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“I work for a firm. We have a budget line for taking out potential new clients to dinner. We should do that some time.”
To be honest, it doesn’t sound too interesting to me. The last thing I want to do is sit at dinner and talk about taxes all night. I can’t think of something I’d like to do less.
“Maybe,” I reply, trying to stay noncommittal. “I won’t need a CPA until at least the end of the year, so I’ll keep you in mind.”
“The end of the year is pretty far away,” she says, and that’s when I notice she’s gotten a little bit closer to me. “We could always put off the tax talk and just enjoy each other’s company. Maybe over drinks?”
I think over what she just said, not because I’m interested but because I don’t know how to let her down without being rude.
The truth is that I’m feeling both completely unready to date again and completely mixed up about my feelings for Emily. The last thing I need to do is go on a date with Shannon.
“You know, let me think about it,” I tell her. “I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that I’m recently widowed, so…I just don’t want to jump into anything before I’m ready.”
Shannon gives me a sympathetic look and then, to my disappointment, decides to shift even closer.
“I recently split with an ex, too,” she says, as if that’s even remotely the same. “Sometimes, it’s nice to find someone who can just help you, you know…” She puts her mouth next to my ear and whispers, “Scratch the itch.”
I swallow thickly and bob my head. “Yeah, yup. Absolutely. Well, I’ll…if that’s ever the case…”
Trailing off, I give her a weird little wave as she slips away, heading in the direction of where August and some of his friends are hanging out together.
It’s been a long time since I was single, and it’s shocking to me how forward people are now. Melody and I started dating when I was in my late twenties, and it’s just hard to believe that between then and now, the whole casual sex thing—the idea of just scratching an itch—has grown so much.
Chuckling, I lift my glass of punch to my mouth, and that’s when my eyes catch Emily’s. She’s just a few feet away, on the other side of a bunch of balloons, and when she gives me a pinched smile and turns to head into the kitchen, I realize she might have overheard my conversation with Shannon.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, downing the punch and wishing it were whiskey.
Why is everything so complicated?
“I’d watch out for that one.”
Instead of following after Emily like I want to, I turn towards the person who just spoke to me.
The man looks familiar, but I can’t place why. Dark hair and a full beard with a bunch of tattoos up and down his arms.
“Oh, and why’s that?” I ask.
The guy shrugs, a charming smile on his face.
“She’s one who will make it seem like she’s down for a bit of fun, but then she latches on when it’s time to part ways and acts like you led her on in some way.”
I wince. “I’m assuming you’re speaking from experience?”
He chuckles and shrugs again. “I don’t kiss and tell, my friend.”
Narrowing my eyes, I try again to place how I know him. But as much as I scan my memory, I’m unable to put a face and name together.
“Soren Lock,” he tells me, clearly reading my mind. “I own The Lighthouse.”
My face breaks out into a smile and I extend my hand, which he takes with a firm shake.
“Ahhh, now I remember where I’ve seen you. A party at August’s a while back.”
He nods. “Sounds about right, though you’ve probably seen me behind the bar as well. And just so you don’t think I’m a weirdo who hangs out at kid parties, Emily invited me and my daughter, Millie. She’s seven.”
My eyes do a quick flick in the direction Soren points to, observing a little brunette in pigtails and a rainbow-colored tutu running across the yard with a wide smile on her face.
“Well, I’m glad you both could make it.”
