“And now we’re dating?” I quickly add, “Not that I’m complaining or trying to change your mind. I’m just … shocked.”
“Because you thought I wanted to go slowly?”
“Well … yeah.” I run my hand through my hair.
“I want things to go slowly for the boys. They need that. And I needed to be sure I was seriously interested in you so I didn’t lead you on and waste your time.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask her. “It was the flowers, wasn’t it?”
“Flowers never hurt,” she says. “But, to be honest, it was the way you were with the twins at Kroger.”
“They shot me. What was I supposed to do? Stand there like I hadn’t been shot?”
She laughs—really laughs. “Most men would stand there. Very few would collapse onto the floor in the middle of Kroger.”
“Amateurs,” I say, opening her door for her.
She hops up into my truck and I shut the door behind her. Then I climb into the driver’s seat.
Angie looks over at me while I start the truck. “The boys were on the verge of a breakdown that night. Five thirty to seven thirty are really rough hours of the day for them. They’re tired, hungry, and then sometimes they don’t want to settle for bed.”
She shakes her head.
“What?” I ask her.
“You don’t need to hear about my struggles with the boys.”
“I absolutely need to hear about it. All of it.”
I don’t say anything more. I don’t want to freak her out. If she thinks I haven’t considered the boys, she’s so wrong. I know she’s a single mom. I’ve had feelings for Angie for a long time. When I finally decided to get serious about pursuing her, I looked down the road. I’m turning thirty. I want a family. I’m ready to be a dad.
She’s likely to open her door and jump out while the truck is moving if I said all that right now. But it’s a fact. I know dating her seriously means including the boys at some point. And ultimately, if things progress, it means merging our lives—and that definitely includes the boys. I’d already taken all of that into account before I started asking her to let me take her to dinner.
Five thirty to seven thirty struggles would be something we share in the future, not something she shoulders alone.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” she says.
“Just thinking,” I admit.
“About my boys?”
“About what a rock star you are and how much you carry on your own.”
“I’ve got Mom, too.”
“You do. But you still do a lot. I admire you.”
She smiles softly.
“And I would never have asked you out without considering the boys.” That’s all I’ll say for now.
“Meaning?”
“You can share anything about them—about motherhood—with me anytime. I want to know. I care.”
She’s quiet. I don’t push her to tell me what she’s thinking. This is only our second date. We’ve known one another for years. But we’re in new territory. She still needs time. And I’m going to give her what she needs.
The road to the McNabbs’ property is lined with low wood fences and trees. We pull up the gravel driveway and park alongside a pasture.
