Kerri rolls her brown eyes. “I don’t think she’s amused by you. I think she finds you amusing. There’s a difference.”
Hmm. I think she’s wrong.
Best to ask though.
* * *
Liam: My sister says that you’re laughing at me rather than with me. I contend that your GIFs mean you think I’m a world-class humor producer.
* * *
Summer: I see you still suffer from the inability to read the nuance in front of your face.
* * *
Kerri lifts both brows approvingly when she reads the answer. “I like your friend. She knows exactly what you’re like.”
“I can read nuance just fine. All day long, I read mammals who can’t speak.”
My sister’s eyes roll back into her head. “Oh, right. Being a vet means you’re good at dating and good at understanding women because you’re good at understanding pussycats and dogs. Your logic is so impeccable, Liam.”
I square my shoulders. “Why, thank you very much.”
“Oh, hi,” says a new voice. “You must be the new guy.” A blonde woman with a cheery grin has stopped by our table. “You’re the gentleman who’s just bought the yellow house on Mallard Lane, aren’t you?”
I give her a smile. “Why, yes, I am.”
“I’m Nina Clawson. I run the boba tea shop. I’d been hoping to run into you. Would you like to go on a date with my sister?”
Did she just say that?
I glance at Kerri, who rolls her eyes. I suppose that’s a yes. Nina did just say that.
Since I’m new in town, and what is an app but a dating intermediary, I decide to treat this the same way I would check out someone’s profile to learn more about her. “Why don’t you tell me about your sister?”
The peppy blonde proceeds to rattle off the details—Maya is thirty-eight; loves Anna Kendrick movies, Kristin Hannah books, Adele’s music; prefers coffee over tea, curry over Chinese; and am I free next weekend?
Damn.
That’s speed matchmaking.
But before I can answer—and I’m not sure what I’d say—Nina swipes on her phone and shows me a photo.
Oh.
Oh, yes.
With a button nose and bow-shaped lips, her sister is quite cute.
I send a smug I told you so glance to Kerri, then agree to a date with Nina’s sister. “That sounds fantastic.”
Why not?
This is easier than an app.
Way easier.
I exchange numbers with Nina, and when she walks away, Kerri shoots death rays at me from her eyes. “What is wrong with the universe?”
“Seems like the universe knows a good thing when it sees it,” I tease.
“I bet you walk into your backyard and money falls from a tree too.”
“Well, I planted it first, but that sounds about right.”
“It’s ridiculous that you’ve been in town for barely a week and you’ve gotten a date from somebody literally passing you on the street.”
I blow on my fingernails. “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it, apparently.”
Ms. Right, here I come—the tastegasms and temptation of my neighbor be damned.
11
Liam
On Monday morning, I finish my tea, set down the cup, then hold my arms out for inspection.
“So, what’s the verdict? How do I look?”
Ethan scrunches up the corner of his lips, then washes his cereal bowl as he gives me the most cursory of cursory appraisals. “Like a dad.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
Turning off the tap, he nods. “Seriously. You seriously look like a dad.”
I gesture grandly to my outfit. “I am wearing scrubs. How is that a dad outfit?”
He shrugs. “You look like a dad to me. You are a dad. Why is it so bad if you look like one?”
“I’m not wearing white sneakers. Didn’t you say you’d disown me if I did?” I wave at my sneakers, which are definitely not white. They are, in fact, Vans. “Summer approved these, which means they are cool.”
“Fine. Your scrubs and your Vans are”—he stops to sketch air quotes—“cool.” He says it as if the word tastes bitter. “But you need to stop with the lingo. You just can’t do it. It sounds so wrong coming out of your mouth.”
I park my hands on my hips. “Maybe you just need to admit that you can’t handle my coolness.”
“Dad, it’s not even cool anymore. We don’t say cool. We say clean. Okay?”
What in the bloody hell kind of nonsense is that? “Clean? My outfit is clean? As in neat and tidy, or as in not on drugs?”
“No,” he says, choking on a laugh. “Clean means nice, excellent, tight.”
“So my outfit is clean?”
“Your outfit is clean as in neat and tidy. But it is not clean as in nice, excellent, tight.”
I hold up my arms in surrender. “I’m done.”
“Good plan, Dad. Very good plan.”
We make our way to the door, Ethan stopping to grab his baseball mitt from the table—the one that will vamoose when the new furniture arrives soon. I picture January assembling it. Then I picture how much I’ll enjoy watching her assemble it. Then I tell myself to stop enjoying the images so much.
