Page 18 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“I mean it, honey,” I say, standing upright and gesturing for us to keep walking. “Maybe we can revisit this conversationin a few years, but for now, I don’t want you to be worrying about whether or not I’m lonely. The only thing you need to be thinking about is what makes you happy. And what flavor ice cream you want to have after dinner tonight.”

I expect her to giggle at that, but she’s still quiet and pensive. “But what would make me happy is seeingyouhappy, Daddy.”

“I am happy, kid.”

Even as the words tumble past my lips, I know they’re a lie. I can’t remember the last time I felt truly happy. It’s been years, at least. At least since Wren’s mother passed away. Maybe even before that.

And maybe happiness isn’t the right word for what I want. Maybe what I’ve really been missing is a sense of freedom and contentedness. The sort of feeling that I had when I was eighteen and living in New York City, spending every single day studying the one thing that brought me more joy than anything else in the world. Even with Alina breathing down my neck half the time, those were the best days of my life. I was so hopeful back then. So optimistic. So full of pure ambition.

I can barely remember what that’s like.

I’m not even sure if dating again would make me happy. I can’t imagine it. It’s been long enough that I think I’d be reasonably ready to get back out there, but when I think about having to start at ground zero and get to know someone all over again, a wave of exhaustion rolls over me.

“Hey, look,” I say, gesturing ahead of us. “We’re home.”

“That was a really short walk!” Wren chirps, clearly already fully recovered from our unexpectedly serious discussion. “We could go to the pier every single day!”

“Uh… yeah.”

Our conversation lingers in the air as we approach the duplex, tugging at the fringes of my frayed mind. Wren automatically tries the door handle, and when she strikes out, I reach for mykeys, only to come up empty. A wave of irritation hits me as I pat my pockets, searching in vain.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Wren asks, tilting her head.

“I forgot the keys,” I admit, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We’re locked out.”

Wren giggles. “Seriously?Youforgot something?”

“Yes, me,” I admit with a sigh. “Even I make mistakes.”

I’m tempted to blame Alina. When Wren and I were getting ready to leave the house earlier, I was so distracted by the mere possibility of running into my old rival in the shared hallway outside our respective apartments that I forgot to go through my usual routine of checking for my keys and my wallet.

Which, really, ismyfault. Not Alina’s fault. But it’s easier to blame her than to acknowledge the reality that the knowledge of her constant proximity is consuming more of my brain power than I’m comfortable with.

“What do we do now?” Wren asks, her little purple sandals scuffing at the porch steps.

“Wait for the neighbors, I guess,” I say, sitting down on the front steps. The other side of the house is dark and quiet, suggesting that nobody is home. “Unless you want to try breaking a window.”

Wren’s eyes light up. “Can I?”

“No.” I laugh despite myself. “We’re not breaking windows, kiddo.”

If this were the house I grew up in, I wouldn’t hesitate to coax open a window from the outside and coach Wren into climbing inside to unlock the door from within. It’s what my brother and I used to do when we were kids and we had to find a way into the house after school while our parents were still at work.

Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately, I guess—this duplex is protected with a high-tech security system. Even attempting toopen one of the windows from the outside while the place is armed would alert the local authorities immediately. I really don’t want to deal with that kind of fiasco right now. Or ever.

We sit in companionable silence for a while, Wren humming softly to herself as she plays with her keychain. The quiet of the evening is almost soothing. At least, until the crunch of gravel breaks it.

I look up, expecting Karina and Andy, the nice couple who I originally thought would be our only neighbors for the summer.

Instead, it’s Alina.

She steps out of the growing shadows, a reusable grocery bag slung over her shoulder, and freezes when she sees us. Her eyes narrow, and her posture stiffens with comical immediacy.Great.

“You’re locked out,” she states, her tone flat.

“Brilliant deduction,” I reply briskly, rising to my feet. “Think you can help us out, or are you going to leave us to fend for ourselves?”

---