Page 41 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Then he added the salt. Straight table salt from the box, because that was all he had. “Does that feel okay?”

“Feels great,” she said, adding a sexy little moan.

“And beer!” He snapped his fingers because he’d almost forgotten. He went to the fridge and opened it up, rattling off all the kinds he’d grabbed.

“Ooh, hmmm.” He could just picture her tapping her finger to her chin. “Let’s go with the Funky Peach Summer Sour. That sounds interesting.”

“Good choice,” he said, grabbing it from the fridge, along with two beer steins from the cupboard. He brought it all back to the living room with him, retrieved the bottle opener from his pocket and poured them each a glass of the Funky Peach Summer Sour. “This was last year’s top seller,” he said, handing her the stein. He clinked his glass against hers. “To mermaids, beer and—”

“Unexpected new friendships,” she cut in, gracing him with a sweet smile that made his heart stutter.

“And unexpected new friendships,” he repeated.

They clinked glasses and held eye contact.

She held eye contact firmly even as she sipped. It was intense. But when she pulled away, a bit of froth on her upper lip that he wanted to lick away, she smiled and started giggling. “Do you know that old myth, too?”

He cocked his head. “What old myth?”

“That if you don’t hold eye contact when you drink as you clink glasses that it’s seven years of bad sex?”

Thankfully, he’d swallowed his beer because he would have choked on it if he’d had any in his mouth. “No. I did not know that one.”

“Oh. I thought that’s why you were making such intense eye contact with me.”

“I made intense eye contact with you because you made intense eye contact with me. I also know it’s rude not to make eye contact after you clink glasses. But I had no idea it had anything to do with bad sex for seven years.”

Her sweet giggle was back. “Well, even in ignorance, you saved your bacon. No bad sex for you.”

He wiped the back of his wrist over his forehead. “Phew. Thank goodness. Dodged a bullet there.”

Not that he’d had sex since Jacqueline passed away. And they hadn’t had sex for almost a year before she passed. So he was cruising at six years no sex. Was that because he’d avoided eye contact with someone while doing cheers? Was it seven years no sex?

He’d had a lot of sex with himself, of course ...

That couldn’t be what it meant.

It was just a goofy superstition, anyway.

Right?

“You’re thinking awfully hard over there, Mr. Summer Sour. What’s on your mind?” She took another sip of her beer. “This is delicious, by the way. I taste the peach, and it’s sour and really ... refreshing.”

That compliment about his beer was music to his ears. Yes, he knew it was delicious, but the compliments never got old. This was his life. His livelihood, so when someone said they liked his brew, he stood a little taller, and his smile grew bigger.

“Don’t think my compliment lets you off the hook, though. What were you thinking about?” she pressed.

He took a second sip. Liquid courage. “Would you believe it was about the last time I had sex?”

Her eyes widened. “Was it bad? Are you thinking you didn’t make eye contact with someone else many cheerses ago, and you’re already cursed?”

He chuckled. “Well, yes and no. Not that it was bad, just that it was a long time ago. Six years. Also, is cheerses a word?””

Her eyes widened even more, to the point where it looked like they might spontaneously pop out of her head. “Six years? And it’s a word if I say it’s a word.”

Clint nodded and snorted. “Fair enough. But, in all seriousness, my wife has been dead for five years, but our marriage was on the rocks for at least a year before that. She didn’t want this life here. She wanted the city. The busyness. She thought life here was too slow and too boring, and she resented me for bringing her here to raise a family. She didn’t believe there were enough opportunities here for Talia. And maybe she was right about that. But I love how safe it is here. How my daughter can run around outside in her bare feet.”

“Like a free-range chicken,” Brooke interrupted, smiling. “That’s what she said you call them.”

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