Page 30 of Single Daddy Scot
‘Not even if you were wearing a pink raincoat and heeled Wellington boots.’
‘Well, then. Ask a silly question, get a silly answer.’
‘But I didn’t ask a silly question. I asked what he’s like. Forgive me for worrying that this single dad is a serial au pair killer or something.’
‘Actually, he’s not.’ Not as far as I can tell. ‘He’s really rather nice.’ If not a little damaged. But who isn’t?
‘Marry, shag, kill?’
‘Shag, definitely,’ I answer. ‘Not that I will or anything, but Lord, is the man easy on the eyes.’
‘Shag,’ she repeats. I can almost hear her nodding her head appreciatively. ‘On a scale of one to ten, what are we rating him?’
‘About a fifteen,’ I answer, making my way to my bedroom as I trail my fingers along the hallway wall. ‘And he’s not had the easiest time as far as parenthood goes.’
‘So is this like ahe’s-not-bad-looking-but-I’d-do-him-because-he’s-saintlyor ahe-puts-Liam-Hemsworth-to-shamekind of rating?’
‘Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘Hmm.’ Julia’s response hums down the line.
‘And that’s supposed to mean... what?’ I ask, opening my bedroom door.
‘Just that. Hmm. It’s my official stance on your non-answer.’
‘Well, this is my official non-goodbye. See you for brekkie in the morning?’
‘Absolument,’ she answers in her attempt at French.
‘Never assault my ears with that accent again.’
And with her laughter ringing in my ears, I hang up.
