Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(44)

“Well, first he started off crabby, then he started coming around a bit. And I mean, okay, there was some sexual tension—but it was friendly enough. We talked at dinner or in the hot tub.”

One of Summer’s dark eyebrows arches in my direction. “Hot tub? What is this, high school? Has anyone told you that you can get pregnant in there?”

“Shut up. But now he talks in grunts. The only way we converse is via text message or the Post-it notes he leaves around the house.”

“He leaves you Post-it notes?” Her lips pop open in surprise.

I shrug. “Yeah. He’ll walk in when Luke and I are cleaning up after making a batch of cookies and say nothing about it. Just talk to Luke. But then in the morning he’ll leave a note by the coffee that says, Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Summer laughs.

“Summer! Stop laughing and help me. What does that mean?”

Her head tips back, and I catch the guys glancing up at us. “It means he loves your cookies, Wils.”

I snort. “Of course. My cookies bring all the boys to the yard.”

Summer laughs harder, her wine sloshing in her glass as she does. “He did it all for the cookie,”

she wheezes.

“Good lord. Can we please stop quoting awful songs and talk about my actual problem?”

She wipes at the tears on her cheeks as she straightens. “Okay. Okay. I’m honestly still just trying to wrap my head around this. Did you kiss him? I know you’re forward. Did you freak him out? He’s very . . . stern?”

“Way to take his side!”

Her eyes roll. “There are no sides. Tell me more about the notes.”

I sniffle and shoot her a dirty look. “Sure feels like it. Oooh. Poor innocent Cade who pushed me up against a hay bale and kissed me stupid.”

Summer rolls a hand, urging me to get over it and tell her more.

“Things like, Luke told me about his guitar lesson today. Thank you. Or, Please don’t paint the front porch. I don’t know how to take that though.”

“You painted the front porch?”

I scoff. Cade is such a stick in the mud sometimes. “We used paint to add details to the banisters.

It looks cute. You’d swear I painted his front step Barbie pink or something.”

She eyes me like we both know I should have said no to Luke’s idea. But whatever. We can paint it over. It’s not like we killed someone or threw heads of lettuce out of my car.

“Basically, he comes home and we silently cook together. We eat dinner, and he mostly talks to



Luke, avoids looking at me, says, Thanks, and then gets to work putting Luke to bed. I assume he’s exhausted after that and passes out. Truthfully, I don’t know how he does it. It’s way too much for one person to handle all on their own. But if I cook dinner, he gets all crabby. If I clean, he gets crabby.

Oh! When he told me to stop doing laundry the other day, he said that I’m just the nanny, not the maid.

So who the hell knows? Then he left me a note on the dryer that said, Thank you for your help. ”

“It’s really kind of sweet. Like . . . for Cade?”

“Ugh. Is it though? He kissed me and then pulled away and said he shouldn’t have done that. He apologized. I’m trying not to be offended.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

I blink at her. “Talking?”

“Yes. You know . . . where you use your mouth to create words that describe what’s going through your head.”

“Sounds weird. Sounds awkward. Don’t like it. Not approved by me.”

She gives me a disapproving look. I imagine it’s one she’ll use on her future children.

“Why can’t we just have sex for the next little bit and then high-five each other at the end?”

“And spend the rest of your lives running into each other because of me and Rhett?”

I turn my nose up. “We’re adults. I’m head over heels for Luke. Do you know how cool that kid is? It’ll be fine.”

Summer stares wistfully out over the field, spinning the engagement ring on her finger. “Adults who won’t talk to each other.”

She says it kindly enough but I know it’s a dig. And I know she’s right. I know I fly by the seat of my pants with little regard for where I’m going. Planning stresses me out.

That’s why go with the flow is my motto.

Too many ways to fail. Too many ways to fall short. And in a family of wildly successful people, I’d rather be the flighty wildcard than the failure.

“You coming to the rodeo next weekend?” I change the subject entirely, actively sidestepping the thoughts bubbling up inside me.

She nods. “Of course. You?”

“Yeah. I told Cade I’d take care of Luke that day. We’ll go watch him.”

“Working the weekends, huh?”

I shrug. “Spending time with Luke doesn’t really feel like work.”

In fact, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

I should have known when Luke asked, “What does it feel like when you get carsick?” that something was wrong.

Instead, I kept bobbing my head to my favorite Broken Bells song and said, “Just like nauseous, buddy.”

We had a fun day at the spray park in town—our new go-to spot on hot days. He gets to see a bunch of friends from school, and I get to mean mug the psychopath birthday boy and his mom who will forever live on in my head as Bunny.