Dr. Reynolds waves the daisy with a hopeful little jiggle. “Hi again! I brought coupons.”
“Of course you did,” Marin murmurs.
And just when I think the scene can’t get any more absurd, a familiar rumble hits the curb.
Noah’s truck.
Of all the times for him to show up.
His headlights spotlight the entire uncomfortable scene before Noah cuts the engine and steps out slowly, eyebrows already knitting as he surveys the situation. His gaze moves from me, still half-squatting in the mulch, to Dr. Reynolds with his flower and tucked-in optimism, then to Marin, and finally to Viv, who gives him a little wave like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Everything okay?” His voice is low and careful.
Dr. Reynolds steps forward. “Hey! I’m picking up my date.”
Noah’s eyes snap to mine.
“Your date?”
“Not me. I’m not dating my dentist,” I immediately protest.
“This isn’t a date,” Marin says at the same time.
We all blink at each other in the awkward silence.
Marin straightens up, shoulders back, like a soldier heading into war.
“You know what? Fine. This is a date. I’m going to dinner. I’m going to talk about goats and floss and probably regret everything by dessert.”
She walks toward Dr. Reynolds like she’s storming the beaches of Normandy. He beams, clearly thrilled to be part of whatever this is.
Viv raises her kombucha. “A gentleman and a saver.”
As they drive off, him waving like someone’s dad on the firstday of school, I realize Noah hasn’t moved. He’s still standing at the curb, hands now tucked in his jacket pockets.
“I gotta say,” he says, finally, with a crooked grin, “I didn’t have ‘dentist love triangle’ on my 2025 bingo card.”
I cross my arms, heat blooming in my chest for no good reason. “It’s not a love triangle.”
“No?” His smile widens, slow and infuriating. “Because I think you were a little more into the glitter bombs than you were into him.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m just saying, if I’d known your type was men in polos who come bearing floss-related pickup lines…”
I swat his arm. “Stop. He has a gentle touch. For root canals.”
He laughs, and something soft flickers in his eyes before he’s clearing his throat and stepping back.
“What brought you by anyhow?” I smooth my hair in an attempt to look casual and not like I’ve been half-crouched in a mulch bed that isn’t even real.
He leans against the porch railing with all the nonchalance of a man who does this every Tuesday and is definitely not thrown off by the chaos of my front yard or my face.
“Mrs. Stevens, three houses down, was convinced her CBD dog treats had been stolen. Panic attack incoming. Turned out, she misread the tracking info and they’re not even out for delivery until tomorrow.”
“That explains the siren of anxious barking I heard earlier.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Bingo. She was spiraling, so I dropped off a ‘care package’ of mint tea and melatonin dog biscuits to keep her from calling the mayor. Again.”
