Page 108 of The Overtime Kiss

“I hardly ever use socials,” I point out, but I’m already remembering one of the last things I posted—a picture of me meeting Sabrina about a year ago.

And yep, here’s my daughter cuing up my feed to show me. “Let me make the post for you,” she says.

“You haven’t even taken a picture yet,” I say, but I’m losing this battle hard and fast.

Luna urges us all together, and before I know it, my daughter is snapping a selfie of the four of us on the couch in our face masks.

As she posts it on my feed, I glance at Sabrina, trying to ignore the way my heart catches being this close to her. And absolutely ignoring the thoughts of tomorrow night, when I’ll have her all alone before Thanksgiving.

“Figured yours would be fancy,” I say softly to her.

She sits up taller, all mock serious. “I really should have worn my tiara.”

“Next time,” I say, and I’m already picturing the next time.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.

But that’s also the problem.

Sometime later, as the moonlight streams in through the window, and the hum of the refrigerator is my only companion, I wake to a cardboard sign on my chest that says “ShrekDaddy!”

I’m all alone in the living room, but I hardly feel that way as I wash off the face mask.

Not gonna lie, I’m raring to say goodbye to my kids. If that makes me a bad dad, slap the label on me.

I drop them off at Elle’s place in Darling Springs on Tuesday night, where she’s going to medical school, say my goodbyes, and then peel the fuck out of town. I’m already showered and ready to go.

As I pass the sign for Cozy Valley on the drive back to San Francisco, I swear my friend must feel the disturbance in the force because my phone rings. It’s Corbin. I hit answer on the console.

“Dude, I just drove past your town,” I say.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“I’m sure you love pop-ins.”

“True. Thanks for not popping by,” he says, then gives me a date and time for the next dads’ group get-together.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I need someone who really sucks at bocce ball so my team can win.”

I groan. “Go fuck off.” But I can’t strip the excitement out of my voice. Nothing can bring me down tonight.

“Love you too.” Then he pauses, like something’s on his mind. “What are you doing tonight?” His tone shifts, and he seems intrigued as I pass the sign telling me San Francisco is only thirty miles away. “You sound way more pumped than you usually do.”

Well, that’s one way to put it.

“Just having the place all to myself,” I say, smirking. That’s the secret I’m keeping. The one that’s just between the nanny and me.

“Ah, a date with your hand. Good luck.”

There’s no point in arguing. So I shift gears, and we shoot the breeze about sports the rest of the drive back. Then I’m home. Ready to turn off the world.

Lesson two is about to begin.

27

A POPSICLE LESSON

---