Page 3 of Falling for Keeps

“Preparing for a book club.” My smile is broad, and I find myself leaning toward him. Or is he leaning toward me? Either way, I can feel the distance between us waning, the air thick and palpable with energy. “Do you read?”

“Not really.” He cringes, which is adorable. “Unless you count Dr. Seuss.”

“One of the most talented authors of all time? Of course I count him.”

“And Kevin Henkes,” he says, surprising me. That one might be a typical household children’s novelist, but most men can’t pull his name out of thin air.

“Do you have a favorite of his?” I ask.

“Probably Lilly’s Purple Purse. Or maybe Chrysanthemum.”

“Those are both excellent.”

His arm slides over the back of the bench in a cocky move. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

“I’m not going to call you a liar.”

“Your face pretty much did.”

My laugh rings out, making his eyes flash. “I was only apprehensive.”

“Fair enough.” Warmth radiates from his arm, and I know I’m living some crazy alternative reality here, but I don’t want it to end. I was never the girl picked first, never asked to prom by the football quarterback, never noticed by the popular guys as I sat in the corner and read my books. I was the nerd. He was the jock. We ran in such opposite crowds, it’s no surprise he doesn’t recognize me. Especially because the dress Demi forced me into is nothing at all like what I typically wear. This little green number is tighter and shorter and altogether sleeker than anything in my closet.

But I was friends with his sister, so it still stings a little.

Anyway, none of that matters at this moment. It’s my Cinderella hour. I’m in a tight green dress bestowed on me by my fairy bride-mother, flirting with a man who oozes main character energy. His strong jaw and particular attention are part of this bubble, and I don’t want it to pop. Once we step out of the bar, the spell will break—he’ll return to his life and I’ll revert to soft sweaters and worn jeans. But for right now, I don’t mind having his full attention.

The door opens, and two guys walk in with a stunning redhead. She’s got a killer dress on and carries herself like she knows it. Carson glances at them and lifts his hand in a wave. “My friends are here.”

Of course the bubble would pop immediately. In what universe would he be meeting anyone but a gorgeous model and her entourage? How could he possibly mistake me for her?

Carson hesitates. He looks down at the table, then rubs the back of his neck. “It was nice to talk with you. Sorry about the mix-up.”

“Hey, I get it. All redheads look alike.”

His green eyes glitter as a warm chuckle rumbles from his chest, but he slips from the bench smoothly, taking all feelings of potential with him. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. You too.”

He walks away, meeting his friends near the door and following them to an empty table on the other side of the bar. He sits facing me, and I pretend to be engrossed in my book. Especially because Seth is heading my way, and I want to redirect him back to Demi’s sister.

The book should be enough to distract me, but it isn’t. Not when I can still feel the heat of Carson’s gaze on my skin. Not when every time I glance up, I find him watching me.

Carson

This is not a normal Friday night for me. My evenings are more often spent watching Liv and Maddie or getting my nails painted to the tune of BTS and Taylor Swift. Penny has decided she wants to become proficient at nail art, and ever since her mom left us, she’s been forced to practice on me.

I usually give her free rein, since I wear gloves at work ninety percent of the time anyway. Though, truthfully, I’m past caring about showing up at the office with daisies or butterflies painted on my thumbnails. We’ll see how the new crew does with it, but my old hygienist back in Tennessee got a kick out of what color I’d be sporting each week.

I’m still heavily in the survival phase—treading that deep ocean water with Penny on my shoulders, my head barely breaking the surface. The last thing I care about is someone judging my eccentric nails. Anything that makes my child happy is a go these days.

When my buddy Todd reached out about meeting in Burlington to celebrate his birthday, I wanted to refuse. I’ve only just returned to Vermont, my mom hardly has any time off between working as a nurse and her NP program to babysit, and a bar with a couple guys I knew in college doesn’t sound as nice as a hot pizza and painting my nine-year-old’s nails. Or trying the new Dutch braid configuration she’s been wanting me to learn.

I’m that person now.

It’s also a little of the reason I can’t stop looking at Glasses. I don’t know her name—I didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer it. But she has the sweetest smile under those glasses, and there’s something so wholesome and slightly familiar about her I can’t stop my attention from drifting toward her all night.

Especially not when one of the sash-bearing guys on the dance floor took my seat before it even cooled. Glasses had scooted away, putting some distance between them, but he was all over her like a barnacle on Tamatoa.