Page 35 of Luck of the Draw

Focus, Dee.

I owed him an apology, but I didn’t want to get into it in front of the boys. “Liam, will you take Oliver over to the dairy section to get a gallon of milk? But come straight back here when you’re done.”

Liam narrowed his eyes, glancing from me to Dylan and back.

“But we’re going to Sam’s,” Oliver said. “It’ll get hot in the car.”

“We’ll just put it in Sam’s fridge,” I said with a tight smile. “She won’t mind.”

“But I thought you got two milks last time we went to the store,” Oliver protested in confusion.

Liam groaned. “Come on, doofus. She wants to talk to him alone.”

Then he hooked his arm around his brother’s back and dragged him off.

“I guess I wasn’t subtle enough,” I said with a soft laugh.

Dylan’s mouth lifted into a lopsided grin, but it seemed reluctant, like he still wasn’t sure how to act around me.

“I owe you an apology,” I said in a rush, worried the boys would come back at any second. “I didn’t want to leave like that, but Sam was there, and I had no idea how long you would be on your call…”

“I would have taken you home, Deeandra,” he said, his eyes bright with earnestness, but also with a longing that stole the breath from my lungs. “You didn’t have to call Sam for a ride.”

“I know you would have,” I said with a sigh. “I never doubted that. It’s just…” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out how to explain myself in the least humiliating way possible.

“It’s just what?” he prodded. There was an edge to his voice, likely his lingering irritation that I left without a proper goodbye, but I mostly heard a hopefulness I hadn’t expected.

I dared to look up and hold his gaze. “Dylan, we both agreed that what we had was a fairy tale.” I gave him a sad smile. “You’re a single guy—a very hot, sexy single guy—who probably takes a different woman home every weekend. You’re in the prime of your life. But this is myreallife.”

I gestured toward myself and my faded shirt and three-year-old shorts. “I’m a single mom with two rambunctious boys. Until this afternoon, I had a telemarketing job selling cruises. I’m about to lose my house if I don’t sell it ASAP. I’m thirty-eight years old and don’t have a 401(K) or an IRA. I’m just hoping to save enough to help my boys with college so they can graduate with as little debt as possible. My husband cheated on me and got his new girlfriend pregnant. I found out when she showed up at our house last fall, looking for him, shocked to find out that his wife wasn’t his ex the way he’d claimed. And as Randy walked out, he made sure I knew that his philandering wasmyfault. That if I’d been skinnier or prettier he wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere to get turned on.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I was beyond humiliated, but he needed to know the bullet he’d dodged. Then maybe he wouldn’t keep looking at me with a longing that made me wish for the impossible: another miracle after today’s job offer. “I’m a mess. An utter mess. But for fourteen hours this weekend, I felt like a princess, so thank you for that.”

His face was blank. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking. “Deeandra…”

“We got the milk,” Liam said, breathless and clutching the gallon to his chest. Oliver was panting and carrying both cakes, one plastic container on top of the other. It was obvious they’d either run or walked very fast. Liam didn’t want me to be alone with Dylan. I wasn’t sure whether to wring his neck or give him a hug. Maybe both. At the same time.

“We’ve got to go,” I said, taking a step backward. “Good luck with the goat portrait.” Then I spun around and ushered the boys to the front of the store. I needed to get out before I burst into tears.

Thankfully, there was an open register, so I made the boys hurry to put the cakes and milk on the conveyor belt. Then I grabbed my wallet with shaking hands and inserted my debit card.

The cashier gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card was declined.”

I stared at her in shock. “What?”

I had two hundred dollars in the bank this morning. There was more than enough to cover it. Why had it been declined?

“Let me cover it,” I heard a deep, achingly familiar voice say. Then Dylan handed the cashier two twenty-dollar bills. “Besides, it seems wrong that you’re buying your own celebration cake.”

I was mortified, and part of me wanted to protest, but to do so would make even more of a scene. So I remained silent as the cashier counted out his change and handed it back to him. The receipt went to me.

I finally looked up at him. “I’ll pay you back. I swear.”

“Deeandra,” he pleaded.

“Why are you calling herthat?” Ollie asked in disgust.

Dylan stared at me in shock. Then anger filled his eyes. “So that’s not your name?”

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