by Whitley Cox
“Sorry, what?”
He was laughing now. “I didn’t say anything. You just cursed like a sailor, and then I thought you’d hung up. Everything okay?”
Prying myself off the bed with ninja stealth, I wandered into the kitchen so I could speak above a hush. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I’d woken Carly up. My sister’s kids came home from school last week with the flu, and it looks like Carly caught it.”
“Oh, no. How do you feel?”
My insides began to buzz and hum from his concern.
“Okay so far. Though I wash my hands and tend not to lick the walls or furniture, so fingers crossed I manage to avoid it.”
“Aw man, I love licking the coffee table. Next to the ottoman, it’s my favorite thing to have my tongue on.”
Whoa! Now all I could think about was Hot Dad’s tongue and the various places I’d like to have it. Had that been his intention? Was he talking dirty? Why was he talking to me at all? Thoughts and images, questions and giddiness much too extreme for my age cannoned around inside my head as I paced my kitchen. I needed to do something. I needed to occupy my hands. As if answering my cry for help, my stomach gurgled, and I snatched a banana from the bowl and peeled it.
“You still there?” he asked.
Oh crap, how long had I been silent?
“Yup,” I said with a mouthful.
“What are you doing? You sound funny.”
“Eating a banana.”
Now it was his turn for silence.
“Seriously?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“Whole, or did you cut it up into pieces first?”
Holy freaking frack, he’s flirting with me!
“Nope.”
His chuckle swept over my skin as if he’d just licked each and every inch of it. Divine heat pooled between my legs, and I felt my nipples tighten against my bra. I resisted the urge to reach up and cup them to relieve the sudden strain of their weight.
“What are your plans this weekend, Harper?”
“Um …”
“Banana in your mouth?”
I swallowed and blinked.
“Mhmm. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Swallow.”
Holy Mother of God, him telling me to swallow … my heart nearly leaped clean out of my chest.
“I guess I should probably double-check first that you are in fact single. That you’re not seeing someone but just haven’t bothered to let your friend Amy know.”
Amy! I could kiss that meddling little woman.
“Yes. Yes, I’m single.”
“Good. Me too.” I could practically see that sexy smile of his it came through so clearly in his voice.
“Well, Harper, would you like to go out with me this weekend?”
I nodded and then did a little hop. My pulse was racing and my brain was struggling to keep up. I was planning a date with Hot Dad! “When? What time?”
“How does Friday around seven sound?”
Yes, woman. Say YES!
“You can think it over if you need some—”
But I cut him off. “I’d love to!”
“Great! So, Friday at seven?”
“Absolutely!”
“Perfect. Text me your address, and I’ll swing by to pick you up. How does dinner and a movie sound?”
“Sounds great!” Oh shit, my voice was getting higher. Had he noticed?
“Awesome. I’ll see you Friday. Don’t get sick.”
I swallowed again. “Okay.”
“Bye, Harper.”
“G-goodbye, Sam.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone and his number. Hot Dad just asked me out on a date!
Hot Dad.
On a date!
I brought up the number for Amy, my sister from another mister and my favorite mom in my mom posse, and texted her.
Harper: Umm, why did Hot Dad just call me and ask me out on date? What were you two talking about today at Playgroup? About how sad, lonely and sex deprived I am?
She texted back almost immediately, as I knew she would. She had Mondays off and usually spent the afternoons with Henry at home or out and about. I checked the time. It was nearly four. She was probably prepping supper.
Amy: Bahahaha. Yes. He knows you’re horny as a rabbit in the spring. Get on that, little bunny. He and I were the only two parents who brought their kids today to playgroup. We started talking, I found out he’s a single Hot Dad. I thought the two of you might hit it off. He’s hot, you’re hot. Be hot AND sweaty together. Are you going out with him?
Smiling, I texted her back. Amy was a gem. Feisty, petite and a true friend. We’d met on the first day Carly and I joined playgroup. She’d offered me a piece of chocolate from her pocket. She normally kept her stash hidden and slipped a square into her mouth when no one was looking. But based on the way I’d entered the joint, with a tear in the bum of my brand-new yoga pants, a screaming toddler, and hair caked in oatmeal and banana, she figured I needed the sugar. And we’ve been friends ever since. She brought me into the fold and made me one of them. There was no bashing, no judgment, just support. And even though I loved all the women at the playgroup, Amy was my person. I could always count on her and she on me. If I didn’t have Quinn as a sister, I would have wanted Amy. I texted her back, my pulse thundering in my veins as I replayed my phone conversation with Sam over and over in my head.
H: Duh!? I’d be stupid not to try to hit that. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to hit that for months.
A: Ha-ha! Yes, I’m well aware of your six-month love from afar. You deserve this. Good luck and let me know how it goes :)
H: THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!
I sent her a photo of me blowing a kiss, then tossed my phone onto the counter and started the most epic dance party of my life, all to the tune of the music in my head.
Chapter 2
Sam
It’d been a long week. Longer than usual given what I had to look forward to. But finally, Friday was here, and as I heaved my three-and-a-half-year-old out of her car seat and plopped her purple polka-dot boots down onto the wet concrete of my parents’ driveway, I was thankful for having family in the city.
How the hell would I manage dating? How the hell would I have a life outside of being a single dad without the support of my parents? I’d probably be dead right now from the stress. Or worse, gray. Or even worse, bald.
My mother and father met me in the driveway of their three-story Vancouver townhouse and were helping with all the paraphernalia that comes with having small children. Diapers, clothes, special toys. Unlike me, who needed no more than my wallet, watch, a box of rubbers and contact solution. I could head to Vegas for a weekend without so much as a spare change of clothes. Ah, I missed my twenties.
With a manly growl that made Gemma giggle, I heaved the third and final bag out of the back of my Volvo and passed it off to my dad. My mother went to work getting Landon, who was not quite walking yet, out of his car seat. My dad and I grabbed the bags, and with a nod at Gemma to lead the way, we all took off toward the front door.
In record time Gemma had ditched her coat and boots and was somewhere in the kitchen with my mother and a squawking Landon.
I toed off my shoes, leaving the bags by the front door, and followed my father down the hallway into the kitchen.
“Hot date tonight?” my dad asked with a chuckle as he pulled open in the fridge.
I didn’t say anything.
My mother’s head swiveled to look at me from where she sat at the kitchen table with Landon in her lap. He and Gemma both clutched crayons, busy coloring. “Really?” my mum asked with hope in her voice as well as her bright green eyes.
I lifted one shoulder. “I have a date.”
My dad came up and slapped me on the back as he handed me a beer. “Good. Time to get back out there. What’s she like?”
Not wanting to jinx myself or my date, I just shook my head. “She’s nice. But it’s a first dat
e, so let’s just leave it at that.”
My mother’s eyes glowed. My father snorted beside me as he knocked the neck of his beer bottle with mine. “She like kids?”
“She has one. So I hope so.”
Gemma’s eyes flashed up to me. They were loaded with curiosity. I winced. This was not a topic I wanted her privy to. The little girl had been through enough this year, and the way she picked up on things, sometimes I forgot she was only three and a half. Most days it was like three and a half going on thirteen, or in some cases, twenty-three.
“New topic, please,” I gritted.
Both my parents nodded.
“Well, my little loves, what shall we do this weekend?” my mother cooed as she leaned over and brushed a lock of unruly red hair from Gemma’s eyes.
Not that my ex wasn’t beautiful, but had my daughter looked exactly like her mother, this year would have been a hell of a lot harder. Forced to stare every day into the eyes of the woman who’d left her children without thinking twice would have killed me. But Gemma didn’t look like Meegan, at least not yet. Thankfully, she looked a lot like my mother. Both had round faces and untameable mops of strawberry-blonde curls. And while my mother had figured out gel and mousse and kept hers cropped in a chic and stylish bob, Gem wouldn’t let me, or anyone for that matter, get within ten feet of her with a hairbrush. I could only imagine what the mothers at the playgroup must think of me when I show up with my rat’s-nest-headed child every Monday. Most nights, it was all I could do to get some conditioner and detangling spray in it when she wasn’t paying attention.
My mother’s hand drifted over Gemma’s head as she leaned forward and kissed her temple. Gemma looked up at her, the same green eyes as her grandmother’s, same rosy cheeks appling as she smiled. She reminded me a lot at that moment of my sister, Daisy, when she was little. Sprightly and opinionated but with the biggest heart and not a mean bone in her body.
“Ummm,” Gemma hummed, looking up into the chandelier. “Let’s go to Science World, and then the pool and then McDonald’s and then the toy store.”
“Gem,” I warned, cocking my hip into the counter and giving her a stern look.
She gave me those innocent eyes.
“Okay then. No toy store?” Her upward inflection was directed at my mother, who just smiled and leaned in next to Gemma’s ear. She whispered something I couldn’t hear, but the way it made my daughter’s face light up, I knew the promise of a new toy was made.
I rolled my eyes and tipped back my beer.
“Can we talk parties for a second?” my mother asked, pulling a green crayon out of Landon’s nose.
I snorted. “Sure.”
“Someone,” she dramatically pointed to the top of my son’s shaggy red head, “is turning one in a couple of weeks. Have you thought about a party?”
Shit! That’s right. The little dude’s birthday was coming up.
I shook my head. I was going to pretty much have to throw the kid a party of some kind. Not a rager or anything, but seeing as this last year, his very first year on this earth, had been a doozy and one no innocent child should have to go through, I really needed to make it special.
“We can have it here, if you want,” my father offered, his arm elbow-deep in a bag of pretzels.
“Thanks, I’ll give it some thought. Might be better to do it elsewhere, like a restaurant or play-place, to avoid the cleanup.”
My mother shook her head, her ruddy curls jostling. “Nonsense, if you don’t want to have the party at your place, we’d love to have it here. Invite the Coopers and some of Landon and Gemma’s friends from playgroup.”
“I’ll think about it,” I answered.
My dad lifted out a handful of pretzels and passed the bag to me. The same height as me and not showing his age, Russ Wright was a man I’d sit and have a beer with any day of the week, whether he was my father or not.
I looked up to him. A good man, a good husband and a good father, he was the first person I called when Meegan told me she was leaving. My father had met me in the driveway less than ten minutes later, not even telling my mother why he was coming over. He didn’t want to scare her. We’d talked. He’d talked to Meegan with me and then without me. And when she’d packed up her bags and shut the door to her cab, he’d been there to help me sort through the mess. I’d collapsed against him. My father had been my strength when I had none left.
I also looked a heck of a lot like him. We were big guys. Red hair. Blue eyes. Some people joked we were brothers. And in some lights and on days he’d slept well, and I hadn’t, that could easily be true.
I took a swig of my beer.
Immediately my head went to Harper. What was she doing right now? Was she as excited for our date as I was? As nervous? If I left here in the next ten minutes, I’d have just enough time to jet to the gym, run for half an hour and do a quick set in the weight room. Then I’d swing home, shower, shave … should I shave? Hmmm, I hadn’t shaved in forever. The close-shave beard had kind of become my thing. Meegan hated the beard, so as soon as she left, I started to grow it out. I shook my head and grinned inwardly. I was behaving like a teenager. As if this was my first date and I was hoping this might be my night to see my first boob. Would I get to see a boob?
“What’s got your face all muddled?” my father asked, elbowing me as he reached for the pretzel bag again.
“Ah, nothing.” Not that I didn’t talk about this kind of thing with my parents, my dad in particular, but it was a first date. I’d discuss something when I had something to discuss.
My mother gently pressed her hands over Landon’s ears. “Have you heard from M?”
Snorting, I shook my head. It wasn’t Landon we were worried about, it was Gemma. She understood. She knew who Meegan was. Which was why we changed her name to M when we were discussing her. Even then, my kid was no dummy. She probably knew. But it’d been nine months since her mother had walked out. She was finally over it and no longer asked where she was or when she was coming back. I think that’s what broke my heart even more, the fact that she too had given up on Meegan ever coming back. But then again, it hadn’t been like Meegan had been overly maternal toward Gem in those last few months. Even before Landon was born, I was the one in charge of bed and bath time if I was home. I was the one who got up with Gemma and then Landon in the middle of the night. Meegan didn’t want to breast feed, so I was on bottle duty ninety percent of the time. She wouldn’t even a kiss a boo-boo or give comfort when Gemma needed it. In a lot of ways, the woman had checked out of motherhood long before she gave up her parental rights and left for good.
My father gave my mother a look. “Enough, Mary.”
She closed her mouth with an audible smacking sound.
Gemma’s head swiveled back and forth between my mother and me, her green eyes absorbing every detail, a clear shade of concern on her angelic face.
My mother’s hand shook slightly as she opened up a fresh page in the coloring book. “Here, sweetie. Why don’t you show Nana how well you can color in that giraffe?”
Gemma’s head whipped back to the table, and she diligently went to task.
A muscle ticked in my mother’s jaw, but she nodded. “Sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. No more talk of M though. It’s over. It’s done. Let it go.” Fuck, my tone had been way harsher than I meant it to be.
Blood drained from my mother’s face before she swallowed and nodded, putting her head back down and helping Landon draw some circles with an orange crayon.
Draining my beer, I walked to the sink, gave the bottle a quick rinse, then opened the cupboard below and put it in the recycling.
I hated talking about my ex. And right now, I was getting ready to go on a date with a different woman, so the last thing I needed was thoughts of Meegan muddying the waters and putting me in a foul mood.
“I’ve gotta run,” I said. I felt like a dink for the way I’d just spoken to my mother. But sometimes she could be a ta
d invasive, which was why I preferred to discuss this stuff with my dad. He was less emotional and more factual. Unlike Mary Wright, who believed every story had a happy ending and love would conquer all, Russ Wright was a practical man. He called a spade a spade and knew when to cut his losses. I’d inherited more of my father’s mentality, while Daisy was as whimsical and Pollyanna-y as our mother—possibly more.
Sweeping behind my mother and children, I bent down, my mouth next to my mother’s ear.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come off that harsh. We’re all just trying to move on.”
She turned her head to face me, cupping my cheek with her small, feminine hand. “I just want you and the children to be happy. That’s all I ever want.”
I pressed an ephemeral kiss to her temple. “I know.” Then I turned to Gemma.
“You going now, Daddy?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her coloring.
“Mhmm. You and Landon be good for Nana and Grampy, okay?”
“We will.”
I was about to kiss her cheek, but at the last second, she swiveled in her seat and faced me, her little lips bunched into a pucker.
Her hand came up and she cupped my cheek like her grandmother just had before leaning in for a peck. “Don’t work too hard, Daddy,” she said, before turning back to her crayons.
“Three going on thirteen,” my mother said with a laugh.
“Don’t I know it.”
I ruffled Landon’s hair then kissed him on the cheek before taking my leave. It wasn’t my childhood home. My parents had downsized to a modern three-bedroom townhouse when Daisy and I had moved out. But that didn’t detract from the fact that there were memories here. Memories with Meegan and the kids. Christmases, birthdays, family celebrations. I stopped just inside the front door and slipped into my shoes. The wall of the staircase leading up to the second floor of the house was covered in family photos old and new. Grandparents and great grandparents, possibly even great-great-grandparents stood watch over the newer generations. But what caught my eye was the gaping hole in the collage near the foot of the stairs. The photo of me and Meegan at Daisy’s engagement party was missing. I’d barely remembered it being there. The photos were endless and after a while just became part of the house, the décor. But when one as big as that photo was missing, it was noticeable. Had my mother finally given up hope? Had she finally put to rest the idea that Meegan would one day come back, and we’d all be a big, happy family again? I certainly hoped so. I had. Gemma had. Landon had.