Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Ozzy?”
I glance over my shoulder toward the familiar voice from the woman wearing a white floral hair scarf, gray leggings, and a fitted pink tee.
“Maren,” I say as if it’s ridiculous that she’s hiking the same (incredibly popular) trail. Then I swallow the “What are you doing here?” part so I don’t sound like an idiot.
I haven’t texted or called her since she initiated contact a week ago. Do I tell her all the reasons why?
She has a serious job, and I don’t want to interrupt her.
I have a weird living situation.
Transportation is a challenge.
I think I like her too much.
It’s a long list.
“And here I thought nobody would be hiking this today.” Maren laughs with a sarcastic eye roll.
I survey the gathering of hikers, including my daughter, six feet away, petting someone’s yellow lab. “Yeah. I think everyone’s out today.”
She adjusts her hair scarf and averts her gaze when we make eye contact.
“Listen, I’ve been meaning to text—”
She waves me off. “You don’t need to explain. I’ve been busy too.”
I nod. “Twiddling your thumbs?”
She slaps a grin on her face when our gazes lock.
The grin is too big.
I remember big grins. Brynn used to punch me in the face with an exaggerated one when I was in trouble. It’s the deranged look.
I’m joking about the thumb twiddling. She knows I’m kidding, right?
“Regardless”—I attempt to get back in her good graces—“I’ve been meaning to contact you.”
“Dad? Coming?” Lola calls.
Maren cranes her neck past me. “Is that your daughter?” Her grin relaxes into something more genuine, less like a sharp knife dripping blood.
“Yes,” I say.
Maren’s gaze returns to me. It’s expectant. And why wouldn’t she anticipate me introducing her to my daughter, who’s six feet away? The daughter for whom she made chocolate chip cookies.
Yet introducing her to Lola would be a disaster because my child has no chill.
“Well, it was really good seeing you. Be careful on your way down the trail. More accidents happen on the descent,” I say.
You’re an idiot! My inner voice speaks the truth.
Maren parts her lips, sliding her eyebrows up her forehead until they’re hidden beneath her hair scarf. “Is this separation of church and state?”
I cringe while relinquishing several tiny nods. “Not because of church.” I point to her. “It’s state”—I jab my thumb over my shoulder at Lola—“who cannot handle this.”
“Why am I church?”
I chuckle, scratching my jaw. “I don’t know. I’m just saying—”
“Who are you?” Lola chirps behind me.
Too damn late. I press my lips together and cringe.
Maren looks to me for guidance.
I deflate. “Lola, this is a friend of mine. She works at Cielo too.”
“Hi, Lola.” Maren waves. “I’m Maren.”
My cringe deepens while Maren unknowingly digs my grave. There’s a reason I called her my friend.
Lola remembers everything.
“You texted my dad.”
Maren gives me an apologetic smile, showing that realization happened a little too late on her part.
“You’re pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Dad?”
“Lola, speaking of pretty, it’s pretty crowded up here. We should make our way down so other people can have our spots and enjoy the view.”
“My mom died. And my dad’s lonely.”
For the love of god. Why? Just why?
I’m ready to roll her down this hill like a bowling ball.
With a nervous laugh, Maren’s gaze ping-pongs between me and my diarrhea-mouthed daughter.
“Maren knows your mom died, and she knows I’m so busy raising you that I have no time to be lonely.”
Maren’s smile fades.
I can’t win. I’m juggling my words to appease both these girls—women—and I’m fumbling and failing most spectacularly.
“I’m going to catch up to that dog.” Lola points to the lady with the yellow lab as she descends the trail.
“Well, it was good to see you. Sort of,” Maren murmurs, before turning and navigating her way past the M.
I sigh, having no choice but to walk down behind her.
“That came out all wrong,” I say.
Maren keeps walking, rocks crunching beneath her trail shoes. “No. I think it came out as intended. No biggie.”
When Lola’s adequately out of earshot, I make a better case for myself. “It is a biggie. I like you. And I want to go out again, but I don’t know how to navigate dating while raising a snoopy ten-year-old who has recently decided she desperately wants me to find someone to date. On top of that, her grandparents, whose help I need, don’t want me to have any sort of life outside raising Lola. So I have to lie and sneak around, and I’m not good at it. But—”
Maren stops, and I nearly bump into her. “But what?” She turns to me, crosses her arms over her chest.
Are we having our first fight? After one date?
Maren is beautiful when she’s mad. Maybe it’s the breeze in her hair or the sun on her face. But her cheeks are red, and her eyes look extra blue today.