Page 10 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

“He’s a local—the general contractor I mentioned earlier. He’s very handsome. Not that I’m interested in dating right now. I was just curious.”

She smirks at me, clearly not buying it. “I’ve never heard of him. He might not live in town.”

“Oh.”

“He’s handsome, though?”

I can’t help grinning at the mischief in her tone, but I wave my hands as if to brush aside her teasing. “Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. He wasn’t even really that friendly. Like, at all. He probably thought I was just another silly California girl.”

Sabrina’s brow furrows. “He was rude to you?”

“No, not at all! For all I know, that’s how he is with everyone. I think I’m just a little self-conscious about the fact that I might stick out like a sore thumb here.”

“No way, Poppy. I mean,yes, you do seem like an out-of-towner at first glance, but that’s only because you’re tanned,glamorous, and dripping diamonds. But that’s also totally normal during tourist season.”

“What about when tourist season ends?”

“Then you’ll be the tannest, most glamorous, and shiniest girl in town, and everyone will love you for it. Trust me. The people here are full of love. You have nothing to worry about. I can sense it, Poppy Minton. You belong here.”

Chapter Four: Joe

The on-site labor at Poppy Minton’s cottage doesn’t begin for another week. In the meantime, there are design plans to finalize and materials to be ordered and various details to coordinate with Misha. Even though my professional title is General Contractor, it’s nice to be able to stretch my architect muscles, since that’s what I studied in college.

Thankfully, Ms. Minton—or Poppy, as she insisted I call her—is highly responsive over email and text. I shouldn’t be surprised. Girls like that are always glued to their phones.

“Are you sure you’re not judging her too harshly?” Flo asks me on another early Monday morning. Her short, silver-gray hair is pinned back with dark velvet clips, and she’s dressed in a burgundy three-piece suit.

Flo, also known as Florence Jean Reddington-Mansfield, is not the average grandmother to my boys. At least, not on the surface. She’s fifty-nine yearsyoung—her designation, not mine—and is a high-powered corporate attorney with a dossier of extremely important clients up in Boston. Growing up, she was always the kind of mom who was no-nonsense and blunt at thebest of times, but anyone who is lucky enough to catch a glimpse past her hardened exterior knows that Flo has a heart of gold. She’s been through a lot, given that my dad passed away when I was just a kid, and she is, without a doubt, the strongest human being I know.

I don’t know where I’d be without her. Unfortunately, we both know what it’s like to lose our spouses too soon.

I frown at my mom over the lid of my coffee mug. It’s seven thirty on a Monday morning, and I’m due to be in Mermaid Shores within the hour. The boys have field trips at school today, though, and she insisted on signing up to be a chaperone for Cody’s, so she’ll be bringing them to school for me. I tried explaining to her that most chaperones don’t dress like they’re ready for court, but she waved me off.

While the boys are wrestling in the living room, blowing off some steam from their excitement about not having “real school” today, I explained my first altercation with my newest client to my mom.

“I’m not judging her,” I insist.

“It certainly seems like you are,” she remarks lightly.

“Well, can you blame me? She answered the door in a satin pink robe and diamond earrings.”

“Sounds like she’s got fantastic style.”

“And she wants me to build a balcony with Greek revival columns.”

“Sounds like she’s got amazing taste.”

“Ma. You’re supposed to takemyside.”

Flo snorts loudly. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, son, and it’s probably my fault. You’ve worked sohard to provide for those boys since losing Ellie because you’ve had no other choice, and I fear it’s made you a little spiteful of people who haven’t had to sacrifice so much of themselves for mere survival.”

I blink at her. She’s always full of this sage wisdom. I think part of it is because she’s a regular patron of Miss Maisie, Mermaid Shores’ wise woman of the beach. All those tarot cards and blessed crystals makes her think that the universe has given her a glimpse into secrets the rest of us aren’t privy to.

“It’s not like that,” I grumble.

“Hm? Well, I hope not.”

“And why would that be your fault, anyway?”

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