Page 51 of The Single Dad

I know better than that.

As I set the glass of milk down in front of Archie, who is starting to look more alert, I vow to turn over a new leaf.

* * *

For the next few days, Cole keeps his distance.

He’s not cold to me like he was before, but he’s also never more than cordial. We don’t share the kind of laughs we shared during the outing to the petting zoo, and he never gets as close to me, emotionally or physically, as he was that night.

It bothers me, and I hate that it does. I keep reminding myself that this is what we agreed to, and that it’s for the best.

But still, I hate it. I hate the distance, because the worst part of it all is that I’m starting to like him.

Living with him, and being around him so often, I keep getting little glimpses of the man he is beneath the ever-present stoic mask. He seemed like he was warming up to me, and it felt special to see that side of him, something that I’m sure very few people have seen.

And it was unbelievably attractive. I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to a man in my life. Now that he’s withdrawn back behind his facade, I miss him, the guy I had started to fall for.

It should be a turn off; it should make the feelings fade. But it doesn’t. If anything, it just makes my desires stronger. I want to get close to him. I want him to be comfortable around me.

I know it’s not in the cards, however, so I do my best to focus mainly on Archie, and on my job. I’m almost able to manage it. Almost.

On Friday evening, shortly before Archie’s bedtime, Archie and I are in the front room of the house, each working on our own artistic masterpieces. Mine, upon request, is a watercolor painting of Archie’s favorite animals from the petting zoo, the fluffy little pony and the one-eared sheep. It’s still in the sketch stages, but it’s coming along nicely.

Archie’s, meanwhile, is a fingerpainted self-portrait. It’s sort of abstract, a little avant garde. In order to really appreciate it, you have to let yourself forget what a five-year-old boy looks like, and embrace the artistic value of blobby shapes and too much paint.

I spread newspapers all over the floor to protect the wood underneath, and those are getting their fair share of paint splatters, too.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my sketch, figuring out where to put the light in the pony’s eyes, when I hear the doorbell chime.

Cole strides down the main hallway. My eyes track him as he goes; I can’t help it. My gaze is drawn to him.

I hear his voice as he opens the door: “Please, come in, come in.”

A woman’s voice answers, and the tip of my pencil freezes on the paper. “Thank you,” the stranger says warmly. “How are you tonight? You look good.”

The two of them walk back down the hall, toward the back of the house. As they pass by the open entrance to this room, I catch a glimpse of the woman.

She’s stunning, with a shock of shining, dark curls and long legs. She’s also dressed impeccably, in an expensive burgundy coat and pearl earrings that match her white teeth. She doesn’t glance at me and Archie as she moves past.

My stomach clenches. Who is she?

They continue to the sitting room behind the kitchen, and while their exact words fade, I can still hear the low murmur of their conversation. At one point, Cole says something, and she laughs. Her laugh carries through the house, high-pitched and flirty.

I glance down at Archie, who is preoccupied with his finger painting. There’s a knot in my chest, but I try to follow his example, staring back at my own easel.

It’s difficult to focus. In fact, I think I’m starting to feel a little sick.

I look back at Archie’s painting, searching for a distraction. “You almost done, bud? We’re going to have to get you cleaned up before bed.”

“I still have to add the sky,” Archie tells me, pointing to the strip of untouched white at the top of the page.

“Of course you do,” I agree. “But it’s getting late, so it might have to be something we finish on Monday.”

“Monday?” He pouts.

I gesture at my own unfinished work. “I still have a lot of work to do on my own painting,” I say. “And I don’t want to work on it without my art buddy. Don’t worry—we’ll have plenty of time to finish this after pre-K on Monday.”

Archie perks up visibly, then gets to his feet. “Okay.”

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