Page 94 of Checking It Twice
“The key,” Hayes says, “is showing her that the weekend wasn’t just convenient for you. That she specifically is what you want.”
“How do I do that?”
“Details,” he says. “Women love details. Remember something small she mentioned, something nobody else would think to remember.”
I think about Clare in Minnesota. The way she lit up when she saw the sunflowers on the bracelet. How she got that soft look when Sophie called her Aunt Clare. The careful way she talked about her own family, trying to hide how much their distance hurt her.
“She likes sunflowers,” I say quietly.
“Perfect. Get her sunflowers.”
“But not just sunflowers,” Ty adds. “Something more. Something that says this isn’t just about the weekend.”
The baby shifts in my arms, making those tiny sounds that somehow manage to be both completely helpless and utterly trusting. Holding her makes me think about the future in ways I haven’t let myself before—about what it would be like to have this—a family, someone to come home to, tiny humans who depend on you to keep them safe.
About what it would be like to have that with Clare.
“I need to ask her out,” I say, the admission slipping out before I can stop it. “Like actually ask her out. Not some fake relationship bullshit.”
The guys exchange looks like they’ve been waiting for me to figure this out.
“Then ask her,” Bennett says, reappearing with Shepherd in tow, the three-year-old now fully clothed and looking proud of himself.
“What if she says no?”
“What if she says yes?”
The question hangs in the air, loaded with possibility and terror in equal measure. Because asking Clare out isn’t just asking for a date. It’s asking her to take the risk I was too scared to take the first time.
It’s asking her to give us a real chance.
“I need another beer for this conversation,” I say.
“You need to make a decision,” Hayes corrects. “Stop overthinking it and ask the woman out.”
Shep climbs into his dad’s lap, sticky fingers immediately going for Bennett’s cards. “Daddy, who’s Clare?”
“She’s Uncle Mitch’s friend,” Bennett says diplomatically.
“Is she pretty?”
“Very pretty.”
“Is Uncle Mitch going to marry her?”
The question comes out with that brutal honesty only small children can manage, and every guy at the table turns to look at me with varying degrees of amusement.
“I don’t know, buddy,” I say, looking down at the baby in my arms. “Maybe.”
And for the first time since I got back from Minnesota, the maybe doesn’t scare me.
It sounds like hope.
Three hours later, I’m home in my own bed, significantly drunker than I intended to be, staring at my phone like it holds the answer to all of my problems. I pull up Clare’s number and hit call.
She answers on the third ring, her voice heavy with sleep. “Mitchell? It’s almost midnight. Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I say, probably too loud for someone lying in bed. “Really great. Did you know that babies are basically tiny drunk people? They can’t walk straight, they cry for no reason, and they sleep all the time?”
