Page 102 of The Single Dad

“It’s not like you’re driving anywhere,” he coaxes. “Just a glass. Come on, you’re my guest, and I have a bottle open already.” He tilts his head to the counter, where his own glass sits, half empty.

“Fine, fine,” I sigh. “If you’re drinking. What is it, anyway?”

Noah pours me a glass, then hands me the bottle for inspection. It’s a white wine, still chilled as though it’s been sitting in the fridge. I recognize the label from the restaurant’s selection of wines. This is one of the most expensive bottles we had, from an Italian winery.

I whistle appreciatively. “Pulling out all the stops for little old me?”

“I just like the finer things in life, what can I say?” He grins, stirring his vegetables and turning down the heat on the stove.

I take a sip of the wine. It’s perfect—not too sweet, not too acidic, with fruity notes.

As I drink my wine, I watch him cook. He’s genuinely talented at it, and he’s only gotten better with practice. He pours the eggs into a smaller skillet, and as they cook, he flips them without the spatula—just with a flick of his wrist on the pan’s handle.

“Whoa,” I say. “Where’d you learn that trick?”

He scoffs. “I’ve known how to do that for years.”

“Sure you have,” I tease.

He looks up at me, and the humor fades quickly out of his eyes. I frown, suddenly remembering how serious the tone of his text was, and wondering if there’s some other reason he invited me over.

“So,” he says. “Tell me what’s going on between you and my neighbor.”

“Cole?” I blink, taken aback. My heart pounds in my chest. “Nothing.”

He sets the skillet down on the burner, arching a brow. “You sure about that? Because I saw you kissing on the front stoop of his house last night.” He nods over at his kitchen window, which has a plain view of the scene of the crime. “So if that’s nothing, I don’t even know what something would look like.”

Shit.

I smile weakly. “Ah. Well… busted, I guess.”

“Riley,” Noah says, “what’s going on?”

I decide to give him an abbreviated version of what’s going on, leaving out all of the details, all of the ups and downs.

“Cole and I may have slept together,” I admit, taking a quick sip of wine for courage. “And we have an arrangement. It won’t affect other things. It’s not really a big deal.”

He’s silent for a few minutes, focused on his cooking. As he sprinkles fresh cheese over the eggs, he says, “Listen, men like Cole—men like me, so I should know—we can be a little… cold hearted. Distant. Not exactly good boyfriend material.”

“Well, that’s fine,” I say, bemused. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

He carefully folds the omelets in the skillet. “We take what we want, and we’re not used to making sacrifices or compromises,” he says, still wearing a skeptical frown. “I could see it on Cole from a mile away.”

“None of that matters,” I insist. “Whatever’s going on between us, it’s not like that. It’s not a relationship.”

Noah shrugs, portioning out the vegetables into his omelet. “I just want you to be happy, you know? Just looking out for that.”

“I appreciate it,” I tell him sincerely. “But really, it’ll be okay.” Before he can stop me, I pivot the subject away from Cole, focusing instead on his love life. “So is there a special someone in your life yet?”

Noah sighs, a note of impatience slipping into his voice. “Come on, Riley—”

“I’m serious! Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

He shakes his head. “There’s no one in particular. I’ve gone out on dates, and that’s it.”

“Dates?” My eyes go round. “Multiple dates, with one person?”

“No,” he says emphatically. “That’s the point. One date. Two, maximum, but I’m never really feeling the second date.”

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