Page 159 of The Single Dad

“I can’t do it,” I whisper.

Cole’s face falls. The look of hurt in his eyes makes this all the more difficult.

“I’m sorry,” I say, strained. “I can’t. I can’t trust you with my heart.”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze directly. I want to be as honest with him as possible.

“Why not?” There’s no accusation in Cole’s voice. He’s genuinely asking.

“On some level, I’ll always be the nanny you’re fucking,” I whisper. “If we were going to make a real go of it… I would be more than that to Archie. But you’re never going to trust me to be your partner. Your real partner, raising your child.”

I look away, unable to bear the sadness in his gaze. I stare at the sunlight filtering through the handprints on the windows.

“I’ll always be lesser. I can’t do that,” I say.

Cole lets out a breath. I give him a moment to speak, but he seems to be waiting for me to finish.

“Archie is lucky to have someone who loves him so much.” I swallow hard. “To love him with his whole heart. I deserve that, too. And I don’t want to settle for less.”

I look back at Cole, who nods, his expression tight.

“Thank you,” I say. I lift a hand to gesture at the atrium. “What you did for this place is really amazing.”

“These kids are lucky to have you,” Cole replies, his voice hoarse.

I glance up at the clock—it’s two fifty-five. My painting class starts in five minutes. I give Cole a last glance, my stomach twisting at the look on his face. For a moment, I wonder if I should say something else to him; is there something else that you say to someone like this?

Someone who mattered to you so much that the parting is painful? Someone who made their way into your heart, and left a hole on their way back out?

In the end, I can’t think of what to say. I walk past Cole, heading for the supply closet where the paints are stored. When I re-emerge into the atrium, he’s gone.

Chapter 51

Riley

A couple weeks later, Olivia and I have plans for drinks on a Friday. I show up to our dive bar fashionably late by around ten minutes, but Olivia is later; I’m already sitting at a booth in the corner by the time she arrives. The lights are dim this evening, and whoever’s in control of the jukebox is playing classic rock.

Olivia slides in across from me, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she says, out of breath. “I just ran all the way over from—”

“Let me guess—work?”

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Yeah. You got it.”

“What was it this time?”

She waves a hand, shaking her head. “Oh, it’s a whole, long… rant. I’ll tell you once I have a drink.”

A server with a small, black apron tied around her waist comes up to our table. “What can I get for you guys?”

“I,” Olivia says dramatically, leaning on the table, “will have a vodka martini. Extra dirty, please.”

“I’ll just have a tequila, neat,” I say.

The server blinks at both of us, taken aback, then says, “Uh, okay. Do you want our top shelf, or—”

“I’ll just take your well.” I’m not in the mood to shell out a bunch of money for an expensive liquor tonight. I just paid the rent on my apartment a few days ago, and all I need is a drink of some description.

Olivia nods. “And the same for me, please. Whatever you’ve got back there, I can live with it.”

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