“Mom! I need a towel!” Scarlett yells from the bathroom as I sit on the edge of my bed, cell phone in hand. I’ve been staring at the darn thing for a good ten minutes. Curt’s number is glaring right back at me. This should be simple—call a man, tell him yes, and hang up. Easy, right? Not so much. I’m on the verge of a panic attack. There are a lot of things I can handle. Being on the receiving end of a man’s attention isn’t one of them. Not when the only person in my life I ever cared to have the attention of is more than a thousand miles away, obliterated my heart and is married for god sake. Gah! Why can’t I stop thinking about him? He looked really good over Thanksgiving, didn’t he? Bald, and those tattoos … whoa, baby … especially the one that’s forever burned into my retinas. You know, the dates. What does that mean, anyhow? Why am I obsessing over this? Why do I even care? Come on. Tell me. You’re supposed to be my friend. Kick me in the ass or something. Tell me to forget the asshole. I need an intervention.

“Mom!” she hollers again.

“There’s one under the sink!” I return, because if I get up now, I’ll never make this call. Plus, I just finished towels yesterday so there’s no reason why she can’t get out of the tub and grab one herself. She’s not two anymore. Not that I left her in the tub by herself when she was two. What kinda mother do you take me for?

“I’ll get the floor all wet!” she whines.

“Then wipe it up!”

“Mom! Please!”

Rox appears in my doorway, shaking her wild bedhead. “Mom, I can get it for her.”

“No, Rox. She can do it herself. It’s all of five steps.”

Roxie crosses her arms, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb, yawning adorably. “I know, but she won’t stop complaining.”

“Yes, she will. When she gets cold and has to get her own towel.”

“Mom!” Scarlett screeches.

Oh, for the love of God. What’s her deal?

“Are you dying in there, Scarlett?!”

“No! But the water’s getting colder!”

I raise a brow to Rox in a silent version of I told ya so, and she smirks tiredly.

“Then I guess you’ll have to get out and grab a towel!”

Match point. I win. Mother, one. Daughter, zero. These are the lovely little games you must play to teach your children independence. They’re nerve grating, yet effective.

The growl that echoes sounds an awful lot like her father’s, when Scarlett shuts off the water and stomps across the floor, presumably to retrieve that dreaded towel. The slamming of the cupboard affirms my guess. Roxie giggles under her breath from the doorway as I smother my own chuckle from the bed. Scarlett must’ve woken up in one of her moods today. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her this morning. They actually let me sleep in like I requested. My guess is that she and her sister were up way too late, and no matter when she goes to sleep Scarlett can’t seem to stay in bed past seven. Hopefully, I can convince her to take a nap today. Lord knows we don’t need to deal with Ms. Diva’s attitude.

Rox pushes off the door frame. “I’m gonna go eat.”

I nod. “Okay. Please shut the door.”

Yawning once more, Roxie pulls my door closed just in time for me to hear Scarlett bitching up a storm in the hallway. They exchange a few bratty words, then quit before I need to intervene.

Flopping my back onto the mattress, I take a deep breath and press the call button. It’s now or never. I just hope I’m not waking Curt up from a killer hangover. Then again, he might not answer, and I’ll be off the hook.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Erm, Curt, crap, Mr. MacIntyre, this is—”

“Ms. Remington.” There’s a smile in his voice. A smile! This is weird. Too weird. I pull the phone from my ear and stare bug-eyed at the screen. I should probably hang up, right? Yeah. I should. Hanging up’s a terrific idea.

“Hello? Katrina.” His voice carries, and it’s a nice one. Masculine. Not at all like Asshole’s, but friendly, less edgy. One that makes you feel safe and wanna suck his dick. Oh … My … God. I didn’t mean that.

“Katrina, are you there?”

Swallowing down a shot of nerves, I press the phone back to my ear and fake a ridiculous laugh. “Ha-Ha. Yeah. Sorry. I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Then let me make this easy for you.”

That sounds fantastic. I exhale a relieved breath, my stiff shoulders deflating. “That’s perfect,” I sigh.

“Happy New Year.”

Grinning awkwardly, I pull my legs into whatever they call Indian Style nowadays. Crisscross applesauce, is that the politically correct term?

“Happy New Year to you, too,” I reply, and for the next several minutes, we casually carry on about our holidays. It’s easy, and not at all panic-inducing. As our conversation navigates organically, his voice deepens slightly, more intimately, giving me enough courage to chat like we’re kids in high school again, without the sexual tension or pressure.

“I really like talking to you,” he remarks, and I crack a genuine smile, my eyes tracing the tiny fissures in the ceiling.

“I like talking to you, too.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Twirling a piece of my hair through my fingers, I hold my breath. I can do this. “Sure. I’d like that,” I mutter timidly, insides fluttering.

“Next week, then?”

“Sounds great. Text me the details.”

“Thanks for calling, Katrina. I’ve been hoping you’d say yes for a long time.”

Fist pumping the air, I do a little wiggle, messing up my covers. “See ya soon,” I reply before I burst. Then as soon as I end the call, I belt a squeal of girly delight. I can’t believe I’m going on a date! I can’t believe I talked to a guy on the phone that long and there were no long awkward moments. Perhaps my life is looking up… Take that you backstabbing Asshole. This mama’s getting her groove back. I can’t wait to tell Kade about it later. He’ll be so proud of me.