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Inspired, I open my notebook, the words finally flowing from pen to paper.
1.I’m grateful my smart-ass son has a great sense of humor and that he admits he got it from me. Props to dad of the year. Just wish I could admit to him how I feel about his mom.
2.I’m grateful he ate all the Tagalongs. I’m not sure I want a dad bod. Not yet.
3.I’m grateful I got to at least taste Scarlett’s lips before I die. Doesn’t matter if it was on accident and likely never to happen again. I can RIP knowing how they feel against mine. Or rather, I’ll die in misery because once was NOT enough.
4.I’m not sure I want to be grateful Scar is on a date. I want her happy, but not with douche-bag Kellen. I’m sealing my lips. I can’t interfere unless it involves Theo, but I make no promises either.
* * *
Silence fillsthe cab of my truck as I accompany Scarlett to check on the progress at the job site. Ever the gentleman, I swung by her place and picked her up. My knuckles squeeze the very life from the steering wheel as the air thickens with tangible tension. This is not what I wanted to happen. As much as I want her, I don’t need the accidental—albeit planet- obliterating—kiss to ruin the easy-going way in which we interact with each other.
She sits on her hands, leaning forward in the seat, her bottom lip taking a beating from her teeth. I squelch the urge to touch her—to tell her it’s okay, we’re okay. The stars didn’t fall from the sky just because we tongue tussled.
Finally, she opens her mouth and blurts, “We good at pretending that kiss didn’t happen yesterday?” Her chest rises and falls in staccato bursts under her purple tank and her fingers pluck at the frayed hems of her denim shorts.
My stomach bottoms out, but I recover quickly. “Yeah, of course. It’s forgotten. Don’t worry about it. Honest mistake.” The words exit my cotton mouth with difficulty, and I focus my attention out the window so she can’t read the sheer disappointment shadowing my face.
As the open road blurs by, the dotted lines combine into one uninterrupted strip of lemon when we round the curves through the densely wooded highway.
The unnerving quiet becomes too much to handle, so I dial up the radio to mask the frantic pulsing of my blood and the loud devastation floating around my head. Even though I knew this was a possibility—her getting weird over it—a small hopeful part of me saw us as endgame, the moment she figured out we were good together.
The job site comes into view and the tall oak beams and shiny metal brackets arranged in the frame of the building gleam in the morning sunlight.
“They work fast,” she exclaims as she hops down from my truck before I even put it in park.Wow, she must need to get away from me.
“Yep, I imagine they will finish it in less than three months.” I shield my eyes from the sunrise and grab my hat from my center console before joining her.
Goosebumps mountain on her exposed skin from the slight breeze in the air, and she rubs her palms up and down, creating that much needed friction. “It’s going to be eighty-five degrees today, but dang, this wind is chilly this early.”
Okay, so now we’re chatting about the weather instead of the awkwardness building a forest between us. Well, I’m bulldozing forward because I’m relentless and I have to know.
“I forgot to ask, but how was your date with Mr. Dou—Kellen?” I didn’t forget in the slightest, but now it’s bugging me, and my mouth won’t allow me to shut up.
She shrugs, falling in line next to me, her bare arms swinging between us but still leaving plenty of space. “It went pretty well, better than I thought. We have a lot in common.”
“That’s good,” I force out.No, not good at all.
“We ended up meeting at Tito’s and he ordered that dip I love. Believe it or not, he also steals the little swords from the sangria. It almost seemed too good to be true.” She smiles, and it’s so bright it hurts.
That’s because it is too good to be true, Scar.
My chest cinches tight and my irritation with Mr. Payne in the Ass unfolds in utter annihilation. He took everything I said and twisted it for his benefit. She wasn’t on a date with the real Kellen, just a poor imitation, a cheap knockoff from the sales rack at Ollies.
I grunt, not sure I can speak and have something decent come out. This rugged heart of mine is open-faced and bleeding on the ground, and a handsome con artist enchanted the only one who can patch it up.
“Hey Scarlett. Hey Greyson, didn’t expect to see you here today.” Kellen struts toward us, hardhat tucked under one arm, hand running through his cropped flaxen mop on top.
At least I have more hair.
“We do a lot of things together. It’s what friends do,” I say with a barb as he reaches out to give Scarlett a hug.
My jaw clenches when he touches her, so I step past them and trudge further onto the site, narrowly missing a concrete block and almost tripping. Face heating, I stay the course and keep on walking.
A vibration in my pocket interrupts my sulking. Pulling it out, I see a text from Rowan. “Oh shit,” I mutter. I forgot I asked her to come out here to take some pictures for Scarlett. I turn back and jog to all our vehicles, and watch her petite, yet elegant frame exit a sleek Audi, wearing a pair of slim navy capris and flowery cap-sleeved blouse.
“This site is way too dirty for a fancy car like that,” I pant out, placing my hands on my hips, bothered by all my heaving. I may be in shape, but my age is catching up to me.
