Page 28 of Scouting the Single Dad

Benny gasps, triumphant. “See! Dad, she’s starving!”

Horrified, I press a hand to my stomach, wishing I could melt into the cracked vinyl seat. “That was, uh—ignore that. Really, I should g—”

Another louder grumble interrupts me.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

Hayes groans. “Unbelievable.”

Benny practically bounces in her seat, giving her dad a shove toward the door. “That settles it. Three for dinner.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” I try again, voice thin, but Benny’s already reaching over her father’s massive frame to pop the door open.

“You’re not intruding!” She tugs at my sleeve. “You’re rescuing me from my dad’s bad mood.”

He glowers. “Bad mood?” The sigh that follows is resigned, his large hand pushing the door open farther.

“You’re coming. End of discussion,” Benny says.

And just like that, I’m being herded toward the glowing doors of Velvet and Vine, cheeks hot, stomach still growling like I haven’t eaten in days.

Chapter 6

Hayes

What is supposed to be a classy, quiet, exclusive atmosphere feels like I’m walking in a spotlight with a nine-year-old holding a microphone.

I want to pull Benny aside, march her to the restroom, and tell her to knock it off. But What Would Be the Point? She’ll just smile up at me with that mischievous glint in her eye and pretend innocence.

Then the second I sit back down, she’ll start in again.

This is what Benny does. Push, prod, and needle with the youthful enthusiasm she throws at every single thing she does.

Except right now, she’s unknowingly doing it at Layla’s expense.

And mine.

The second we’re seated around a small table in the back corner of the dimly lit restaurant—Benny between us again, of course—she’s back at it, firing off questions. “Do you cook? Ever been on a date that went horribly wrong?”

Heat creeps up my neck. My grip tightens on the menu in my hands. “Bernadette, stop. You’re being rude.”

She only glances at me. “We’re getting to know her.”

Layla hesitates. “You know what? I think I’ll use the restroom. Please excuse me.” She pushes back her chair and stands, napkin on the chair as she crosses the room and heads toward the toilets.

I go straight for my daughter. “You need to knock this off right now. We are not going to date Layla.” I shake my head. “It’s not happening—and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Benny’s shoulders move up and down as she innocently inspects her fingernails. “It’s not a crime to ask questions.”

“That isn’t the point, Benny. You’re not asking normal questions. You’re interviewing her.” I breathe in. I breathe out. “We met this person today. Give her a break.”

She’s probably climbing out the bathroom window as we speak to escape us. Wouldn’t blame her. If I had the option, I’d be halfway down the alley by now too.

Benny retrieves a little chunk of bread from the basket and goes about buttering it. “You like her.”

My eyes bug out of my skull. “Excuse me?”

“You like her,” she repeats, pulling off a hunk of crust and jamming it into her mouth.