Page 32 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

He blinks his eyes a bunch of times and shakes his head to wake up.

“No idea,” I shrug.

Harrison waves like a crazy person from the kitchen and I check out the corners of the game room as I cross it, looking for raccoons and shit. There is nothing here. What is his problem?

“She knows!” he whispers loudly.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ambrose grumbles as he walks like Frankenstein toward the coffee pot.

“She knows! Jolene!”

No return, no squirrel, no snake.

The problem is… Jolene?

“She knows Jolene?” I repeat, hearing how stupid it sounds. “Wait, are you saying Jolene know something? What does Jolene know?”

His eyes are wide with theatrical anger. I have no time for this. The coffee better be strong as hell.

“She knows! About Ireland!”

“Isn’t that good?” Ambrose shrugs as he sits down, reaching down his jockey shorts to scratch his nuts.

“Yeah, we were going to have to tell her eventually. Problem solved!” I agree.

“No, you guys!” Harrison continues, still whispering like an idiot. “She knows about this!”

Harrison holds his arm out, with his cell phone at the head. Ambrose and I squint at it.

“What the hell is that?” Ambrose asks suspiciously.

Harrison flinches, momentarily embarrassed. “Oh yeah, I guess I didn’t tell you about that,” he admits hurriedly. “I went ahead and set up a Tinder profile for us? For Ireland?”

“You didwhat?!” Ambrose barks, his voice echoing across the room.

“Shut up! You will wake Harmony!” I remind him urgently.

“Yeah!” Harrison joins in. “Keep your voice down!”

Edging toward him, I drink my coffee and stare at his phone. “Did we get any replies?” I ask tentatively.

“Replies to what?” Ambrose interjects, clearly outraged.

“Okay, listen,” Harrison replies quickly. “Since we are leaving for Ireland in a week—now just six days—I figured I had to get the ball rolling. Right? Don’t you think?”

Ambrose shakes his head, then raises his hands and lets them fall in frustration.

“You set up a Tinder account? Without even asking me?”

“Ask you about what?” Harrison says, shrugging dismissively. “We already agreed. Didn’t we? Boone?”

I shrug too. I don’t think that we 100 percent agreed, but it was definitely close enough. And Harrison has a point: if he didn’t do it, Ambrose would’ve just let the moment slip by us and pretend he forgot.

“Yeah, we agreed. I remember,” I pitch in helpfully.

“The fuck we did,” Ambrose mutters, but I can tell that’s his last salvo.

“Okay, so, let’s see what we got,” I suggest quickly. “How do you do this? Do they send you messages or something?”

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