Page 126 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Your place is beautiful.”

“Thanks. My sister is a designer. I take no credit for this.”

A sister. I file that information away.

“Ahh. My best friend, Faith, is a designer too.”

Music hums low from somewhere in the living room, and lamps light the room. Dim. Cozy, lit in part by the fire glowing in the massive fieldstone fireplace that’s the center of the living room.

“Wine?” Grady asks, guiding me toward the kitchen.

“Please.”

His kitchen is warm wood and concrete counters, with a big, scarred butcher block island. He has two place settings at one end already waiting, while a pot of water boils and a pan of pancetta crackles next to it on the stove top. It smells delicious.

Grady sets a wineglass in front of me and begins pouring. The dark burgundy liquid has my mouth watering. “So. Are you hungry?”

How could he tell? “Is it that obvious?”

My stomach growls as I reach for the wine stem, lifting the glass and swirling it. “Mmm. This is good.”

“It is.” He pours himself a glass. “Got it on a trip once.”

“Fancy.” I smile at him. “Do you like traveling?”

He nods. “I do, when I choose to and not when it’s a chore—like for work. I’m really looking for a partner who wants to travel with me? I’m tired of seeing cool shit by myself.”

My heart speeds up.

“Same,” I say, although truth be told, traveling isn’t high on my to-do list. I’d rather have kids and stay home and decorate for holidays and make lunches and fuss during bath time. Not that you can’t travel and be a mom, but you get what I mean. It’s not easy doing both, and like—the closest airport is a 1.5-hour drive.

Guh, what am I saying?

I sip the wine. Focus on Grady’s eyes, the kindness there. Remind myself that this—this kitchen, this table set with intention to impress me—is real, and Hayes was nothing but a daydream.

“Okay,” he says, giving the pancetta a poke with a wooden spoon. “Serious question first: What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

“Oh this answer is so easy.” I don’t have to think. “It’s an old one but a classic: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I am Andie Anderson, she is me.”

He twirls pasta onto two plates, adds the pancetta on top, then sets them at our place settings. “My go-to is always Step Brothers. Don’t ask me why, but it gets better and better every time I watch it.”

That movie is so dumb, but I don’t tell him this.

“Follow-up: If this carbonara isn’t a panty dropper, I expect you to tell me.’”

I laugh, the knot in my body loosening up, getting more comfortable with him. “I mean, won’t you know it’s not a panty dropper when I’m not fawning all over you and dropping my panties?”

But Grady knows what he’s doing. The first bite has me groaning.

And while I’m salivating over his carbonara, he tells me about his niece’s piano recital and how she kept peeking over at him and giggling, causing her to have to start her song from the beginning four times.

I tell him about the man in town who filed a complaint on his neighbor because once the neighbor put up a new fence, he could no longer see over it.

Wine warms my cheeks. I’m somewhere pleasantly between brave and relaxed and feeling good.

“Tell me about your last relationship,” I say, wanting to know more about his love languages and what he’s looking for—and not looking for.

“She was a city girl,” he says definitively. “And so, when I bought the cottage, she was vehemently against it.” Grady pauses. “When I say ‘city girl,’ I mean . . . she considers this cabin roughing it and would rather stay in a hotel.”