“So, it’s a date.” Lola bounces on the edge of my bed, staring at me.
I meet her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “It’s not a date.”
She rolls her eyes. “What would you call taking out a woman—the same woman you took for breakfast a few weeks ago—for drinks?”
“Attending a friend’s birthday party,” I clarify, my voice gruff.
Lola snorts, wrinkling her adorable nose she inherited from my mother. “Dad, I need details. All Jas told me—”
“Jas exaggerates.” I run my fingers through my hair, wondering if I need a trim. I turn a little, gauging the length before pulling it back into a bun.
“You need a trim,” Lola informs me. “And true, she does. But I don’t think she is about this.”
I sigh, turning to face my daughter. Sometimes, I look at her and she’s still a four-year-old kid. She’s got a big gap from missing three of her four front teeth and is wearing multicolored butterfly clips in her hair.
Now, she’s beautiful. Smart, motivated, talented. She cares more about school than I ever did and the fact that she’s one of only seven women in her coding cohort fills me with more emotions than I can process.
When the hell did that happen? When did Lola grow up?
“Dad.”
I shake my head, blinking away the mist that clouds my eyes. “Huh?”
“Jas isn’t wrong about this.”
I sigh, moving to my closet to pick out a shirt. I never put this much thought into my appearance—I’m not Devon Hardt—but tonight, I want to look nice. Put together.
“What’s Maisy’s last name?” Lola follows me.
“Stratford. Maisy Stratford.”
“Cute!”
I side-eye my kid and she grins.
“And you asked her out?”
“I offered to give her a ride to Cole’s birthday drinks.”
Lola’s gaze narrows. “But not dinner.”
“She was busy.”
“With what?” Lola crosses her arms over her chest. Ah, so protective, my girl. She gets it from me.
“She just started a new job—”
“With the Bolts.”
“Yes. And she had a late meeting.”
Lola nods slowly, digesting this information. “Is she a drinker?”
“What?” I glare.
“Is that why you offered to DD?”
“Don’t you have homework?”
My daughter laughs. “You just want to drive her home.”
I pull gray and blue shirts off the hangers, but Lola takes the gray one from my hand and re-hangs it. “Wear the navy. Sometimes you look washed out in pewter gray.”
“Huh?”
“Did you tell Uncle Asher about her?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
She smacks me in the stomach and moves back to my bed. “Sooo, do I need to give you the talk?”
“Lola,” I growl.
She cracks up. “All right, all right.” She stands from the bed. “I gotta get going anyway. Have fun tonight, Daddy. I mean it.” She pauses until I look up and catch her gaze. “You deserve to be happy, big guy. And I haven’t seen you like this”—she gestures toward me fretting over freaking navy or pewter—“in a long time. It’s a good look. Uncle Asher will be happy for you too.”
I soften immediately. It means more than I can express that Lola would be okay with me dating, or not dating but being open to the idea of dating. If she has any reservations, I’d shut it down immediately.
The fact that she’s excited for me, makes me excited about tonight. So much so, that I hope dinner flies by so I can scoop up Maisy and head to Corks.
“Where are you doing dinner?” Lola asks as she shoulders her computer bag.
“Clint’s,” I say, naming an upscale sports bar.
She clucks her tongue. “Fancy. And Corks for drinks?”
I nod, buttoning up my shirt over my white undershirt Lola gives me shit for wearing. She says they’re old-fashioned.
At her silence, I look up again, my stomach dropping when I note the glimmer in her eyes.
“No,” I shut it down.
She snorts. “I’m twenty-one now, big guy.”
“Lorisse Marie—”
“You’re full-naming me?”
“Do not show up at Corks tonight.”
She laughs. Evilly. She gets that from me too. Me and Asher.
“I’m serious.” I point at her, trying to look stern.
She rolls her eyes. “See you later, big guy.”
Lola leaves my room and a moment later, I hear the front door close.
As much as I pretend she breaks my balls, I love Lola more than life. Would she and Maisy hit it off? Would they bond and have some type of friendship between them?
It’s way too early for Maisy to meet her. Logically, I know that. Nah, Lola won’t swing by the bar. She’s just breaking my balls. I’m sure she already has plans with Jasmine. I blow out a breath, relieved Lola is just giving me grief.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My beard is neatly trimmed. My brown eyes are so dark, they look black. Just like my kid’s. And dammit, she was right. I do look better in navy.
I hope Maisy thinks so too.
Dinner at Clint’s is easygoing and chill. Cole’s genuinely touched that the team wanted to get together and take him out for his birthday and it shows. He’s an endearing kid and I’m far enough removed from my early days of playing to note that his approach—sincere and solid—will assist him in his career more than the hot-headed approach I’ve seen too many rookies exhibit over the years.
Nah, Cole’s a good kid and raising a glass in honor of his twenty-fourth birthday feels right. Most of the team assembled, with Devon and Mila looking like a power couple, and Beau Turner showing up with his Gran. Unfortunately, she forgot to turn off the stove and nearly burned down the house last week. Now, he’s too nervous to leave her on her own and is counting down the weeks for his little sister to move back home and share some of the caretaking responsibilities with him. Damien strolls in late, turning the head of nearly every woman in the place. And River, well, he sulks like usual.
All in all, it’s a great dinner but when the bill is settled and the team splits up into different rides to head to Corks, I’m relieved. I can’t wait to see Maisy, and the low-key atmosphere of Corks, coupled with Cole’s birthday, takes a lot of pressure off.
When I slide behind the wheel of my ride, I send her a message.
Me: Be there in ten.
Maisy: Okay. See you soon.
I grin that she spelled out “okay.” Used to Lola’s abbreviations, sometimes she doesn’t even use words, just emojis, the direct text is appreciated. Who the hell knows what a skull followed by a man running is supposed to mean anyway?
I pull away from Clint’s and head toward Maisy’s place. The closer I get, the more excited I feel. Anticipation snakes its way through my limbs, my stomach knots and loops. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Years. Fuck, decades.
With Maisy, I can envision more. Some kind of future. Being Lola’s dad has been the driving force of every decision I’ve made for the last two decades. For the first time in my adulthood, I’m at a place where I can date for me. Where I can find happiness for myself and, for the most part, put my own needs and wants first.
It’s an unsettling thought but it also opens a door of possibilities I haven’t considered. Can I have a real relationship with Maisy Stratford? Can we build something real? Something like my parents had? Or Anna and Ben have now?
I tap my palm against the steering wheel, my mind racing. Does she think tonight is a date? Will she expect me to kiss her when I drop her off? Does she want me to kiss her or is that too forward? Presumptuous?
Shit. I should have asked Lola, or Jas, what the damn rules are now.
No, I can’t ask them. I should ask Asher.
Lola was right; I need to tell my brother. He’ll be excited for this new development in my life and offer more advice and tips than necessary. Damn, I wish I already reached out to him.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Dating is so far out of my wheelhouse, I start to panic. What I thought was low-key birthday drinks for Cole, could also be construed as a cop-out, right?
Why didn’t I just pick up the phone and ask her out? Like a man?
By the time I pull in front of Maisy’s house, the back of my neck tingles and the knots in my stomach feel unbearable.
I park the car and step out, taking a few deep breaths as I walk toward her front door.
Before I step onto the porch, the yellow door swings open and Maisy steps outside.
I gulp, my throat drying. Every thought I had a moment ago fades away. My nerves dissipate and I stop, standing still to gaze at the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a low bun, with a few curls escaping to frame her face. Her makeup is subtle, but her eyes look bigger, popping bright blue. She’s wearing a flirty summer dress that ruffles above her knees and trails longer in the back. But it’s her smile that’s the knockout.
Because she’s looking at me—smiling at me—like I’m the man she’s been waiting on. Not just for tonight. But for years.
The same way I’ve been waiting on her.
I clear my throat. “You look beautiful.”
At the rawness of my tone, her expression softens.
“You clean up nice too, Axe,” she says, tipping her head to the side.
I clear my throat again, give half a chuckle. “Yeah, thanks,” I manage.
Maisy’s smile grows. “Thanks for picking me up. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“It’s no trouble. You’re on the way.” I tip my head to the car. “You ready?”
She stares at me for a long moment, as if making up her mind about something. Then, she takes a deep inhale and slowly releases it. “Yes, I’m ready.”
We turn toward my truck together. By the time she’s strapped in and I’m driving to Corks, the door of possibilities has widened. Suddenly, everything seems within reach.
I look over at Maisy and smile.
Absolutely everything.