Reid stands and confesses, “I don’t have a car seat.”
“Well then, it’s pretty good that Gabby hasn’t needed one in years.” I pull the door shut, wishing I could do the same on my sarcastic tendencies.
“Good one.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I said it was a good one, and I meant it.”
His green eyes cast their spell on me, and I’m done for. He thinks I’m funny. For a thirty-one-year-old jilted single mom, that’s the top of the heap.
“Come on,” Gabby yells from the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on.” Reid grabs my hand. “So, just to be clear, I can drive?” He unlocks the doors to a hard-top Jeep.
Of course. He isn’t a family guy with a minivan.
“What do I do?” Gabby asks.
“Shoot, do you need a seat?” He looks downright confused now.
“No.” My daughter giggles. “I’m too old for that. How do I get in the back seat?” she asks, one hand on her hip, her eyebrow raised.
“You slide the seat forward, and in you go.” Reid pulls the passenger seat forward, then lifts his own eyebrow at me, genuinely curious. “Where are you hiding this girl? She’s never seen a two-door?”
Jesus, this man has no clue about life with kids.
“In the land of minivans and school buses.” I slide into the passenger seat and he closes the door with a thud—which hopefully covers the pounding of my heart in my chest.
Gabby is busy singing to herself on the way there, some rendition of a TV theme song I can’t quite place ... and then she farts. It’s loud enough for us to hear, and sulfurous for Reid to open the windows, furthering my embarrassment.
Afraid Reid will think it was me, I shame my daughter for the second time today. “Gabby, really?”
“Oops, I’m sorry.” She gives us a lopsided smile in the rearview. “I forgot it wasn’t just you, Mom.”
“Hey, I think that’s a good sign. Your daughter is already extremely comfortable with me on our first date.”
“Date?” Gabby has long forgotten her song.
“As friends,” I say, correcting both of them.
“We’ll see,” Reid whispers, catching on quickly that Gabby hears everything.
After pulling into FunZone, Reid is quick and appears at our side of the car, opening the doors and helping us both out. I’m out of breath when we reach the door, intent on opening doors for myself. Since this isn’t a date. Not with my daughter.
“Slow down, Andi. I don’t want to rush you to the ER in my two-door car,” he whispers in my ear as he nudges me out of the way to open the door. His breath lingers on my cheek, his scruff tickling my chin as he moves away. I want him to stay, but I refuse to allow myself to want that. Instead, I whisk by him and grab Gabby’s hand.
“What should we do first, Gabbs?”
“Let’s ask Reid.”
Of course, she’s already concerned herself with his well-being.
“I vote for bowling to work up an appetite,” he says, “then pizza, and then video games. Lots and lots of video games.”
“Yay!” Gabby is an electromagnetic force drawn to Reid and all that is Reid.
Me too.
