TESSA

“Either he really likes to park or he’s got some funky driving habits,” I hear Emmanuel sass behind me.

I turn around to see him and Aiesha staring through the blinds of Lumiére Salon and Spa onto Main Street.

Aiesha puts her hand out, palm up. “Twenty bucks says he stays for another hour.” Her chin nods toward me. “Or until she goes out to talk to him.”

Emmanuel leans back and gives my body a once-over. “He’ll leave in ten more minutes.”

I walk over to stand next to them. “What are you two staring at?”

Aiesha points out the window. “That black Tesla was parked by Starbucks and then moved to the spot in front of our building before going back to Starbucks. Then, it sat by the drugstore for a little while, and now, it’s on the corner across the street.”

I look at the sleek car idling on the curb. It looks innocent enough, perfectly parallel parked between two cars. As if it—well, the driver—knows we’re talking about it, it starts to back up.

“See, he’s leaving. You owe me,” Emmanuel gloats.

Aiesha waves him off. “No. He’s just moving to the spot that just opened up. It’s perfectly in between here and Starbucks.”

I look out the window again and see the car is moving exactly where Aiesha said it would. “Why is that a perfect spot?”

“So he can pretend to bump into you when you leave and walk to Starbucks,” she turns to me and answers with a sashay to her body.

I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Who is he?”

“It’s your client. That tall drink of water, Bryce Sexton—the one who let you paint his face. The man obviously has a thing for you. That, or he has some serious drag aspirations,” she explains.

“He’s definitely not gay. And I have perfect gaydar,” Emmanuel chimes in, albeit disappointed.

Aiesha continues, “I saw him when I got my coffee earlier. He’s been playing musical parking spots all morning.”

“Bryce Sexton,” I repeat with dismay. This guy has gone from charming to stalker in less than a week. “Why would he assume I’d be going to Starbucks?”

“Everyone goes to Starbucks,” the two answer in unison and then resume their posts of spying out the window.

The club music playing in the speakers of the salon is making my heart race faster than normal. “He can wait out there all day. There’s no way I’m going out with him.”

“He asked you out?” Aiesha asks, her eyes widening with interest.

I shrug my shoulder. “I told him I’m not interested.”

“Why not?” Emmanuel and Aiesha say with simultaneous head flicks.

I lean back at the feeling that I’m about to be scolded.

“That man is fine with a capital F. Not to mention rich,” Aiesha states.

“He’s way out of your league,” Emmanuel adds.

I try not to be offended.

No, I’m totally offended.

“For your information, I am way out of his league,” I state with a nod, although I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince Emmanuel or myself. “And I don’t need a rich man to make me happy. I don’t need any man. Period.”

The two stare at me for a moment—Aiesha unblinking, but Emmanuel can’t seem to stop blinking. Suddenly, they resume their personalities.

“Girl’s out of her damn mind,” Emmanuel states, twirling his finger next to his head, the international sign of crazy.

Seeing that these two are of no help in my predicament, I head back to my station.

“You’re not going to leave the man out here all day, are you?” Aiesha’s question forces me to turn around.

“And say what?”

“How about, Move your damn car from my salon because you’re taking up valuable parking?” Emmanuel says matter-of-factly. “He’s going to start scaring the clients. No one likes a man who spies on the neighborhood.”

I fold my arms and tilt my head. “Kind of like you two voyeurs peering between the blinds?”

Aiesha shushes me. “This is surveillance. Now, go. You have thirty minutes until your next client.”

I look at Emmanuel for permission.

“You heard the woman,” he says with a shoo. “Go.”

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly start to head outside.

“Don’t forget your bag!” Aiesha rushes behind me with my tote bag.

I take it from her and walk over to the Tesla. The windows aren’t tinted, so I can see Bryce through the window, head down and thumbing on his phone. I rap a knuckle on the glass, causing him to jump out of his seat at the surprise knocking.

I can see my scowl in the reflection of the glass as he rolls down the window.

“Do I need to be concerned about you?” I ask with my hands on my hips. His sunglasses are covering his eyes, so I watch his full mouth as it opens and closes with no words coming out. “Are you stalking me?”

He looks shaken by my appearance, which is interesting because, the two times I’ve met him, he’s been nothing but poised and controlled, dominating even.

“I was just about to grab a coffee.” His words sound rehearsed.

The fact that he looks like Charlie after I’ve caught him stealing cookies before dinner is almost adorable. Almost.

“I thought you didn’t lie. The receptionist at Lumiére noticed a black Tesla parked outside. She’s been sitting in the window as you moved from one parking spot to another before she recognized you. If you really wanted coffee, then you would have gone inside to get one.”

Bryce looks up at the front window of Lumiére and sees Emmanuel and Aiesha, both dressed in head-to-toe black, like spies, standing inside, looking back at us. They raise their hands and wave.

He falls back into his seat. “Then, I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I’m on a stakeout? An investigative piece. On luxury salons.”

“You can do better than that,” I say, tapping my foot.

He smiles at me, amused. “There’s a cockfighting ring in the city, and we have sources that say the most lucrative cock in all of San Francisco fights in the basement of this very salon.”

I raise a brow. “Who’s your source?”

“A disgruntled hair washer,” he replies. “She wants to move up to stylist but is low in the pecking order of the company.”

God, he’s cheesy. It’s like he hasn’t joked in years, and this is the best he can do.

I quirk my lips to the side to suppress a smile. “You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to work my way into the henhouse.”

That was pretty lame. Cute but lame.

“This chicken has to get back to work.” I turn and walk away.

Bryce gets out of the car, quickly closes the door, and calls out from where he’s standing, “I’ve been sitting in my car for the last hour, trying to think of something witty to say.”

His admission has me stop in my tracks.

I don’t turn around as he continues, “I can’t stop thinking about you. And, yes, I know that sounds creepy, but I like you. And I want to buy you a cup of coffee. Just one cup, and after that, I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

While the guy isn’t great at being cheesy, he can do honest really, really well.

I look up at the window and see Aiesha and Emmanuel mouthing to me, Turn around, and, Go with him.

With a roll of my eyes, I face Bryce. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his sunglasses are now slid up to the top of his head, and he’s looking at me with puppy-dog eyes.

I fold my arms over my body. “I didn’t get a text last night with a certain photo.”

“I told you I couldn’t do that,” he says earnestly.

I sigh heavily. “Look, I appreciate the effort. Showing up as a client yesterday was one thing, but waiting outside my job? I can’t do this kind of relationship. I have other things that—”

“I’m not trying to scare you. I promise. I’m being an idiot.”

“You think?” I say, almost laughing.

He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment, as if trying to decide if what he’s about to say is worth saying. “On the roof, you said something. How you can have a clear vision of what you want. Then, something happens, and everything you thought you were going to have evaporates. I know how that feels, and I guess I wanted to spend time with someone who knows what that’s like.”

My heart stops.

For as long as I’ve been alive, I’ve never met someone who has listened to the words I’ve said and remembers them.

While I want to call him on his bullshit, there’s something in the way he’s standing here, on the corner of a busy street, wearing a black suit and confessing to a woman that he’s been sitting in his car, nervous to ask her to coffee, that has me questioning … everything.

His almond-shaped eyes sweep over my face and crinkle slightly as I take him in. He’s a workaholic and a womanizer and a smoker.

He’s also a guy who has had his heart shattered and was called Porky as a little kid. I don’t know why those two facts stand out to me, but they do. They make him vulnerable.

I’ll probably never understand why this man is so intrigued by me, but if I’m being honest, there’s something about him that has me completely beguiled.

“One coffee, and you promise no more surprise visits to my work?”

He must hear the willingness in my tone because he pushes, just a little. “Did I say coffee? I meant dinner.”

I ignore his joke. “I only have twenty minutes until I have to be back. If you really are planning on going to Starbucks, I’ll let you buy me a muffin since I already had coffee.”

A genuine smile graces his lips. “A muffin it is.”

He takes a step closer, and I inhale sharply before shouldering past him toward the coffee shop that’s just a few yards away.

He’s at the door before I am. “After you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper under my breath. I run my hands together and find they’re a little sweaty.

We’re off the crowded street and in the confines of Starbucks. My face is in line with his pectorals, which are clearly defined through his crisp white button-down. His strong build and impressive stature are a lot to take in when I’m trying not to notice how attractive he is. His face is freshly shaven, which only shows off his square jaw and impossibly full mouth.

I remember what it was like to be close to those lips. Of course, that was before I knew he was … well, him.

His eyes smolder when he catches me staring at him, so I quickly turn around, practically whipping him in the face with my ponytail.

My focus is fixed on the display case filled with cookies, cake pops, and breakfast sandwiches. The barista is foaming up lattes, and another is calling out to-go orders. The room smells heavenly of coffee, but my senses keep zeroing in on the intoxicating aroma of Bryce’s cologne.

When it’s our turn, I order a blueberry muffin, and he orders an espresso.

Needing some space, I leave him to wait for his drink alone while I grab a table. I lightly tap my fingers to the Adele song playing on the speakers and watch him wait and scroll through his phone. His brows furrow as his thumbs tap on the screen.

The barista calls his name twice before Bryce looks up from his phone.

“You look distracted,” I say as he sits down at our table.

He pushes his phone into his pocket. “I’ve received thirty-two emails in the time it took for me to convince you to have coffee with me. I’m not used to stepping away from my desk.”

“Yet you found an hour to kill to practice parallel parking.”

He grimaces like the thought didn’t cross his mind. “Yeah. This is definitely a first.”

I play with the wrapper on my muffin. “The first time you’ve stalked a woman or the first time you’ve gone for coffee.”

“Please stop using the term stalk.”

He takes a sip of his espresso, and I continue to peel my wrapper, realizing he didn’t actually answer my question.

His hand lays on mine, causing me to look up into his eyes. This close in the daylight, they have a chocolate sparkle. A tiny bit of softness to otherwise hardened features.

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever been this forward with. I’m not one to seduce women.”

He removes his hand, and I instantly feel the loss of the warmth.

“So, what do you do?” I ask.

“Work twenty-four/seven.”

“That seems like an exaggeration.”

“I wake up at four, check emails, watch cable news while I run, listen to NPR in the shower, dress and am at work by five thirty. Emails, meetings, more meetings, more emails, some phone calls here and there …”

“Wow. You are a workaholic.” I pull apart a piece of muffin and inhale it—unladylike I might add.

“Not by choice.” He takes a sip and spills a small amount on his tie. “Damn it.” He shakes his head like this is a common occurrence.

I smile at the sight and look into my bag where I have a small package of baby wipes because Charlie is notorious for having dirty hands. “Here.” I lean over and lift his tie. “Is that silk? Hold on.” I go back in my bag and get a tiny bottle of baby powder. I put a small amount on the stain.

While I’m fixing his tie, he’s looking at me with a bewildered expression. “What else you got in there?”

“A little of everything and a whole lot of nothing,” I joke as I put the powder back.

“You’re like Mary Poppins. You know, the bag with the lamp that comes out?”

I try not to laugh at his joke, mostly because his delivery is adorably unfunny. “So, Mr. Workaholic who remembers children’s movies, you say your life is not by choice. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Travel,” he says without having to think twice about it.

“I find it hard to believe you don’t whisk yourself away on the corporate jet on a whim.”

He gives a half-shrug. “I’m on the road a lot. Seattle, Denver, Chicago, New York.”

New York, I sigh to myself. I once had a dream of living there.

“Then, you do travel.”

“No, I mean, real travel. Like to Indonesia or Beijing. I’d love to see the elephants in Thailand and snorkel in Fiji, but I can’t. Not when I’m strapped down to this all the time.” He holds up his iPhone. “Even if I went away, I’d be on my computer the entire time.”

“What about your family? Can’t they pick up the slack while you’re away?”

“It’s complicated,” he replies.

I lean back in my chair and tilt my head. “I remember you saying something about your dad and brother. I didn’t know who you were at the time. I spilled my drink on your stepmother by the way.”

“If I didn’t already like you, I would just from hearing that story.”

“Not my finest hour.” I take another bite of muffin.

“You looked pretty fine if I recall.”

Our eyes meet, and I see the slight tug to his lips as I swallow. I bite my lip and turn my attention back to my muffin.

Bryce lays his elbow on the table and leans in. “Are you not used to having men compliment you?”

“I don’t always have the best luck.”

“Pick a four-leaf clover.”

“More like roll in a field of clovers.”

There’s a group of teenagers who come in and make an absurd amount of noise.

I try to focus on them instead of Bryce.

It’s no use.

He leans forward, spreading his knees as he does so, causing one to brush against mine. My knee has never felt so electric in my life.

“I’m not like other men,” he states.

I can’t disagree with him. I don’t say that though. Instead, I look at my empty wrapper.

“I haven’t had the best luck either. Relationships aren’t my strong suit,” he states. It reminds me of something he said the night we first met.

“Your heart was shattered,” I recall.

He nods. “Perhaps the heart can’t understand true love unless it’s been broken.”

All noise and function in the room ceases to exist as I let his words melt into me. If he’s right, then I’m due for the world’s greatest love affair. Ashton not only broke my heart, but he also destroyed my trust. From the look on Bryce’s face, he has experienced the same thing. What kind of woman is powerful enough to break a titan?

There’s a vibration coming from my ass. I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket and see my mom’s face lighting up the screen. I send her to voicemail and place the phone back in my pocket.

“Sorry. That was my mother. My overly involved mother.”

“The best ones are.”

“Not mine. She’s a high-ideal feminist. The good kind. Kathleen Clarke. She’s known for wearing these oversized, round—”

“Dark-framed glasses. I’m familiar with America’s crusader for women’s rights. We’ve covered her many times.”

Of course he’s heard of her. “That’s my mom.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the type who has time to keep close tabs on her grown children.”

“Child,” I correct. “And it’s not that she keeps tabs per se. She’s just really obsessed with me.”

“As all moms should be,” he repeats. “When I was thirteen, my mother showed up at my school because I didn’t make the cut for the football team. Everyone got on the team, but I was cut. As I said, I was a bit robust as a kid. She scolded the coach into getting me a spot on the practice squad.”

I laugh. “That’s sweet. Does your mom still keep tabs on you?”

“No. She passed. That’s why I’m Mr.”—he reaches for his phone, tilting it back and forth before putting it back—“Twenty-Four/Seven.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She died in a car accident eight years ago.” There’s a far-off look in his eyes. It lasts a moment as he brings himself back to the present. “So, what about you? How’s business? I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble the other day.”

“Not at all. You kinda saved me. I haven’t been booking as many clients as my boss would like. He says I need to schmooze clients. I’m good at what I do. I just don’t know how to get new business. I’m not a salesman.”

“Then, it’s a good thing you met me,” he says with a Cheshire cat grin. “I am.”

“Newspapers and makeup are completely different.”

“People are people. No difference.” He leans forward and scans the room. “Take that woman for instance.” He points toward a girl with long, flowing blonde hair and severely arched eyebrows. She’s talking with a friend at one of the tables by the window. “She looks to be about late-twenties, which is prime wedding season for her and her friends. I bet she gets made up a few times a year. And, if she doesn’t already, she’d love it.”

The girl is laughing with a friend as she flips her hair over her shoulder.

“She’s very pretty. She probably does her own makeup.” I look back at him. “What would I even say to her?”

“Compliment her. Most people like to be complimented on their accomplishments, but since you don’t know her, pick something striking about her. Something you’d enhance.”

Her brows, I instantly think. It’s what I first noticed about her. They don’t need to be changed, but I’d love to add some lashes and a soft shadow to her eyes to balance them out. I’d keep her lips soft since her eyes would pop brilliantly.

Bryce must sense the wheels turning in my head because he lays a hand on my arm and says, “Give it a try.”

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I find myself rising from the seat, and I walk over to the girl. This is stupid. I’m walking up to a stranger and—oh, she’s looking at me. She’s confused as to why there’s a random woman approaching her table. She’s staring at me. I should say something. Right …

“Hi. My name’s Tessa, and I work across the street at Lumiére Salon and Spa. I was just telling my friend how gorgeous your brow shape is.”

Her face brightens, and it sparks a conversation between me and this girl. She tells me about this Indian woman she goes to for eyebrow threading, and I tell her about my services and ideas I have if she ever has an occasion she’d like to get her makeup done for. I give her my card, and she introduces me to her friend, who is getting married in a few months. Within minutes, we set a plan for her to get a makeup trial done.

When I walk back to the table, Bryce is looking at me with pride.

“So?” he asks.

I let out a large smile. “I have two new clients!” My words come out with a laugh. My heart is racing a little, and my hands are a tiny bit shaky. I didn’t realize how nervous I was, but now that it’s done, I have a bit of an adrenaline rush. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.”

His eyes crinkle on the sides with the smile, and his dimples show. I didn’t notice them before, but now that they’re there, I want nothing more than to kiss him.

Oh dear, what’s gotten into me?

I look at my phone again for the time. “I have to get back to work.”

I rise from my chair, and he stands as well.

“Can I see you again?”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have butterflies. “Bryce, I …”

I can’t.

Sometimes, when I’m with Bryce, I forget my responsibilities. Yes, I know single mothers date but not this mama. And especially not with a man like Bryce Sexton. He’s rich and gorgeous and broody as fuck. And let’s be honest; he’s probably great in bed. But he’s everything I don’t want in my life.

My life is Charlie.

I promised myself I wouldn’t have men coming in and out of his life, and I know, in the end, it will be worth it. He needs stability. He needs me, not half of me.

“I like you.” I sigh and shake my head. “God, that sounds so weird. You’re handsome and successful and kinda funny. I like that you’re easy to talk to, but a relationship is not in the cards for me. I’m afraid you’re just wasting your time.”

“You think I’m handsome,” he says with a debonair smile.

“Out of all I just said, that’s what you heard?”

“And funny and easy to talk to.”

“Kinda funny,” I correct.

He grins. “Just so you know, I have two brothers and hundreds of people who work for me who would very much disagree with that.”

I swallow a smile. “Good-bye, Bryce.”

As I walk to the door, he doesn’t follow me.

He stands by the table, his hands in his pockets and a raised chin. “Good-bye, Tessa.”

By the grace of God, I allow myself to walk out that door.

The only downside to moving from Berkeley was finding a new babysitter for Charlie. When I lived with my mom, we had great neighbors who would look after him while I worked. Now that I’m in the city, I have Charlie in a daycare after school.

“How was your day, buddy?” I ask him as we stroll down the street to our building.

“It was good. Mrs. O’Leary put a movie on for us because it was too windy outside.” He’s swinging our joined hands in the air as we walk. “She made us watch the old Superman. It was okay, but he’s no Henry Cavill.”

I nod my head with agreement. “No man is.”

“Not only is he an immersive, character-driven actor, but he also has the body of a Greek god,” he says with his preschool lisp.

I halt and look down at his freckled face. “Where did you hear that?”

“I heard you say that to Abby.”

I tug on his hand and start walking again. “I’m gonna have to start watching what I say around you.”

“You’ve had to watch for a while. I’m like a sponge. I absorb everything!”

My laugh is muffled by his face as I lean down to hug him.

When I release him, he’s all ready to shout his request. “Hey, Mom, can we stop at the toy store? There’s a new Lego Mindstorm out that I want to get.”

I shake my head. “I just bought you one last week.”

“And I built it already,” he says loudly.

“Legos cost money, kid. They don’t come for free.”

He twists his mouth to the side as his feet skip over a crack on the sidewalk. “What kind of job can I get with a kindergarten degree?”

“Official bed-maker. I’ll give you a quarter every day if you make your bed in the morning.”

He thinks about this for a moment before answering, “Okay, but I’ll expect a raise after six months.”

We stop at the store and pick up dinner. Grilled chicken with Brussels sprouts. Yes, I have the only kid in America who loves vegetables. I’m not complaining. His healthy eating habits make me eat better … not that I’d blanch at polishing off an entire tray of brownies by myself. I just try to eat healthier when Charlie’s around.

As the chicken sautés in the pan, I walk into Charlie’s room and grab his laundry basket. We have a washer and dryer on the ground floor, so tonight, after Charlie goes to bed, I’ll run a load down.

Sorting his clothes of the whites, I check the pockets for any cookie remains or Lego pieces. In the pocket of Charlie’s Giants jacket, I find a bracelet. It’s wide with orange and black laces intertwined with a black snap clasp and a small compass.

“What’s this?” I ask Charlie, who’s watching TV in his pajamas.

“My survivor bracelet!” He jumps up from the floor and runs up to me, grabbing the bracelet and sliding it up his arm toward his bicep since it’s way too big for him.

“What’s a survival bracelet?”

He points to the different facets of the bracelet. “There’s a scraper here to start a fire, or you can use it as a knife. And this is a compass, so I can find my way out of the woods. And listen.” He takes it off and holds the open clasp to his mouth, eliciting a very loud whistling sound. “I can call for help!”

“Very cool,” I say, covering my ears and scrunching my face.

“Look”—he holds it up for me to see more closely—“you can unravel it here, and it’s a parachute cord.”

I remove my hands from my ears. “And how will that help you survive?”

“It’s really, really, really strong, Mom. It can hold, like, all of your weight. And it looks cool!” he says, showing me again with pride as he puts it back on his arm.

“Where did you get that?”

“Grandpa Mason. He said it was my dad’s. Did you know Dad was a Boy Scout? He said I should be one, too. Can I, Mommy?” He jumps up and down, holding his little hands together in a plea and pouting his bottom lip out.

Irritation slowly makes its way up my spine. I hate that the Masons put these ideas in his head. It’s not that I have a problem with Charlie being a Scout per se. It’s a great organization. I would just prefer Charlie to pick his extracurricular activities based on what he wants to do. Not what his dad did.

My heart and head are at a total loss for how to deal with this situation. When I invited the Masons to be part of Charlie’s life, I expected this sort of thing. I just don’t know how I feel about Charlie looking so damn excited at the idea.

I try to tamp down my feelings. “I’ll look into it, okay? I don’t know much about it, so I can’t promise anything.”

He wraps his arms around my waist. “Thanks, Mommy.”

I drop to my knees, getting the best hug in the world from my favorite little guy. “Okay, go sit at the table. Dinner is almost ready.”

He takes his place at the table as I walk over to the refrigerator. I’m about to pour a glass of milk when there’s a knock at the door. I walk to the stove and turn down the chicken before answering it.

“Special delivery!” Abby says as I let her in. She has a large plant in her arms, wrapped in cellophane paper.

She comes inside and places the plant on the table beside my and Charlie’s dinner plates. I close the door and walk over to see it’s more like a small tree than a plant.

“You bought us a tree?” I ask.

While it’s a lovely gesture, it’s odd. A bottle of wine is more Abby’s style.

“Cool!” Charlie says, poking through the cellophane at the bark.

Abby lets out a laugh. “No, the delivery guy rang my bell instead of yours. Imagine my dismay when I saw the card was addressed to you.”

The tree is about two feet tall with a braided trunk and flat green leaves.

She pulls a small white card off the cellophane and hands it to me. “You should be happy it was me who answered the door and not Christine. She’d be pissed if she saw who’d sent it.”

“You read my card?” I open the envelope and pull out a small notecard.

She shrugs. “I was nosy.”

I open it and read the inscription. “Thank you for the coffee. Bryce.”

Along with the card is his business card. It’s black with Sexton written in white font on one side, his personal information on the other.

Abby hits me in the side with her elbow. “Coffee,” she says with waggling brows.

I give her a mom stare and nod toward Charlie. This is not something I want to discuss in front of my son.

Ignoring me, she continues, “It looks like you have an admirer. You have to give him credit. He’s not like every other man, sending random flowers that will die a week later. He sent you a money tree.”

“A money tree?” My jaw drops in disgust. I know the man has wealth but to rub it in my face is a bit much.

Abby laughs and unwraps the cellophane. “You see the braided trunk there? That’s a money tree. It’s a sign of good fortune. He wants to bring you luck,” she says with a smile.

I glance at the trunk of the tree, noticing for the first time the intricacy of the way it’s grown. The trunk is intertwined with the other limbs, creating a union to make one strong base. It reminds me of the Living Wall I was admiring when I first met Bryce and the way nature blended everything together.

This tree isn’t just about the luck I told him I needed. He’s bringing us back to that wall. The moment we met.

Now that I see the actual tree for what it is, my heart beats faster, and I have to breathe through dishing up Charlie’s food, so I don’t give in to my nerves.

“You’re trembling.” She places a hand on my arm.

I shake my head to gather my wits. “Charlie, eat your dinner.”

While he starts eating, I remove the rest of the paper and toss it in the trash. Then, I walk the tree into the living room and place it by the window.

Abby comes up behind me. “You must really like him,” she says.

I lean back, looking into her kind brown eyes.

“I know you have these rules about men, but it’s okay to be flattered.”

“Flattery is one thing. This man is”—I pause to think of exactly what Bryce is—“all consuming. He’s like the kind of guy you read about in romance novels. This wealthy, untouchable guy who seeks out the damsel in distress. Except, in this book, I’m the damsel with a kid, being courted by a guy who let his assistant seduce him in his office.”

“Is that what this is about?” She places a hand on her hip and scowls at me. “Don’t let Christine get to you. So what if they fooled around? That was before he met you.”

“So, they did fool around? Bryce said they didn’t. He said he stopped it before it happened.”

“He’s probably telling the truth. I told you before not to believe everything Christine says.”

“You don’t think she seduced him?” I ask, confused.

“Oh, she definitely tried to seduce him. I just don’t think it went anywhere. And, like I said, even if it did, it was before he met you. I’m not saying you should marry the guy. You don’t even have to introduce him to Charlie. I just think you shouldn’t be afraid to give it a try.”

I lean back against the window frame and look back at Charlie. He’s using his fork as an airplane and diving into his Brussels sprouts.

“He means everything to me.”

She turns around and looks toward Charlie. “He should. He’s a great kid. And you’re a great mom. If a man’s courting you, let him. Enjoy his attention. Have fun while you’re young.”

I roll my head from side to side and think about what she’s saying. I’m not convinced, but I appreciate her sentiment.

My phone vibrates with a text message from my job. “I just got my schedule for tomorrow. I’m booked with clients all day.”

She hip-bumps me. “See? Your good luck and fortune are already coming. Do you need me to pick up Charlie from daycare?”

I look and see my appointments go until seven o’clock. “That would be a godsend.”

Abby walks to Charlie and gives him a kiss on the head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, squirt. We’ll grab quesadillas.”

Charlie lifts his fist in the air and pulls it down to his side. “Yes!”

She opens the door and winks at me. “Happy courting,” she says and then closes the door behind her.

I take a seat at the table with Charlie and stab a Brussels sprout.

“I like the new tree,” he says. “Especially if it’s gonna bring us money.”

“Since when do you care about money?”

“Legos, Mom,” he says with a sarcastic tone. “They don’t come for free.”