Page 35 of Scouting the Single Dad

They flex, veiny and wide and—

“What else?” he asks, rougher now.

“A guy who—”

“And I’m backkk!” Benny materializes as if on cue, sliding into her chair with the subtlety of a parade. “What did I miss?”

The spell snaps. I blink; Hayes leans away a fraction, clears his throat, and somehow manages to look both guilty and innocent.

Benny eyes us suspiciously. “Why are your faces red?”

“Are they? That’s weird,” I say.

“Spicy fries,” he counters at the same time, plucking one off his plate and wiggling it in the air.

His daughter narrows her eyes, but then they light up once she spies her cocktail. “Seven cherries. Sweet!” She fist pumps.

“Bragging rights,” Hayes tells her, recovering his equilibrium much quicker than I do, his knee bumping mine under the table. I freeze but don’t move away.

He doesn’t either.

“Why is Dad smiling like that?” Benny inquires, plucking a cherry out of her glass. “You look sus.”

“I’m not smiling,” he insists, forcing a scowl onto his face.

“Mm-hmm.” She swivels to me. “Was he being charming? He tries sometimes. Like a wittle baby deer learning to walk.”

“I would never accuse your dad of having charm,” I say gravely.

“Gee, thanks,” he mutters, lips twitching again.

Benny clocks it and points triumphantly. “Aha! A microsmile. That’s your ‘I’m pretending I don’t like this, but I do’ face.”

“Eat your fries,” he rumbles.

“Gladly.” She pops another cherry into her mouth. “So what are we doing after this? Hot chocolate? Ice skating in the town square? A nighttime walk through downtown, strolling hand in hand?”

Where is she coming up with this?

“Bedtime,” Hayes counters.

She mopes. “Booo!”

“Counterproposal,” I say, leaning conspiratorially toward Benny. “Hot chocolate, and a short victory drive down Main Street to see the twinkling lights. Then—” I slice a hand through the air. “Back to the hotel before we turn into pumpkins. You’ve had a long day, and I have to be up at five.”

“Gross.” Benny groans.

“Tell me about it.”

We finish up and add whip cream on top of our cocoa order. I steal fries. Hayes pretends not to notice but slides the ketchup closer in my direction like a true gentleman. He catches the server’s eye and takes the check; the whole motion is attractively competent.

Outside, the air is crisp enough to bite. Benny marches ahead toward the truck as Hayes falls into step beside me, shoulder grazing mine as we walk.

Of course it does, the man is massive.

We pile back into my truck, then lurch onto Main Street. Twinkle lights drape from pole to pole, storefronts offering a warm glow. The bookstore is already closed, as is the bakery, whose window is fogged with fake snow, and the antique shop’s brass pumpkin greets us as we drive past slowly.

Quaint. Peaceful.