Page 21 of About That Night

“I’ve been interested in men as a whole. Not a specific man. But Hank is a friend. We have a bit of a…history.” But for some completely mortifying reason, I blush when I say it.

“Oh, sweetie,” Bobbi says, and her voice is filled with concern. “And he texted you nothing but ‘what’s up?’”

Now I’ve backed myself into a corner. I don’t know what to say, but fortunately, I hear my name.

“Chastity.”

When I turn, it’s Hank standing there, smiling. Damn, he’s hot. That smile is wicked and charming and panty-melting.

“Hi.”

“Are you on break yet?” he asks.

He’s wearing jeans and work boots. He has a paint-streaked sweatshirt on and has two bags in his hand. It smells like lunch, and I’m jealous of his grandfather.

“Yes,” I say, whether I am or not. I know he came to see Mr. Young, but my heart still beats a little faster.

“I see,” Bobbi says, rolling her eyes a little. “Guess we’re taking breaks whenever we want now.”

“I was going on break,” I say, annoyed that she’s making me look too eager. Which is ridiculous, because I am eager.

“Want to go outside for a few minutes? I won’t take up your whole break. I just want to see you before I hang out with Pops.”

“Great, sure.” I shove my phone in my pocket. My palms feel sweaty. “There’s a bench out back we can sit on.”

I walk toward the door, and he follows me. Once we’re outside and sitting side by side, Hank hands me one of the bags.

“I don't know if you brought lunch today or how much you really eat at work, so I didn’t pack you the works, but I made bread pudding, so I brought you some.”

“Thank you.” I take the bag and peer inside. The piece is big enough for me and three other people. “It looks delicious.” I gesture to his shirt. “Painting your apartment?”

“No, the restaurant. Just a primer coat. I’ll save the finishing work for the pros, but I’m trying to save money.”

“I’d love to see it.” I would. The old courthouse was always a little gloomy and ominous. I can’t really envision it as a restaurant.

“I’d love to show you.”

“So is this what people do when they’re dating?” I ask, rubbing my arms a little against the slight chill in the air. “Hang out randomly for a few minutes when they can?”

“When one of them is a single mom, yes. A man should respect that your son is your priority when you’re not working. It takes effort and creativity to date a single parent. You need a man who understands that.”

“Have you dated any single moms?” I ask, and hate myself the second I ask it. I sound way too curious. But I am curious.

“Two, actually. With one woman, I never met her daughter because she wasn’t comfortable with that since we weren’t that serious about each other. We did a lot of schedule workarounds so we could hang out. The other one, I did spend time with her son, and it was actually really hard when we stopped seeing each other because I missed that kid. More than her, if I’m being honest. He was twelve and a good kid.”

“Why did it end?”

“It felt like she wanted a dad for her son more than a partner for herself, and if I’m going all in on helping to raise a kid, I want a woman who fucking adores me, you know? Not one who sees me as convenient or a safe bet. It seemed like we were both more interested in creating a family for her son than having mad love for each other. I want mad love if I’m doing the whole relationship thing.”

Mad love.

That sounds amazing.

I’ve probably always pictured the safe bet, if I’m being honest with myself.

Knowing you always have someone to come home to, to bounce worries and plans and dreams off of, to have unlimited hugs. I want all of that.

But mad love…I don’t even know what that looks like, let alone feels like. It sounds incredible and passionate and risky and scary as hell.

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