Page 12 of Single Mom for the Bikers

“That's mine!” Mia snaps and comes running, her platinum brows furrowed in frustration. She stops just out of range of him and holds her hands out.

“Mia, that's rude. Mr. Kelsey was just being helpful.” I scold, hating that I’m passing on the same lessons that have me standing out here being polite.

Matt doesn’t seem to mind which is a point in his favor. He laughs and holds out Mr. Bear. “Here you go, little lady. I didn't mean to make you angry, but good for you for watching what's yours and standing up for yourself.”

She takes Mr. Bear and squeezes him close while she sidles up to me and hides behind my leg, still not convinced by this new man. Is this really the same little girl that wanted to hold hands with the bleeding biker who barged into our house with a gun tucked in his belt?

“I'm sorry, Matt. I think someone needs a nap. She was at a sleepover last night and I bet there wasn’t much sleeping.” All true, but it doesn’t explain her sudden shyness.

“No problem. Being a little skeptical of strangers is healthy. My little girl is too.” He's still holding the backpack.

“Oh, you have kids, too?” Not that being a dad is an automatic green flag, but it’s less worrisome when a guy with kids tries to flirt compared to when childless men target single mothers. So long as he isn’t married, that is, which doesn’t always seem to stop them.

He nods and smiles down at Mia. She glares back. “I do, actually. About your girl's age, but she lives with her mother. You know how it is.”

Yeah, I do. Sometimes the mom is a bitch, but do a little digging and there’s usually a reason for it.

I paste a smile on my face and hold my hand out for Mia's bag. “Well, it's been nice to meet you, but I want to get her inside. Now that she's awake, I can carry everything in, no problem. But thank you.”

He licks his lips, and for a second I think he’s going to object, but then he holds the backpack out a tiny bit too far so I have to reach for it. “You never told me if there’s a Mr. Shelby.”

I want to lie. To tell him that my husband is at work but he’ll be home later, but this guy is my neighbor. It would come out soon enough. “No, um…” I look down at Mia. “He’s not in the picture anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t sound it. “I know this is probably too much, but I’ve never been one for beating around the bush. Do you want to grab a coffee sometime? Maybe a bite to eat? Nothing big, but?—”

“Look, Matt. You seem like a nice guy and I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Things with Mia’s father were complicated and I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Mia's tugging my leg impatiently. She wants inside.

He looks undaunted. “Of course. I totally get it. I’m still recovering from my own situation, but gotta get back on the horse, right? If you need anything, whatever, I'm good at lifting things, getting things down from high places, opening jars, whatever else you might need. Not gonna make it weird, I promise.”

“Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.”

He seems to finally get the hint. With a final nod, and a quick glance and a smile at Mia, who glowers back, he turns and walks off. He waves with one hand, looking over his shoulder as he leaves my property. “Just remember. Anything. I'll see you around, I'm sure.”

As soon as I unlock the door. Mia darts inside and I follow with her things.

I don't know. He seems nice enough. It's probably just me.

I still lock the door, though.

8

SHELBY

“This one?”Mia asks, pointing to a plucky little green plant that from what I can see looks exactly like all the other ones sticking up from the dirt in our front flower beds.

Until I became a parent to a child who never stops asking questions, I never realized how much my parents probably lied about or were just guessing when I was little. Truthfully, I have no idea if what she’s pointing at is a weed or a flower, but I’m pretty sure I don’t recognize those leaves so weed it is.

“Yep! Stick the trowel in right next to the stem like this.” I wrap my hand around hers and help her push through the soil, and together, we wiggle it back and forth until the stem is loose enough to yank out. “Now throw it in the bucket.”

She turns it into a game, and by the time the maybe-weed actually makes it inside, she’s completely lost interest in gardening and is busy practicing somersaults on the grass. Honestly, I feel pretty done with it as well, but if I wait any longer, spring will be over and it’ll start getting hot which will make everything way harder. I learned that last year. It was my first time living alone with Mia after Mom moved in withher boyfriend, and having a whole house and yard to deal with. There was a lot to learn as I went.

Finally, I decide it’s break time. We’re sitting on the porch drinking lemonade with dirt stains on both our knees when the rumble of a single motorcycle engine cuts through the air. Mia perks up, big brown eyes focused intently on the end of the street.

I stand when the bike comes into view, nervous snakes writhing in the pit of my stomach. “Why don’t you go inside, honey?”

“Why?”

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