Page 14 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
I fill a pot with water and set it on the stove, my mind turning over possibilities.
Maybe something happened at pre-K. It wouldn't be the first time some kid said something thoughtless about Riley not having a mom. Last year, a boy named Marcus told her that everyone has a mom and if she didn't, it meant hers didn't love her.
Riley punched him in the stomach.
I had to have a very serious conversation about how we don't hit people, even when they say hurtful things. Miss Amy assured me it was handled, that Marcus apologized, and that these things happen with small children who don't understand nuance.
But maybe it's happening again. Maybe someone said something, and Riley's decided the solution is to acquire a mom as quickly as possible.
Or maybe, and this is somehow worse, she's just lonely.
It's been the two of us for three years. I've tried to be enough. I've tried to be both parents, to fill every gap Sarah left when she walked out that door and never looked back.
But I can't be everything. I can't teach Riley how to braid hair properly or explain why some girls are mean to each other or talk about... I don't know, girl stuff. Whatever that is.
I've been telling myself it's fine. That she's too young to need those things yet. That we have time. But what if we don't? What if she's already feeling the absence of something I can't give her?
The water starts to boil, and I dump the pasta in, watching it swirl.
Upstairs, I hear the bathroom door open and close, followed by Riley's footsteps heading toward the guest room.
Oh God. She's bothering Morgan.
I should go intervene, but honestly, Morgan seems capable of handling a four-year-old's interrogation. She did fine earlier when Riley asked if she was a princess and whether she had a boyfriend.
My mind catches on that last one.
No boyfriend.
Not that it matters. Not that I was wondering. Just... filing away information, the way you do when someone's staying in your house.
The pasta needs stirring. I focus on that instead of the fact that there's a beautiful woman upstairs who apparently doesn't have anyone waiting for her, who's been traveling alone for six months, who looked at my daughter like she actually mattered and not like she was an inconvenience.
The kind of woman who, in another life, I might have asked out for coffee.
But this isn't another life. This is the life where I have a four-year-old who depends on me completely, where I run a small-town auto shop that barely breaks even most months, where I haven't so much as looked at a woman with interest since Sarah left.
I learned the hard way that trusting someone with your heart, and worse, with your kid's heart, is the fastest way to destroy everything you've built.
I drain the pasta with more force than necessary.
"Daddy!"
Riley's voice carries down the stairs, bright and excited, and I brace myself.
"Yeah?"
"Can Morgan eat with us?"
I close my eyes. "I already told her she could, remember?"
"I know, but I wanted to make sure she knows she's INVITED. Like, really invited."
There's a quieter voice, Morgan's, saying something I can't make out.
"He WANTS you to eat with us!" Riley hollers back down.
"Riley, inside voice," I call.
