Page 14 of That Kind of Guy

“It’s that you’re single.”

Record scratch. I frowned and ran my fingers along the outside of the window. Single pane. I frowned deeper. Single pane windows were really energy inefficient. These must have been part of the original structure of the building. They would let a lot of heat out in the winter and would let the heat in during the summer.

Wait, single? People didn’t want me to be mayor because I was single?

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked Div, shaking my head. “How does my relationship status affect my job?”

“It factors in to how reliable, trustworthy, and responsible you are,” he told me. “Deep down, people figure that if someone is willing to date you long-term or marry you, you must be a somewhat decent guy.” He cleared his throat. “And you have a long history of—how did Tessa Wozniak put it—hit it and quit it.”

I choked out a laugh. “That is not what I do.”

“That’s what it looks like to everyone.”

This was unbelievable. My shoulder muscles tightened, and I shook my head again. “Just because I haven’t done the relationship thing doesn’t mean I’m irresponsible. That’s just not what I want, and it’s not what the women I hang out with want.”

“I know, I know,” Div said. “I’m just giving you the information. Your relationship history and single status is knocking your numbers down.”

My mouth pressed into a tight line, and I exhaled through my nose. “Politics are stupid.”

“I know,” he agreed as if he were a mother consoling a child. “They’re very, very stupid.”

Irritation twisted in my stomach. I couldn’t believe that after spending most of my life here, except for college, this town still judged me by something as ridiculous as my relationship status. Unbelievable. Why was I even doing this?

I remembered Will’s face from a couple days ago when we had packed the boxes into his car. How he looked determined but sad as we scanned through the house to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Right. Will. My best friend. I was doing this for Will, for Nat, and for Kara, so they could move back here, and Kara could have the childhood that Will and I had had. She should be growing up here, where her family and community were, not in some apartment building in the city where no one knew each other.

I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders out. “So, what do we do?”

“We need to find a way to make you look responsible. You’ll be volunteering at the food bank next week.”

“Great.” I narrowed my eyes and grimaced. That didn’t feel like enough, though.

What did Isaac Anderson have that I didn’t?

A wife. A family.

Will. What the town wanted was someone like Will. I snorted. That wasn’t me. Sure, the idea of a family was nice, for some people—people like Will, people like Isaac. Not people like me. I just wasn’t that family kind of guy. I wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a long-term commitment. I didn’t buy into the idea that there was someone for everyone, and that everyone needed to be in a relationship.

I liked my space. I enjoyed living alone. I liked my things being exactly where I left them. I liked my tidy house, and not having to clean up after anyone. I liked coming home whenever I chose to, and not having to check in with anyone. I tried being someone’s boyfriend once, and it crashed and burned. It wasn’t who I was.

Avery Adams’ words flashed into my head.

You should probably hire someone to play your dutiful little wife.

A slow smile spread over my features. I might have been handsome, but damn if I wasn’t a genius as well.

“Div, I’m going to need you to reach out to a talent agency in Victoria. We need a woman around my age.”

He was silent on the other end.

“Div? You still there?”

“I’m still here.” His tone was flat. “I’m afraid to ask, but why do we need a woman from a talent agency?”

“We’re going to hire someone to play my girlfriend.”

Div groaned, and I grinned. “I’m on it,” he said with reluctance.

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