Page 10 of Reckless Single Daddy

I think that’s why I was upset when Sloane left Rose Valley. I saw how hard Sloane’s absence hit Mike. Every birthday she missed, and every one he didn’t get to spend with her, made him feel deeply lonely. It was even worse when I was living out in D.C. and couldn’t make up for her absence.

Honestly, her absence is part of the reason why I came back. My best friend needed me. Who else is going to be there for him?

I keep telling myself that I didn’t anticipate this. This feeling of wondering, the what-ifs, but that would be a lie. There was one fleeting moment that passed years ago, and I thought that’s all it was, but maybe it was the beginning of something bigger.

I left work early. I couldn’t stand being stuck in my stuffy office any longer when my life felt like it was in a never-ending spiral. The coffee helped a little, but running into the object of my spiraling did not. If anything, all it did was confuse me more.

The good news is the Rose Valley Annual Festival is happening in the town square. I tend to make an appearance every year, give back to the community where I can. When Liam isn’t visiting his grandparents, I take him around so he can pig out on junk before hitting the bounce house. It’s the only time each year I feel like I get to see all the hard work I put into this town being showcased. For a while, it was touch and go.

What I didn’t expect to see was Sloane standing by the high school art club’s booth, let alone giving the teenage girl running the booth the time of day. Truthfully, Sloane looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, but bless her for sticking through it.

I see that the booth is accepting donations to give art supplies to kids in need. It’s admirable for the high school to go to those lengths. I look over Sloane’s shoulder and see mentions of a raffle for every donation they secure.

“Oh my goodness! I didn’t realize you didn’t know! You should sue,” the teen says, grabbing my attention, and that’s when I notice the print for the Grand Prize: an original copy from local art star Sloane Bennett. She must not have known this was going to be a prize for this event. Based on her demeanor and the tension in her shoulders, I can sense she’s about to lose it.

I clear my throat. “You technically could, but…”

She turns around and looks directly at me, shooting me the iciest look through her ocean-blue eyes.

“…but think of the children,” I finish.

Okay, it’s a low blow. I’ll admit it, but if it even has a chance of keeping this poor teenager out of the line of fire, I’ll gladly take one for the team.

Sloane turns back to the teen and grumbles, “I hope you get more donations.” She’s about to leave, but my work in helping my community is never done, so I pluck the flyer out of Sloan’s hand, scan the code on the front, and deposit my generous contribution to their cause. Once I have the raffle ticket, I can’t help but make one final jab in her direction.

“I hope I win a Sloane Bennett original,” I say, earning an eye roll from her. I chuckle, but even in this moment, I can’t ignore that running into her two times in one day is no coincidence, despite how small of a town this is.

“Want to walk with me?” I ask her. We need to talk properly—none of these verbal gymnastics we’ve been pulling on each other these past two days. It’s time we clear the air and figure out if this is all in our heads, or if we’re just denying the inevitable.

We stroll through the festival, taking in the buzz of the crowd while we internally coil within ourselves. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk about what happened between us, but this thing we’ve opened is delicate. We aren’t just two strangers who met during a one-night stand—we’ve known each other almost our entire lives. This split-second decision we made could change the relationships we’ve built with other people.

“I didn’t think you’d make it out to the festival,” I say as she hums softly, then looks up at me. She looks away almost immediately, sighing and shaking her head. Based on her reaction, it seems like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“I needed to get out of the house,” she replies dejectedly, like defeat has won the battle she’s been fighting in her head. I can count on one hand the number of heart-to-hearts Sloane and I have had over the course of our lives, so I can understand that she doesn’t want to confide in me about whatever’s stressing her out. But I can sense how alone she’s feeling, and I want to be there for her.

I stopped near Rosa’s Cantina, the local Spanish restaurant with the best margaritas I’ve ever had. “You want a margarita?” I ask her.

She looks at me, pondering her decision. She licks her lips and bites the bottom one, unsure. Finally, she sighs and nods. “Sure, but a virgin, please,” she says as I quickly leave to grab two of their best flavor: strawberry mango. When I return, I hand her hers and take mine, sipping generously, feeling both cool and warm from the alcohol.

“So…” I begin, not wanting to make it seem like I’m prying, but I also don’t want to seem like I’m being insensitive, either, by ignoring whatever’s bothering her. Surely, whatever it is isn’t just about what happened between us. Well, I’m certain it’s part of it because it’s impossible to ignore it, despite how much I wish we could, but I’d be a fool to think it’s all there is.

She rolls her eyes and then meets my gaze. “You’re terrible at this.”

I stop short, prompting her to do the same.

“If you want to know, just ask,” she says.

Okay…

“What’s bothering you?” I ask, probably sounding more uncertain than I meant to. Asking such a simple question like this shouldn’t be so difficult.

She smiles knowingly, as if she can sense my overthinking, but she doesn’t tease. “I’m having a creative block,” she says.

I nod slowly, but let her continue.

“I’m worried my next collection will not be met with the same enthusiasm as the first,” she admits. “I thought if I got out and went around town that inspiration would spark from somewhere. Instead, all I found was a high school fan club for me, which I’ll need to yell at my mom for.”

I chuckle softly at the last bit. Something tells me there’s a story there, but there will be a time for that later.

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