Page 62 of Single Dad Dilemma
And I should’ve known that my struggles, my inability to uproot her from my mind, stemmed from a different kind of truth. I was just a guy who didn’t remember how to approach a woman. Flirting was a language I didn’t speak, and I didn’t really have the inclination to try.
Her back was turned, attempting her inefficient snow-removal technique in a different direction, but at the sound of my boots crunching through the snow, she froze.
“Morning,” I said. My voice felt loud with the snow muffling everything around us.
Lily straightened, fidgeting briefly with the white knit hat on her head before she turned to face me. “Morning,” she said, eyes not meeting mine. “Do you often lurk around the corner like that?”
“Only on Thursdays,” I answered evenly.
She didn’t appreciate my attempt at humor. See earlier statement about flirting. Somehow I had a feeling that she’d jab me in the throat before she’d be receptive to any attempt in that department.
I peered out by the road, then lifted my chin toward the shovel, if you could call it that. “What’s that?”
She arched her dark eyebrows. “I believe some people call ita shovel,” she answered slowly.
I hummed, keeping my face even, holding out my hand and gesturing for her to give it over.
After the slightest pause, Lily sighed and passed it to me. I tilted my head as I stared at the red plastic handle. The shaft was made out of flimsy wood, and as I imagined sayingthatout loud, heat crawled up the back of my neck.
“This is not a shovel.” I held it out to her, but she didn’t move to retrieve it.
She looked at it in my hands. Looked at my face. Looked back at the shovel. “Then what the fuck is it?”
“May I?”
“Uh . . .”
I gripped it with both hands and snapped it clean in half.
“You broke my shovel!” she wailed.
“I’ll give you mine,” I told her. “That was a toy. Not any sort of effective tool for ... whatever it is you were doing.”
“You know, you winter people are awfully judgy,” she huffed, taking the broken pieces and walking them over to the garbage bin. “Look, I couldn’t find the real one, and all Scott had was this giant scary machine with a lot of buttons and knobs, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna try to use that thing.” She slammed the lid shut and wiped snow off her gloves as she walked back in my direction. “I grabbed the first one I saw at the hardware store. It was cute.”
I gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes.
“If you say one stupid man thing about buying something because it’s cute ...”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve got that violent look in your eyes.”
“Of course I do. I paid five bucks for that thing.”
“Also a sign it wasn’t a real shovel.”
“I cannot tell you how glad I am you came all this way to say hi.” She crossed her arms, and with a mutinous tilt to her chin, she studied my face. “When are you leaving again?”
“I can help, if you want,” I said. Attraction spread like wildfire once you gave it the right conditions. What mine for Lily needed was something exactly like this: permission to grow.
“You broke my shovel,” she said, like I hadn’t heard the first time she said it.
“Better let me make it up to you, then.”
The offer had an unintended subtext to it, and her eyes flickered briefly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I glanced into the garage. Scott had the same machine I did. “I can teach you how to use the snowblower, if you want.”
“If that’s a euphemism for something else, you might want to work on your game,” she said dryly, but her glittering eyes gave her away. They flicked to my mouth and then away again.
