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“No.” I shook my head definitively. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Your friend or your baby?”
“My baby, but Hope ranks pretty high as well.”
“Do you see Hope a lot?”
I understood how this might be a problem for some women. I hoped Minty wasn’t one of them. “I do. We have dinner at least once a week, usually when we exchange Brayleigh, and if there’s a kid event we want to bring her to, we both try to go.”
“That’s nice, actually.”
“It is. Our relationship didn’t change that much.”
“Why did you move out after six months?”
“I never really moved in. I just stayed there at night to help with the nighttime feeds so Hope could get some sleep.”
“You never gave the relationship a go?”
“We have a relationship. Sex has no place in it. Never did. It was a fluke that turned into a gift.”
Minty
“That’s the most serious romantic relationship I’ve ever had, and it lasted about fifteen minutes.” He flashed his dimples and his eyes flashed with humor. “Glad I got that out of the way. I won’t even ask you about your dating life until the third date.”
“Oh, really?” I teased. “You didn’t actually tell me about your dating life. You just told me about how you came to be a father.”
His face grew serious. “I’ve never worried much about what anybody thought about my dating habits until you. Junie and Bex were right but they’re also way wrong. It’s true that I don’t date. I hook up. More often than I’d like to admit to you. But I have no interest in anyone else and will not be hooking up with anyone while we explore what this might be between us.”
Floored by his sudden bout of blunt honesty, I decided to return in kind. Bringing it out into the open brought relief because we could simply let it end here if it was too much for him.
“I had one serious relationship. About a year into it, a mental health issue I’ve battled my entire life flared up. I hadn’t disclosed it to him up until that point because I believed I had it under control. But my parents had just passed away, and the stress of losing them triggered a relapse.”
I smiled softly and folded my hands gently in my lap, taking care not to clench my fists or squeeze while I waited for him to respond. Our food arrived before he had a chance.
Baranga’s served their French fries dusted with oregano, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with feta cheese, diced tomatoes, and black olives. His eyes flickered between my meal and his own souvlaki on a pita.
“I’m a little bit jealous,” he admitted.
“Help yourself.” I set the French fries between us, hoping he forgot what we were talking about.
No such luck.
“So.” Lucky raised one eyebrow, his eyes compassionate. “He left?”
I nodded, maintaining my smile. “He did.”
“I’m sorry.” Lucky fiddled with his napkin then looked up at me. “Do you want to tell me what it is? Or would you prefer to wait?”
Seagulls squawked. Waves rolled in. Kids laughed and played. People walked the pathway with their dogs. And I sat across from a funny, sweet, interesting, sexy, unfortunately younger man who I very much wanted to taste.
It was a perfect day.
A butterfly flitted gently on the breeze and came to rest on a flowering plant beside our table.
“I can tell you, I’m not ashamed of it. I have OCD.”
Its delicate wings beat back and forth lazily.
