Page 72 of Just Ten Seconds

“Yes. Definitely. She’ll look super cool at school on Monday.” I grin.

By the time we make it to the register, Dean grabs a few more T-shirts, all with empowering female messages, and two pairs of leggings. He even tries on a bucket hat with zebra print and fur trim. He looks ridiculous and yet adorable at the same time.

“Here, try this one on.” He puts a feather boa around my neck and then sunglasses with rhinestones around the frames.

I whip the boa around my neck and pose. “How do I look?”

“Like a pimp. And I mean that in the sincerest form of flattery.”

I take the boa off and throw it at him.

As we walk out of the store, we’re still laughing until we get to my car. I open the door and turn to say good night, but he beats me to it.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I’m starving, and I hate to eat alone.”

His hand is on his heart in a plea, and he’s been so kind and funny that it seems rude to say no to him and make him eat by himself.

“I have a Lean Cuisine waiting, but I suppose I could cheat on it with a bowl of spaghetti.”

“Well, don’t let me be the other man and come between you and your cuisine,” he chides.

I close my car door. “I think it’ll understand.”

“If spaghetti is what the lady likes, then I know the perfect place.”

We walk over to a small mom-and-pop Italian restaurant off Main Street I’ve been to a few times with Nick and Jackie. The owner at the entrance seats us at a corner table with Dean and me sitting next to each other.

We’ve taken his daughter to an urgent care, had coffee, cooked, kissed on a dance floor, and even gone bra shopping together. This here—with the exposed brick walls of the restaurant and flickering candlelight and soft music playing over the loudspeakers—is the most intimate place we’ve been.

Having Dean this close with nowhere to turn and no company beside us to intrude is cozy. In this light, I can appreciate the scruff on his perfectly chiseled jaw. I want to touch it. I don’t, of course.

“How is construction going?” I place a napkin on my lap as I make small talk.

“Good. Framing is up on the second stage. Everything there is status quo. I laid the floors down on the lake house last week, and that is exciting. It’s this wide-plank bamboo flooring with hard scrapes to make it look worn. Took longer than I expected, but it’s perfect.”

“Home builder and set designer. Where do you find time to do it all?” I rest my chin in my palm.

“I don’t know. I just do it. Not working has never been an option. Plus, the set is important to Amanda.”

“You’re very admirable, Dean. Speaking of Amanda, where is she tonight?”

“My mom heard she was with her other grandparents last weekend, so now, it’s her turn to have her. Luckily, she’s driving her up on Sunday morning for rehearsals. She says I need the rest. Little does she know, I’m restless.”

“Your mom sounds sweet. She cares.”

“A little too much. What about your parents? Are you close?”

Close. That’s an interesting word. We were … once.

“My mom is a bit flighty and adventurous. My father is practical. So practical that he decided when I was three that a wife and daughter weren’t as good as the secretary he had working for him. He left us and now lives with her on the Upper East Side. I see him about once every five years, usually at a funeral where we pretend the other isn’t in the room. My mom raised me on her own. Two jobs and a desire to find someone new to take care of her, so she wouldn’t have to work said two jobs. We get along, I suppose, but I haven’t enjoyed talking to her in a long time.”

His lips purse, and he takes in my story. “May I ask why?”

There’re so many reasons why.

“Mostly because she doesn’t understand how I could just walk away from my life the way I did. It was toxic. And I wanted no part of it anymore.” I bite my lip and close my eyes. “Sorry. I’m being vague. It’s just that I’m still working through a lot, and my mother’s disappointment in me is a hard one.”

“Makes sense why you moved up here. Jackie and Nick don’t seem to judge you.”