Page 76 of The Snuggle is Real
“I’m just real sorry about what happened Thursday night,” I blurted. “It won’t happen again.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“I know, but I can tell you’re not really comfortable around me today, and?—”
“It’s not you, it’s?—”
I carried on, needing to get it out. Needing to put this crush behind me—and all the awkward, complicated feelings rushing through my body—once and for all.
“I’m meeting with the local matchmaker. He’s going to set me up with a date.” I smiled tightly. “A real one, that is.”
Ford blinked. “You’re letting Nick set you up?”
“Is that his name? I guess so. We haven’t had our meeting yet. It’s scheduled for later this week.”
I was bullshitting. I hadn’t set any meeting yet. But I would. Because I couldn’t afford to feel things for Ford.
It was bad enough when he was a straight guy I couldn’t have. But I refused to be obsessed with a man who was in a relationship with someone else.
“I didn’t know you wanted a boyfriend badly enough for all that,” Ford said.
I shrugged. “I’m new in town, and it’s Christmas. Is it so wrong to want to spend it with someone?”
“No, of course not.”
“Someone who’s interested in men,” I added. “Who wants—” I bit down on my lip. “Well, just someone who wants the same things I do, I guess.”
Ford stood and walked toward the entryway to the living room. Checking on Charlie, probably. He really was such a good dad.
He spoke without looking back at me. “You deserve that, Mason. You deserve everything you want.”
“Well, I doubt I’ll get that,” I said with a little laugh. “But I have to try.”
“I guess so.” He waved the list. “I’m going to get started on this.”
Then he strode out without another look my way.
Which was good. The more he shut me out, the easier it would be to move on.
Still, I pulled out my phone to look up the matchmaking service. It was time to make good on the fibs I’d told Ford—and before I lost my nerve.
CHAPTER 20
Ford
The front dooropened and shut downstairs, followed by the excited yipping of Peppermint Bark.
“Mason’s back,” Charlie said, putting her paintbrush into the tray on the floor.
She’d wanted to help, and after some guidance, she was doing a decent—if slow—job of it.
“Sounds like it.” I continued rolling thebutter pecanpaint onto the walls of Mason’s guest room. “Why don’t you take a break and go say hi?”
Charlie took off like a shot. She’d spent most the morning playing with Peppermint Bark until the poor dog had sacked out on the floor, exhausted.
Mason and I had finished stripping the last of the wallpaper yesterday and pulled up the carpet.
The floors weren’t perfect—but given the time constraints, Mason had decided to buy a large area rug and leave them in imperfect condition.
