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“Don’t do anything for me, Ryan. Do it for yourself,” she said, and I hated how her words made me feel small inside.
“You’re changing the subject.” Getting this conversation back on track, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?”
Her demeanor quickly changed, and I felt the power shift back into my court. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, but I refused to accept that bullshit non-answer.
I deserved the truth and I wanted to hear her say it, so I continued to push. “Yes, you do. You could have told me. Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think it mattered or would have made a difference.”
She looked everywhere but at me, and that’s how I knew. Sofia was lying. She knew damn well it would have made a difference, but not in the negative way she probably assumed it would have.
“Nope. Try again.”
She shifted her weight and kicked her flip-flop against the concrete. “I just didn’t think you’d be interested in dating a single mom.” She gave me a quick glance before looking away again.
Now we’re finally getting somewhere. And even though the judgment stung, I brushed it off.
“You just assumed that? Based on what, exactly?” I crossed my arms and swallowed hard. A defensive move on my part, but I was starting to feel exactly that.
“Your occupation, for starters.” Her eyes held mine a little longer this time before she looked away. More truths.
“You didn’t think I’d be interested in dating you because I own a bar?” Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of what exactly she was saying. How had my owning a bar correlated with my wanting to date her or not? One had absolutely nothing to do with the other.
“Something like that,” she said dismissively.
My insides reignited, my adrenaline still pumping from earlier. Instead of calming me down, this conversa
tion was riling me back up. Uncrossing my arms, I reached for her chin and waited for her eyes to meet mine.
“Tell me the truth, Sofia. For once since we met, just tell me the damn truth.”
As I waited, she stayed silent. Her face pinched with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—either confusion as she sorted through her thoughts, or hope that if she stayed quiet long enough, I’d eventually go away and leave her alone.
Finally, she said, “I didn’t think you’d want to date me, okay? That’s the truth.”
Those damn eyes continued to look over my shoulder and then back toward her son. They looked everywhere except at me. And while I stood there, excited at the possibility that this woman was an even more perfect match for me, it suddenly became clear that Sofia didn’t see me the same way.
“Except it’s not. Is it?” The realization hit me like a fucking sledgehammer to the rib cage. Sofia didn’t think I was good enough. She hadn’t pushed me away to protect herself or her heart; she pushed me away because she didn’t want me.
Past conversations replayed in my head like a bad soundtrack I couldn’t make stop. Sofia had told me over and over how I wasn’t her type, and said I wasn’t the kind of man she was looking for. She might be lying about it now, but she hadn’t been lying then. When she pictured the perfect guy for her, she didn’t see me. Hell, she never even considered it. She’d blown me off the second she met me. I was never an option. In her opinion, I wasn’t good enough.
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice was so wary, I wondered how my expression must look for her to sound that way.
“Just how ironic all of this is,” I managed to say, although I wasn’t sure how. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a handful of sand.
Her head tilted to one side as if she wasn’t following my meaning at all. “Ironic? How is any of this ironic?”
I fought through my emotions to find the words . . . and trust me, I was damn well getting emotional. “I just found out you’re a mom, and no matter what you think, I’m even more attracted to you because of it.”
I paused, giving my words time to sink in. I wanted her to hear to hear me—really hear me—before I continued.
“But you’re not,” I said sadly. “I mean, I’m even more interested in dating you because you have a kid, and you aren’t interested in me at all for the exact same reason. It’s ironic.”
“It—it’s not,” she stammered. “I just mean—”
I put up a hand to stop her. “It doesn’t matter. You made yourself clear to me many times. You told me I wasn’t right for you. I guess I should have listened.”
“Ryan . . .”
