Page 138 of Scouting the Single Dad

She barely bobs her head. “You too.”

I cut across the lot and climb inside the rental truck; the world goes quiet except for my breathing and the dull thud in my chest. Steering wheel, meet forehead.

I rest there a second, eyes closed. “You fucking idiot.”

I put my palms over my eyes until tears threaten.

“You are not going to cry,” I say. Sniffling. Sitting up again, wiping my nose. “Here’s the plan. You go to the lodge, you sit in the lobby like a normal person and have a fucking drink. You do not text her—she has a new boyfriend. This is fine, everything is fine.”

Benny and I will be fine.

Things will eventually go back to normal, when it was just me and her and that was all I needed. None of this love bullshit.

Layla doesn’t need you. Or want you.

My eyes burn.

Because I’m weak, I thumb open my phone. Our last text thread sits there, having petered out days and days ago. I stare at it several seconds, pissed at myself for letting the conversation die.

I start the ignition and turn the heat up. Idle the engine.

Open a text to Skylar with the intention of updating Benny, but what the hell do I tell her? I cannot very well say Layla Has a Boyfriend. She’s already replaced me, Dad fucked up! Big shocker!

Still. She’s the one person I can text without making everything worse.

Me:

Hey Skylar—can you let Benny know all is well and that I’m going to bring supplies home for Slime? She’s been begging for a gallon of glue and I’m weak, so I’ll bring some home.

Send.

I toss my phone to the passenger seat and back the truck out, the urge to head straight back to the airport strong.

The wipers thump slow across the windshield. Main Street blurs—strings of early lights, a carved wooden loon pointing tourists toward the lake, a couple in matching raincoats sharing an umbrella, and a sign on the art store that shouts, Fall Wreath WorkShop Here!

Awww.

Barf.

I’m never coming back to this fucking town.

Chapter 36

Layla

My hands will not stop shaking as I watch him go.

The rain makes a curtain of the block, blurring Hayes until he’s a figure in the distance, tall form and wide shoulders and . . . and . . .

My body forgets how to do basic things like swallow. Or blink.

Beside me, Grady is quiet.

He’s holding a brown paper bag like it’s a fragile animal and not a blueberry muffin bought because he wanted to give me space and hadn’t wanted to meddle in my business.

He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t move. He stands next to me in the drizzle, facing Main Street, ready to walk me back to work.

Say something, I tell myself. Don’t just stand here like a dipshit.