Page 34 of Scouting the Single Dad

“No one does because it’s not anyone’s business.” He pauses a beat. “We were twenty-two.”

Twenty-two. At twenty-two I was graduating from college and using cardboard boxes and plastic totes as furniture and debating about whether or not to get a cat. Hayes was becoming a father and a widower in the same hour. The math makes my chest ache.

The dining room hum recedes to a faraway buzz. I can see him holding himself still, a man who has learned that if he doesn’t move, nothing leaks.

“Bernadette,” I say, because it’s something to hold on to. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Her mom picked it.” A ghost of a smile. “Said if she ever had a girl, she wanted a name that was old and timeless and unique. It wasn’t my first choice, but I wanted to honor her memory.”

Makes sense. “Were you married?”

Hayes chuckles. “No.” He offers no further explanation.

Not married.

The server slips by to refill our waters. I say thank you too brightly and take a sip I don’t need. My brain, unhelpfully, decides to offer a confessional in return.

“I was engaged once,” I blurt.

His brows lift, his faint smile reappearing. “Oh yeah?”

“For about thirty seconds.” I laugh. “Don’t know what I was thinking, saying yes to a guy when we were twenty years old, but there I was . . .” Shrug. “He was nice. Good on paper. Bad in practice.”

“What made you say yes?”

“Expectation.” I grimace. “Guilt. Everyone around us was coupling up, and the jackass asked at a bonfire surrounded by cell phones. I didn’t want to be the villain of someone else’s Instagram story by saying no. Can you imagine that shit going viral?”

Why am I telling him this?

Dear God, Layla, be quiet.

His mouth tips. “You changed your mind?”

“The next morning I woke up and realized I was a version of myself I didn’t like. One who never said no and agreed with everything and ugh—no. I hated that about myself.” I twirl my straw. “I never want to be anyone’s little housekeeper.”

“Fair enough.” He grunts. “Did he take it badly?”

“He cried.” I pull a face. “Which, like—valid reaction. But then he asked if we could still have a friendship ceremony. So.” I open a palm. “Here we are. A few short relationships since, but nothing that stuck.”

There is literally no need for me to bring up Blake, my latest ex-catastrophe, who slept with the town’s only dentist.

Total dickhead.

Hayes’s laugh is surprising, a warm vibration I feel in my ribs. Yummy. Delicious. Deep and so so sexy. “Friendship ceremony? That sounds fucking stupid.”

I laugh too. “Oh good, you agree.”

We’re both grinning like idiots. I don’t look away from Hayes because I am shameless and enthralled by him and also because his mouth is doing that unfair curve again. The table feels smaller. The noise of the room fuzzes out.

He settles his glass, knuckles grazing the table. “So what do you want instead of that,” he asks, strong jaw tilting. “If not housekeeper or friendship bride.”

“A team,” I say with authority because I have thought about this no less than a million times. “A cocaptain. Someone who tells me when I’m wrong and hands me a hoodie when I forget mine.”

And wants to have lots and lots of sex.

My eyes drop to his broad chest. His large hands.

His gaze tracks mine to his hands. He knows exactly where my thoughts went; I can tell by the slow, devastating pull of his mouth. One finger taps the rim of his glass, lazy, like he’s giving me time to look my fill.