Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“Oh, uh...lemonade, I guess.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes. I’m wearing a black V-neck shirt that isn’t even all that revealing. But men are men, so who’s surprised?
I’m trying hard to be cautious about Dom, but it was a lot easier before that kiss. Before, he was someone teaching my son a few things and we were all on friendly terms. Something shifted for me, though, and if I’m being honest, it wasn’t when he asked me out but when he fixed my toilet emergency.
He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to call in help from his teammates and save my bathroom floor when I was about to melt down, but he did. It was the first time anyone other than me or Cam has solved a problem in our household.
He got us a new screen door and fixed our dryer, too. I’ve never been a woman who wanted to be wined and dined, but a man who jumps in to help me with actual, everyday problems without being asked? I can’t deny how sexy that is to me.
Because of him, we’re no longer hanging laundry for six people on makeshift clotheslines. That means more to me than any fancy dinner date ever could.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
I shift my focus from thoughts of Dom to the customer calling out to me as I pass her table. It’s not one of mine, but I still go back to see what she needs.
“I asked for no onion on my patty melt and it has onions.”
I pick up her plate. “Sorry about that. I’ll have them make you a new one right away.”
“Thanks.”
My phone buzzes with a text in my pocket and I take it out, glancing at the screen to make sure it’s not an emergency about one of the kids. It’s another picture message from Cam.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and continue on to the kitchen. She won’t stop sending me outfit ideas for my date with Dom.
No matter how many times I tell her I’m wearing jeans and whatever shirt I happen to pick out that day, she keeps sending me pictures of jeans and sweaters, skirts and sweaters, dresses and jean jackets, and even leather pants and suggested tops.
I don’t even own leather pants, and there’s a zero percent chance I’m buying them. This date might not even go well. Dom could meet another woman today who he likes more than me, which would be fine.
Except it wouldn’t. What’s the point of lying to myself? When Dom kissed me the other night, I felt desirable in a way I never have. He lit a match that quickly turned into a blazing fire. I’ve had a small amount of sex since my divorce all those years ago, and it disappointed every time. But that kiss made me feel sexy. Even right after eating hot dogs and tots in my messy kitchen and washing dishes, he wanted me. Not because it’s convenient, because it’s not—at all.
Other men have said they want to date me and they “don’t mind” that I have kids, and I’ve always hated that. My kids are a part of me, and for the first time ever, a man is saying he likes me and wants me because I’m a good mom. I could have cried when he said that. I never realized how much that would mean to me because I didn’t think it was even possible.
Dom isn’t perfect, but he’s genuine. He seems like a good man, and I’ve never had one of those in my life before. It feels pretty damn great.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” our new server, Katie, says when I pass her at the front counter. “I can’t remember all the steps you showed me for separating a check into multiple checks.”
“It’s okay. It’s a lot to remember. One second.”
I pass the plate with the patty melt to Deb. “This is from your customer at table seventeen. She said she ordered no onions and it has onions.”
“Thanks.” She takes the plate and I return my attention to Katie. “Want me to walk you through it?”
“Please. I appreciate it.”
“You’re doing a great job,” I assure her. “This place is a madhouse over lunch hour.”
She laughs. “I sleep like I just ran a marathon every night.”
I show her what she needs and then glance from the diner’s lobby to the dining room. There are around a dozen people waiting and three tables in need of busing. Our busboy is slowly working on one of them, not appearing to be in any hurry at all.
I grab a clean towel from the towel bucket and start helping him.
“Look alive, Chad,” I say in a tone only he can hear. “We’re slammed and we really need these tables.”
He looks over at the lobby. “Whoa. Are they all together?”