“Keep Jeremiah around and you’ll meet her eventually,” Mateo said ominously. “She has . . . opinions . . . and she’s not shy about sharing them.”
“Especially about people’s love lives,” Mike added with obvious relish.
“And she tries to cook,” Mateo added.
“Bless her not-so-Scottish heart.” Mike shook his head.
I felt a chill run up my spine. “She sounds terrifying.”
Mateo laughed and shared a quick glance with Mike. “She’s harmless . . . mostly.”
“Anyway,” Mike continued, “we’ve all heard about the pasta maker incident.”
Heat flooded my face. “The what now?”
Mike was trying very hard not to laugh. “Dude, the whole story. The five-year-old, the vibrator, the rotini explanation. It’spure comedy gold. You should go on the road with that one. You’d make a killing.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I muttered. “Knife through the heart, maybe across the throat. One slash. It’ll be done.”
“Don’t kill him yet,” Mateo said, unwrapping what looked like an elaborate sandwich with meatballs slathered in tomato sauce and coated in white cheese that put my cardboard turkey to shame. “We need to know what your intentions are first.”
“My . . . intentions?”
“With Jer. Are you serious about him, or are you just playing around?” Mike’s tone was casual, but there was something protective underneath it that made me sit up straighter. “Playing is good, but our boy is . . . special. He deserves someone who won’t toy with him.”
I looked between them, these two men I barely knew who were apparently conducting some kind of romantic intervention on behalf of their friend. A wave of defensive energy prickled my skin as I tossed my sandwich into the nearby garbage. “I . . . that’s really none of your business.”
“Maybe not,” Mateo agreed. “But Jer’s been through some shit with guys who couldn’t handle him. Maybe they just wanted to sleep with the hottie with the bulging arms, or they might’ve grown tired of explaining why five-syllable words don’t always mean what we think they mean. Either way, Jer got his expectations up, then dashed, over and over. He may look tough and strong, but he’s a softie on the inside—the best kind, really. And not to spoil the plot, but he’s into you.Reallyinto you. We don’t want to see him get his hopes up if you’re not planning to stick around when things get messy.”
I blinked. Jeremiah wasreallyinto me? I mean, I kind of knew that, the way he showed up and stayed and kept coming back. Still, we’d only known each other a couple of weeks. He hadn’t experienced the hard days of parenting, when Debbie wasunmanageable or irrationally angry or whatever mood hit a five-year-old when the planets weren’t perfectly aligned. Would he still be sweet and patient and kind on those days? Would he want to be a father when she needed him most? Would he still stick around?
There were so many questions and doubts rummaging around in my head I could barely see the concerned expressions on the men’s faces before me. I couldn’t see or think or anything. All I could do was feel . . . feel the warmth of Jeremiah’s touch, the way his lips parted and quirked when he saw me, the way his eyes made my insides turn to strawberry jam on a summer’s day.
Jesus, I was a disaster.
“Things are already messy,” I said, my gaze faltering and voice fading. “I’ve had to cancel on him twice because of babysitter issues.”
“And?” Mike leaned forward. “How’s he handling it?”
Despite everything, I found myself relaxing slightly. Mike and Mateo seemed genuinely interested. They were concerned for their friend, but I got the sense they wanted me to be okay, too. No one worried over me. No one asked how I was holding up. Why were Mike and Mateo reaching out? Were they really just good guys looking out for those around them? Did they want me to be part of their pack? Could I even become part of something like . . . a group of friends?
“Better than I expected. Better than . . . well, better than most guys would.”
“That’s because he’s not most guys, not by a long shot,” Mateo said, his Italian accent making the words sound like menu items slathered in garlic. “The question is, areyoumost guys?”
I stared down at my hands, now folded on the tabletop before me, trying to figure out how this conversation had gotten so intense so quickly. I mumbled, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth would be good,” Mike suggested.
I took a deep breath. “The truth is that I’m terrified. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since before Debbie came to live with me, and that was four years ago. Hell, I didn’t really date much before that either. I’m not exactly Mr. Popular, in case you didn’t notice. And now . . . with a little girl . . . I don’t know how to balance being a father with being . . . whatever this is. And Jeremiah is . . .” I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
“Jeremiah is what?” Mateo prompted gently.
“Perfect,” I said quietly, finally lifting my gaze to meet Mateo’s. “He’s patient and kind and funny, and Debbie adores him, and when he looks at me I feel like maybe I’m not just some stupid librarian who spends his evenings reading bedtime stories and folding tiny clothes.”
Mike and Mateo exchanged a look.
“And that scares you?” Mike asked.
