Lacey?
Slowly, my brain starts to make connections. “You dropped this,” I say, handing him his wallet and the card.
His phone rings, and I see the screen.
Ben.
“Sorry, my son is calling,” he says, sitting up to take the call.
His son?
All at once, it hits me.
Gavin Lacey.
Ben Lacey.
Oh. My. God.
Tell me I did not just sleep with my ex’s dad.
Chapter 4
Gavin
“It wasan absolute pleasure to meet you,” I smile as I take the girl’s hand in mine and give it a warm squeeze.
“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Lacey,” she says. My attention turns to my son, Ben, who is beaming from ear to ear.
“You did well, son. She is a keeper.”
“I know she is,” he says, looping his arm around her and planting a soft kiss on her smiling lips.
I love it. I love every ounce of it.
As the father of adult children, nothing makes me happier than seeing them happy.
I really do like his fiancée. She’s free-spirited, beautiful, and full of life, just like him. It’s a match made in heaven or at a zipline course, since that’s where they met.
“Well, I’m happy for both of you,” I say, giving each of them a hug. “But I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks for having dinner with me.”
“Thanks for paying,” my son says, swiping one more chip from the basket on our table, which is covered in drink glasses and empty plates.
“Yes, it was so good. I love Mexican food,” she says. “We should go to Mexico sometime, love!”
“That sounds amazing,” he says, kissing her again.
“Alright well, you two have fun,” I say, and they smile and wave before heading out the door.
It’s kind of funny. This cantina is my go-to for great food and good vibes. When my son’s lovely fiancée said this is where she and Ben wanted to meet for dinner, I couldn’t argue with that.
I run my hand through my hair, switching hats for the evening. It’s a wild thing to be a dad with grown kids as a single man. Right now, I’m a single man who needs a celebratory drink, and I’m not afraid to drink alone. The night is young; the nightlife is buzzing, and I can count on the cantina to have some of the best cocktails in Denver.
I’m not a man whore though.
I am actually very picky about who I keep company with.
But as a forty-five-year-old widower who has been single for ten years, I can’t be blamed for preferring the other side of the bed to be warm from time to time.
