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“Oh.”
I look down at her shoe again. “Why are there so many straps? I can’t get your foot out.”
“I don’t know. These are my sister’s shoes.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a small pocket knife, flipping the blade open.
“Is this your way of getting back at me because I turned down your proposal? You’re going to stab me?”
I glance up and see her smile.
“I thought about it.” I match her playful expression with one of my own. “But I’m going to cut the straps so we can get your foot out.”
“Good idea.”
I slip the metal under the black leather and pull. The straps fall, and she lifts her foot upward, stepping away from me.
“My sister is going to kill me. These are her favorite shoes.”
I twist and angle the shoe, finally getting the heel out of the hole. “They can still be her favorite. She just can’t wear them anymore.” I straighten, handing her the shoe.
A maroon sedan pulls up with the window down. “Are you Meg?”
“Yes! Thank heavens you’re here.” She steps toward the car, then turns back to look at me. “My Uber’s here.”
“I figured,” I said.
“Thanks for the help with my shoes. And”—she raises her bare shoulder just slightly—“I’m sorry about forcing myself on you.”
“I’m sorry I acted like a pain in the word-you-don’t-say.”
Her lips twist into an adorable smile. “I guess we’re even.”
She climbs in the car, and I stand there, watching as she drives away, surprised by the spark of life growing inside my chest.
CHAPTER6
TYLER
Idrum my fingers on the steering wheel of my truck as I drive to pick up Krew from Logan and Hillary’s house. By the time I get there, it’s almost nine-thirty. That should be enough time to pretend like I gave the blind date with Candi a good effort. Tomorrow at work, Logan will find out the truth, but tonight, I can act like the date went fine.
I actually spent more time with Meg than I did with Candi.
Meg.
I’m not on social media, but I wonder if I could type her name in on Instagram or Facebook and pull up her profile. There are probably thousands of girls named Meg, but maybe if I include Tampa too, I’ll be able to find her.
Why do I evenwantto find her? A girl like Meg, in a killer dress like that, isn’t the type of woman who wants to date or settle down with a thirty-three-year-old, widowed, single dad.
Those aren’t the best credentials.
Plus, she’s not my type.
I mean, she’s a knockout. Her light-blue eyes reminded me of my own…and Krew’s. She had straight blonde hair styled down with a deep side part. I realize I sound like I’m a hairdresser by talking aboutside parts,but right before Kristen died, we had a lengthy conversation about whether or not she should start parting her hair down the middle because that was the style. That conversation was the week she died, so it’s kind of burned into my mind, along with all of our other “last” conversations.
But, besides her good looks, Meg was fun to talk to. Granted, we didn’t talk for that long or about anything deep, but the conversation felt more natural than anything I got out of Candi. Then that guy showed up, and she turned all vulnerable like he’d done a real number on her. That’s not the kind of situation I want to get wrapped up in.
If I were looking seriously for a woman, which I’m not, my main goal would be to find someone who would be a good mom to Krew. I don’t need her to stay home and cook meatloaf, but I would want someone who’s content with little league baseball, binge watchingLego Masters, packing school lunches, and going out for ice cream at McDonald’s—the creme-de-la-creme of desserts. It’s not a glamorous life, but it’s awesome. Or at least, it was awesome before Kristen died.
