Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
But tonight, because of my choice to go out, they’re spending it with Zoe instead of me.
Brooke would probably tell me to cut the shit and stop making myself feel guilty for taking time for myself. You deserve to be your own person, I can hear her saying in my head. Just as long as it’s with Noah, her imaginary voice adds.
Ugh. I just love that even my inner monologue Brooke likes to torture me.
A server in a crisp white collared shirt and black apron tied around his waist stops by our table to drop off our plates of food—veal parmigiana for Gavin and rigatoni Bolognese for me.
“Everything look okay?” he asks, and I smile down at my plate of carbs and cheese.
“Looks great,” I compliment, and Gavin chimes in with a similar sentiment.
The server refills our wineglasses and heads off to his next table, leaving Gavin and me to our food and conversation. Well, sort of conversation. The only conversation topics that come to mind for me are something funny one of my boys did or said, and since I’m trying not to be that person, my part in the exchange of words has been a little lacking.
“What—?”
“How—?”
We both start to talk at the same time, and a laugh bubbles up from my throat.
“Sorry, you go.”
Gavin grins. “I was going to ask you how the boys are doing?”
His question catches me off guard. Damn near disarms me, if I’m being honest. My kids are the last thing I’d expect a handsome, sophisticated, single bachelor like Gavin would want to talk about.
“They’re…uh, good. Really good,” I comment, keeping the eleven times I used the f-word under my breath just today and the impromptu scissors chase around my apartment with Grant to myself. It’s no easy feat being a single mother to two young and rowdy boys. Most days, I wonder how I haven’t lost all my hair or, at the very least, turned completely gray.
“Grant is your youngest, right?”
“Yeah, he’s five. And Seth is seven.”
“And…” He pauses. “Only answer this if you feel comfortable, but…is their dad in the picture?”
“I wish he were, but…” I frown. “No. He has visitation rights, but he can’t be bothered to use them.”
“No offense, but your ex-husband sounds like a real dick. Maybe it’s better he’s not around.”
“Oh, no offense taken. He’s such a dick, his name should be Richard,” I agree with a slight laugh as I finish chewing a bite of my pasta. “But for the boys, I wish he knew how to be a father.”
Gavin considers me closely, and the weight of our conversation suddenly feels unbearable.
“So…you’ve never been married? Don’t have any kids of your own?” I ask, trying to shift some of the limelight off myself.
“I guess you could say my career took priority for many years.” He shrugs cheekily. “Now, if there were to be a woman worthy of my time who happened to have a couple of kids of her own…”
My cheeks pinken. I can’t believe there’s a man practically offering himself up as a sacrifice to a woman who can barely make it through a meal without having a mental breakdown.
“I have to admit, I envy you a little,” I say awkwardly, trying not to make the ginormous thing he just said a bigger deal than I’m prepared to handle. “I gave up my career in marketing to get married and have kids, and that didn’t exactly serve me well. Obviously, I don’t have any regrets because my boys are my world, but I don’t think I took the easiest route.”
“You’re doing amazing, Sam. Don’t sell yourself short.” Gavin flashes his handsome-as-hell smile at me, and the only thing that’s slightly off with the view on the other side of the table is his choice of meal. Something about veal freaks me out. I just don’t like the idea of eating a baby cow. Maybe it’s the mom in me. I don’t know.
“Would you like a bite of my veal?” he asks, misinterpreting my gaze, and I shake my head. “It’s really good,” he adds, “I don’t mind.”
I shake my head again. I suppose I might as well be honest now. I mean, what’s the difference at this point in the dating cycle? “The other night when we were talking about food preferences, I forgot to mention that in addition to seafood, I also don’t like veal.”
“What? Really?”
Guiltily, I nod. “I’m a carnivore with conditions. No babies.”
Gavin chuckles at that and eats a bite himself before pausing. “Oh shit. Does it bother you that I’m eating it? I could order something else.”
My neck nearly cracks, my mind is melding so hard. I swear, I thought considerate guys like this were a myth before my sister met her husband, and even then, I thought it was a fluke. Not even Hank Baker is this magnanimous with my mother.