Page 48 of The Score We Never Settled

In every beer he drank at night, he tossed to the garage floor.

In the papers he signed when he took a second mortgage out on the home because he got fired for being drunk on the job.

And in every look he tossed my way.

I was the reasoning he needed to blame his wife’s death on.

I’ll still be that for him.

Because he’s dead to me.

13

LAYLA

Three years ago…

“I hope I’m not bein’too forward, Layla Jean, but you truly are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I force a smile.

Something I should be an expert at by now because my current date has been nothing but sweet and a complete gentleman, but if he compliments me one more time, I’m flipping this damn table over.

And it also feels weird.

Because it’s the wrong guy telling me these things, and it’s something I clearly need to continue working on getting over.

“I think we got past the forwardness, Hunter, after the sixth compliment.” He bows his head into his chest, posing on how I may have embarrassed him by the callout, but I simply tack, “But it’s sweet, just the same.”

But, seriously, you can stop.

That spruces him right up because he pulls his chin up and smiles, displaying the two smallest dimples on his cheeks.

Hunter is thinly built, but he fills out a blue jean button-up shirt nicely. He brought me a cake pan, which to any other female would probably not be the best present to give someone, but I loved it just the same.

“I’ll take it down a notch,” he claims. “I’m nervous, I apologize. I haven’t been on a date in quite a while.”

“Me either. It’s okay.”

“Is your steak good?”

I steal a glance at my plate, and it’s perfect. “Almost too good to eat.”

“That’s why this is my favorite restaurant in the whole world. Food comes out amazin’ each and every single time. No issues, amazin’ chefs.”

“You bring all your dates here?” I tease, dipping a piece of my steak in the restaurant’s homemade steak sauce.

“No, ma’am. Been too busy with football, but I bring my mama here, though, while she’s visitin’ in town. So does that count?”

“Counts, but not against you.”

He smiles, then continues eating his dinner.

Hunter is a man I met in Auburn Lakes, the town next door to Magnolia Ridge. There’s a baking supply store, and the few times I’ve met him, he was running errands for his mother and the bakery she owns a couple towns over.

Then he asked me on a date.

And I blurted out a yes.