Page 40 of The Irresistible Distraction

“And Sebastian?” I wonder if he read my face somehow, or if there is underlying tension Brody, as a man, might be picking up on, from my son’s actions.

“The most consistent thing I’ve noticed representing women in divorces is that I’ve never met a single mom who didn’t second-guess every single parenting decision they’ve ever made.”

“You tricked me.”

“I can read you, but not . . . reliably. At least not yet. So I needed to experiment. Kick the tires, take it for a test drive.”

“Did you just compare me to a car?”

“And a science experiment.” Brody smiles again, showing off both dimples. He is completely unashamed. Quite the opposite, he seems proud of himself. Delighted. “But don’t worry, I’m a lover of automobiles and the scientific method. So it’s not an insult.”

I huff out a laugh. He’s eating up precious minutes of my morning, and I’m letting him. More than that, I’m dragging it out because of how much I’m enjoying him. And this. “You’re doing all this because it’s fun?”

“I’m doing all this because the more I find out about the Real Sophie, the more I want to knock down all your boundaries so that you have no choice but to date me . . . potentially seriously.”

Despite his impishly lovable expression, it’s easy to see the pitfalls of dating someone like Brody. He’s all play, all the time, and so it’s nearly impossible to know when he’s being serious, if he’s even capable of serious.

If everything is hyperbole . . .

“You can’t know that’s what you want.”

“It’s actually one of the few things I’m sure about.” He ends his statement with his signature broad shrug. He feels no need to defend himself, no driving impulse to second-guess.

“How long will this pursuit of me go on for?”

“Unclear.” He leans in and I see this is the second trap I’m walking into this morning. He whispers the words in my ear, even as Sebastian calls from the dining room, impatient to get their game started. “How long will you hold out?”

Instead of replying, I look for backup. I peer over his shoulder, but before I can ask, Brody answers. “Vera is sleeping in, and the dogs are in her room, resting.”

“Well.” I lick my lips, trying not to look at him, to see the toned arms, the hint of the tattoo that seems to run down part of his chest and likely along his back that I missed the other night.

Brody catches me looking. “Had to run off the cookies. Worth it.”

This time, when I swallow, I notice Brody’s gaze lingering on my mouth. I’m technically ahead of schedule because Sebastian was eager to leave this morning, to spend time with Brody. “I should go.” Because his smile is mesmerizing, my babbling continues as I take my drink and snack, gripping both. “So yeah, I’m going now. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And damn if the words don’t feel like they have a double entendre, coming from Brody.

Other than Jesse, who has added a question mark to his text messages from last night, the day passes uneventfully. It’s a quieter morning now that the holiday weekend is officially over. The tourists are leaving and the regulars are coming back from renting out their homes, a common cycle within a tourist town. Even though the tips are, on average, less generous, it’s nice to see the familiar faces, a relief to serve the same orders to the same people.

Throughout the day, I’m both surprised and pleased that Brody uses Sebastian as an excuse to send me text messages I’m obligated to reply to.

BRODY: Here’s Sebastian, almost smiling, because he got closer to winning today.

BRODY: Of course I mean closer in that he sucked a little less.

BRODY: And in case you think I’m talking crap about your son behind his back, know that I let Sebastian read (and validate the veracity of) this before sending it.

BRODY: Also he seems to think you would object to me using the word crap?

ME: Maybe we could consider “crap” the upper limit of vulgarity.

BRODY: Upper Limit of Vulgarity would be a fucking amazing great band name.

BRODY: Didn’t let Sebastian or Teacher Vera read that one, obviously.

BRODY: Miss your favorite dishwasher yet?