"And whatisyour type?" I ask, my voice softer now, almost daring him to say it out loud.
"First," he begins, a teasing glint in his eye, "can we both agree that you and Tina arevastlydifferent in the looks department?"
"Okay," I concede, lifting a brow. "But she's beautiful."
"I agree," he says without hesitation. "Tina's a brunette. I prefer blondes. She's almost six feet tall and kind of... rough around the edges. She's someone I can imagine arm-wrestling."
"What's her eye color?" I ask, genuinely curious if he even noticed.
He pauses, then shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "But I know yours. Golden amber, the color of rich tea, with flecks of brown and green. Your hair’s a honey blond, your skin’s pale like porcelain... you're what, five-five? You're delicate. Soft. Feminine."
I feel my cheeks flush under his gaze, intense and unyielding.
"Well, I have you fooled, then," I joke, trying to lighten the thickening air between us. "I'm agreatarm-wrestler."
***
On our way out of the park, we pause where our paths split, both of us taking our time as if neither of us wants to be the first to say goodbye. We stretch in silence, the air heavy between us.
"What do you do for a living?" he asks, his voice casual but his gaze sharp. "That house you live in wasn’t on the market for long, and I know what they were asking for it. Besides arm-wrestling, you don’t deal drugs, do you? I've got a kid I need to keep safe."
I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out if he’s joking or serious. "I don’t know whether you’re kidding or not," Isay, keeping my tone level. "I'm a nurse, but I’m taking some time off. I inherited money from my grandfather’s estate when he died. I bought the house."
"Why here?" he asks, his expression unreadable.
"It’s as good a place as any," I answer, not quite meeting his gaze.
"I get it," he says, his voice softening. "I’m sorry for your loss. I know it must be hard."
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. I don’t want to go into it—the fact that I didn’t shed a single tear when I heard my grandfather had died. That pain is too sharp, too close. Instead, I focus on the path ahead, unwilling to give him a glimpse into the parts of me that I keep hidden from everyone.
"What about you?" I ask, wanting to shift the focus off me.
"I build furniture," he says, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Really?" I can’t help the surprise in my voice.
"Yeah," he responds, shrugging like it’s nothing. "These hands were made for building. Chairs, tables, benches, bed frames. You name it, I craft it. It doesn’t make me rich, but Hannah and I have everything we need. And when I’m gone, I’ll have something to leave her."
I can sense the pride in his words, and for a moment, his cocky demeanor fades into something a little softer. "I’m sure you will," I say with a smile. "Are you working on anything right now?"
"I usually have five or six projects going at once," he says with a shrug. "I’ve got a shop behind the house. I work from home, so I can be there for Hannah full-time."
"Sounds like that's really important to you," I say, my admiration not hidden in my voice.
He nods, his expression softening. "When Hannah’s mom left us, I quit my job and put all my eggs in one basket. I had to turn what was a hobby into a full-time business. Hannah’s my priority, and I needed something that would give me the flexibility to be there for her. It’s not easy being a single dad, but it must be even harder being a kid with only one parent."
"Yeah," I say, nodding. I know how growing up without a family can scar you, but I keep that part of me hidden, buried deep where it can’t escape. "How long have you two been on your own?"
"Three years," he says. "Hannah was too young to remember her mother, but she still knows something’s missing."
"I'm sorry," I say, forcing a small smile. "Do you have more family here?"
"Yeah," he says, a smile tugging at his lips. "I come from a big family. We’re all here in Madison—three brothers, a sister, mom and dad. Both sets of grandparents live in Florida, but they visit often."
"That's great," I say, feeling the familiar pang of envy tighten in my chest. "Tina comes from a big family too, but they’re all out in California."
"What about you?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
