page 146 of Scouting the Single Dad

Hayes swallows. “What about . . .” That other guy?

My shoulders shrug. “It was new, and I think he understands the situation.” I bite down on my bottom lip, debating about confessing this next bit. “We hadn’t had sex yet.”

I want him to know that.

He needs to know I didn’t jump into bed with someone new the minute he and I stopped communicating.

He nods. Doesn’t comment further, only pulling me into his big, warm body and sliding his hands around my waist.

“I want to put my hands all over you,” he admits. “But I think we should talk first before we get carried away.”

Reluctantly, I step back. “Good idea.”

We go to the small sofa in the room and sink down, knee to knee. The cushions are too firm, and the air is getting too cold, but I’m not going to complain yet—not until we have our serious talk. It’s a long time coming and probably should have happened before I flew to Arizona, had sex with him, fell in love with his daughter, left without knowing what the future holds.

Hayes grabs the hotel stationery from the center of the coffee table and finds a pen. Clicks it open. “Are we exclusive?”

“Do you want to be exclusive?”

He nods. “Yes.”

He writes it down like it’s law, block letters pressed into the cheap paper: Exclusive.

Period.

He watches my face as he says the next bold statement: “I’m not asking you to uproot your life for a guy you met at a fall festival two weeks ago. And I can’t uproot Benny without thinking ten moves ahead.” He swallows. “But I also won’t pretend I haven’t thought about it. About what it would look like. Long term.”

He’s thought about . . . moving? For me?

My heart misfires. “You’ve . . . thought about that?”

He shrugs, mouth tight like he’s embarrassed by his own hope. “I think about what a plane ticket costs and how many weekends we can string together before it stops feeling like visiting and starts feeling like a life. I don’t expect us to have all this figured out tonight, but I do want you to know we can make it work.”

The thought of flying all over the place actually sounds . . .

Terrible.

My throat tightens with something warm and frightening. “I don’t want to pretend either,” I say. “I like my job, but I don’t love it—and Star Lake has always been my home but . . . I love being with you.”

Hayes leans back against the couch cushions. “You know, Layla. I hate to admit this, but I was a fucking coward when you came back to Star Lake.” He clears his throat. “I thought distance would make it easier, because we hardly know each other.”

I wait for him to continue, resting my hands on his upper thigh.

“Obviously it wasn’t easier, because we wouldn’t be sitting here now.” He leans toward me. “And I think flying back and forth would be fucking shitty. Real fucking shitty.”

I know. “I agree, but what choice do we have?”

He laughs. “So many choices.”

I feel my brows rise, wanting to be enlightened.

“How would you feel about splitting your time?”

I’m still not following. “How?”

“Well, assuming you want to stay in Star Lake, what if you give up your apartment and I buy a cabin here? And then we live here in the summer and in Arizona during football season.”

I blink, heart sprinting. “That sounds huge.”