Page 24 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Dad, we can drive.”

I snort. “I’m not driving fifty yards down the block. We can walk.”

She scrunches her face. “It’s still raining.”

True. Sheets of rain are still streaking down the glass doors, thunder echoing somewhere over the lake. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Fantastic. Walking’s out, driving is ridiculous, and apparently we’ve arrived in a town where time stopped in 1992.”

Benny rocks on her heels, far too entertained. “Guess that leaves Plan C.”

I look down at her. “I don’t want to know what Plan C is.”

Her grin is sharklike. “Call Layla.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You literally have no other options unless we walk or drive ourselves. Dad, it’s not a big dealll,” she sing-songs, dragging out the syllables like she’s savoring my reaction. “Plus, we have her number.”

My head shakes. “I left the note card in our room.” I don’t tell Benny that I already have Layla’s number saved to my phone from when she reached out months ago.

“False,” Benny declares, whipping the card out of her back pocket. “Lucky for you, I swiped it on my way out the door. Please, please, please?”

I glance back at the concierge, who’s still standing there, awkwardly polishing the counter with the edge of his sleeve. He offers a tiny shrug like, She’s begging, dude. What choice do you have?

My jaw tics.

I hate this.

Hate I’ve been cornered, hate that I can’t resist her sweet little face, hate that the universe is laughing at me.

I pull out my phone again, poking in Layla’s cell phone number as my daughter reads the numbers out loud. My thumb hovers over the green dot, and I tell my daughter, “This is not a date. This is a mercy call.”

Benny clasps her hands together like she’s praying. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dad.”

“Last chance to walk.” My brows go up. “It’s not far.”

My daughter shakes her head no.

I shoot her a look dark enough to peel paint, then hit Call.

Chapter 5

Layla

An organizer’s work is never done.

I’ve learned this lesson the hard way over the past few months, bearing the brunt of tasks I never wanted to do, for things I never volunteered for because everyone on the committee seems to be dropping the ball.

The ugly truth? People love to volunteer in theory. Smiling, nodding, raising hands at meetings. But when it comes time to actually do the work? Half of them vanish like smoke.

Which leaves me.

Hauling supplies. Fielding last-minute crises. Herding people who don’t want to be herded.