Page 96 of Scouting the Single Dad

We hang up, and I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a beat, heart thumping. Then I turn toward the shower and turn the water on, needing to clear my head. And needing the courage that comes after.

Chapter 23

Hayes

I practically skip into the kitchen, pep in my step that wasn’t here days ago.

Benny’s already on her stool waiting for me, elbows on the counter like she’s hosting a morning show. I drop two frozen waffles into the toaster, going back and forth from the fridge to the cabinet, doing the morning breakfast dance I’ve perfected over the years.

“Dad?” my daughter says as I plop the waffles onto her plate.

“Mmm?”

“Do you love Layla?”

I almost choke. Feel my face get hot for a second time in the past twenty-four hours, unprepared for the question. “I like her a lot.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Benny rolls her eyes. “Do you love her? And are you going to marry her?”

I huff a laugh, both proud and unready. “Those are two very loaded questions for a kitchen that only serves frozen waffles.”

She blinks, unrelenting. “But do you?”

I pull her plate closer, buying a second. “Love is a thing you show over time, Bernadette. Layla and I are . . . getting to know one another.”

She chews her breakfast. Swallows. “I only asked because I told Madison’s mom that Layla was going to be my mom.” She says it casually, as if she just asked to wear her hair in braids.

There it is—the information I was wondering if she would confess.

“I know,” I tell her. “Skylar told me.”

Benny tilts her head and squints at me. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, you’re not in trouble.” I lean forward on the counter, resting my elbows there so I can get down to her level. “You’re not in trouble. But we should talk about it.”

Her shoulders relax. “I didn’t mean a wedding. I meant, like, a person who helps with hair tangles and knows my cereal and tells me I can have a sleepover at Madison’s house.” A beat. “Who wants to hold your hand.”

Jesus—is she trying to make me feel guilty? ’Cause it’s working.

I clear my throat. “Here’s the truth: I care about Layla. I like who I am when I’m around her. And I’m being careful, because the decisions I make aren’t just mine—they’re ours.” I nod between us. “Yours and mine.”

Benny considers this information. “So you like her, but you don’t love her.”

Shit.

“I do like her.” That’s the simple fact. “But it’s important we don’t put labels on things she didn’t sign up for. Or make promises about her to other people before she and I decide things together. That’s called having boundaries.”

Benny sighs as if she were bored. “So I shouldn’t say ‘mom.’”

I shake my head. “You can say we’re friends who are seeing how it goes. You can say she’s nice and you like her laugh and she’s Dad’s friend.” I tap her plate. “That’s it, sorry.”

She pushes a piece of waffle around in syrup, absorbing my words. “I just wanted to keep her.”

“I know.” I smooth a hand over her wild hair.

“But if you loved her, you would tell me?”

“Yes.” I tap her plate. “But I’d tell her first.”