Page 60 of Scouting the Single Dad

I shut the door. Lean on it. Stare at the ceiling fan as if it can circulate common sense.

Who can I talk to about this? Not my mother, unless I want a lecture on jetting off with strange men who could be axe murderers. Not my siblings—they would tell my mother. Not my group of friends—it would require too many details I don’t have the time to tell.

Annabelle.

We aren’t friends, and I barely know her. But she is in a relationship with a football player and her best friend is married to one, so who better to give me advice?

I find a robe hanging behind the bathroom door and slip it on so I can settle onto the bed without getting the duvet cover damp. I flop down. Find our last few messages from last week, leading up to the festival.

My thumbs hover. I type, delete, type again.

Me:

Hey there. Do you have a second?

Annabelle:

Sure do, what’s up? Is everything okay?

Me:

This is going to sound crazy so I’m just going to say it.

Me:

I’m in Arizona with Hayes Fielder. At his house. With his daughter. And he just kissed me.

There. I did it.

Let her sit with a million questions before she has a chance to process what I’ve just told her.

Annabelle:

I’m sorry, what? I had to read that to make sure my eyes were reading what I thought I read.

Me:

No, you read that right. And I’m hiding in the bedroom—Not His Bedroom, the guest bedroom—because we just had a sexy kiss in the pool and now I have no idea what to do next. Like. Wht the Hell Do I Do???

Annabelle:

You kissed Hayes Fielder. The guy who never smiles.

Me:

Oh, he smiles alright . . .

Annabelle:

Oh my god. Are You Fucking Serious?? Pardon my language but Holy Shit.

This is exactly the response I was expecting.

Annabelle:

I’m sorry—that wasn’t helpful, I know. Okay. PHEW! Deep breath. Are you safe? Do you feel good about this?

Me: