Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I already took care of it. I figured you’d be in at some point. Guess I just lucked out that you came in today.” He motions to the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get it for you. Do you want anything else? Something to eat?”
“The coffee is great. Thanks though.”
I shrug out of my jacket and take a seat at the small table for two.
Sidney returns a moment later with my coffee and slides into the chair across from me. He really is handsome.
“I’m glad you came in today.” He catches his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment.
It’s my turn with the slightly embarrassed smile. “If I’m being honest, I only came because you might be here, too.”
“Good. That’s great. I wasn’t sure if I was pushing it since you didn’t text.”
I sip my coffee and glance out the window. “I planned to do that tonight. After work. I wanted to text last night, but my daughter said I should wait twenty-four hours.” I bite my lips together, wishing I could curb my honesty. But I’m not interested in doing the dating dance with a guy who can’t handle the complications of being a single parent with a teen.
“How old is your daughter?” he asks, gaze moving over my face as if he’s trying to guess my age.
“Fifteen going on twenty-five. She’s a Mathlete, very studious and responsible. She’s pretty easy as far as teenagers go.”
“Fifteen, huh?” He tips his head fractionally.
“I was in my early twenties when I had her.” That’s as close as I’ll get to revealing my age on a first coffee date.
He smiles. “Well, she sounds like a dream. I have a teenage son, too. He’s seventeen. He’s more of an ongoing concern, but he’s always on the ice so he doesn’t have much time for trouble.”
“Oh? On the ice doing what?” I fight not to fidget. Maybe his son is a figure skater, or a speed skater. But this is Chicago, and people live and breathe hockey around here.
“He plays competitive hockey. We travel a lot for his games. It’s just the two of us.” I’m not sure what my expression must be, but that smile of his shifts. “Not a fan of hockey?”
“I don’t mind the game.” I have a love-hate relationship with hockey players, though.
The love part gave me Violet, the hate part revolves around the guy who knocked me up. Violet’s father is a former professional hockey player. He was a one-night stand and a poor decision. One I didn’t want to involve in our lives after I did the necessary internet research, so I raised Violet on my own. All she knows about him is that he was a fling.
“But…” He fidgets with the napkin, then taps the edge of his paper cup.
I shrug, unwilling to share my most impulsive choices with a guy I’ve just met, who I may or may not want to see again. “No buts. It must be hard managing that kind of schedule on your own. Are you divorced?” It’s always good to know if there’s an angry ex involved.
He shakes his head and his gaze shifts to his hands. “Uh, no. Miller’s mother passed away when he was three.”
My heart clenches. A single dad, with a teen son who plays a high-level sport and he lost his wife. That’s a lot of responsibility. And probably baggage. But everyone has baggage. I cover his hand with mine, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. She had a rare form of brain cancer. They couldn’t operate on the tumor and it just... took over. It was fast moving, so she didn’t suffer long.” He clears his throat.
“How long were you together?” I withdraw my hand to avoid awkward, prolonged contact.
“Six years. The first five were great, but the last one was hard.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Anyway.” He exhales slowly, his smile sad. “It’s been the two of us for a lot of years and he’s been pushing the online dating thing, but those apps scare the hell out of me.”
“The catfish potential is pretty high these days.”
“Yes, this!” He chuckles. “All it takes is one unpleasant experience to taint you for the rest of eternity.”
“Mm, so true.” I lean back in my chair. “Last year, one of my girlfriends thought it would be fun to set up a profile after we’d been into the margaritas. It was not the best choice.”
“Oh, that sounds like it has a story attached to it.”
“There were a lot of duck face selfies and regrets involved. I had a lot of interest, though not from guys I would ever want to introduce to my daughter.” I wave a hand around in the air. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Why not? It’s entertaining.”
“I’m supposed to put my best foot forward, aren’t I? Telling you about my drunk dating app experiences doesn’t speak to my good decision making.”