Page 42 of Scouting the Single Dad

When Hayes finally lifts me upright, my feet find the ground but my pulse doesn’t. As my heart beats a million miles a minute, Hayes keeps one arm around my waist, steadying me as if I might float off in front of the cider stand.

Paige tugs Blake’s sleeve because she wants to leave this conversation, so they say their goodbyes and do an awkward retreat through the crowd, Blake glancing back at us at least four times, eyes homed in on me.

Is that regret in his gaze? Embarrassment?

Hard to say, but I peel my eyes away and focus on breathing. Hayes’s palm is firmly planted at my waist, branding my skin even through the jacket I’ve got layered over a sweater.

“You good?” he murmurs.

“I’m—” Dizzy. Thrumming. Freaking out! “Fine.”

“Great.” He looks pleased in that silent, satisfied way of his, the scowl softened around the edges like it’s been warmed over a campfire. “That guy was the biggest fucking douche I’ve ever seen, and trust me when I say, most of the guys on my team are fucking douchebags.”

Benny pops up between us. “Guys. Now that we’ve humiliated me in front of thousands of people,” she exaggerates, “can Layla fly to Arizona?”

I cough on the surprise. “Can I what?”

“Come to Arizona,” she repeats, as if it were obvious. “Where we live. So you can see our house and my room and his grill and also my school during my volleyball tournament. You obviously like us, because you didn’t shove Dad away when he was violating your boundaries.”

My boundaries? I want to laugh.

No one is shoving her dad out of bed, let alone refusing to let him kiss her—but these are things we don’t say to a nine-year-old.

“It’s way too hectic to have this discussion, Benny,” Hayes says, releasing me from his hold. “And it’s rude to put Layla on the spot like that.”

I glance at the ground for my poor headset and spot it roughly ten feet away. Crushed into pieces. Shit. “Arizona is far.”

Benny rolls her eyes. “That’s why planes were invented.”

“Benny,” Hayes chastises. “We don’t pressure people.”

“I’m not pressuring. I’m inviting.” She bats her lashes as we trudge along. “Oh! They have hoodies that say Star Lake!” She gasps like she’s seen an actual treasure. “Can I get one, Dad? Please? I’m freezing and also I spilled cider on my sleeve and it’s sticky and I hate it.”

Hayes tips his head toward the stand. “Go. The victim of my boundary violations and I will be right there.”

Victim of my boundary violations . . .

I giggle to myself, crouching to assess the remains of my headset—one ear cup pancaked, the mic snapped like a wishbone.

“Sorry about that,” Hayes says, hands sinking into his jacket pockets. “I didn’t mean for your tools to get destroyed.”

“Pretty sure the manual doesn’t cover public make-out sessions,” I say, holding the busted pieces. “I have another one at the tent.”

“I’ll replace it,” he says immediately. “It’s the least I can do.”

“No worries.” I wave it off. “It happens.”

Not to me, but to someone.

I futz with the headset a little longer before tossing it into a nearby trash, meandering behind Hayes as we slowly stroll to the sweatshirt booth, where Benny is pointing to the baby blue crew neck she has her heart set on.

He clears his throat beside me. “For the record, Benny wasn’t wrong.”

“About the sweatshirt being cute? Absolutely.”

“About inviting you to Arizona. You’re welcome to visit.” He shuffles awkwardly beside me, and for a second, it sounds like he’s speaking around chalk in his mouth. “We’ve got a guest room, and the pool’s heated even though it’s still like, eighty degrees.” He laughs. “Benny would live in the water if I let her. And if you came during her tournament, it would make her entire year.”

My brain says, This is insane.