Page 8 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
"Why not?"
"Because that's not how it works."
"How does it work?"
I open my mouth. Close it. Try to figure out how to explain adult relationships to someone who thinks holding hands is basically an engagement.
"You have to know someone for a long time," I say finally. "And spend time with them. And make sure you actually like each other."
"I like her."
"You just met her."
"So? I liked her right away. She said purple was a good choice."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Liking someone's color choices isn't the same as wanting to marry them."
"But you think she's pretty."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. You smiled all weird when she was talking."
"I did not—" I stop. Did I? Fuck, maybe I did. "Riley. We're not talking about this."
"But…"
"Nope. Conversation over. Go pack up your crayons."
She sighs dramatically but starts gathering her things, and I turn back toward the bay, where Morgan is pulling a duffel bag from her back seat.
Because the truth is, Riley's not entirely wrong.
Morgan is pretty. More than pretty. There's something about her that caught me off guard. The way she looked at Riley like sheactually mattered. The way she laughed, soft and genuine. The sadness in her eyes that she's trying so hard to hide.
And yeah, maybe I noticed the way her jeans fit on her fantastic ass, or the freckles across her nose, or the fact that when she smiled, it lit up her whole face.
But noticing doesn't mean anything.
I haven't been with anyone since Sarah left. Haven't wanted to. Haven't trusted anyone enough to let them into the life I've built with Riley.
And I'm definitely not starting now, with a stranger I just invited to live in my house.
Even if she has pretty hair and a smile that makes my chest feel strange.
Even if Riley's already decided she's staying forever.
Morgan walks back in with her bag, looking apologetic. "I tried to pack light."
"You're fine," I say, grabbing my keys. "Riley, you ready?"
"Yep!" She bounces toward the door, then stops and looks at Morgan. "Do you like mac and cheese?"
"I... yes?"
"Good. Because Daddy makes it every Monday and it's really good."
"It's from a box," I mutter.
