WHY?
I’m retired from men. A series of unfortunate events forced me into early retirement.
Death.
Cheating.
Houdini at the altar.
I’m lucky like that.
Now, I window-shop but never purchase. I don’t even try stuff on anymore.
Neighbor Jamie’s wavy, dark ginger-blond hair—that’s the color of sand at sunset—ruffles in the wind, and his bronzed skin nearly blinds me because … He’s. Not. Wearing. A. Shirt.
Full lips pull into a tiny welcome.
“Hello, Sassenach …” he whispers.
Okay. Not really, but I’d love to hear him say it.
“Hi, I’m Nathaniel Hunt, Morgan’s dad.” His American accent tramples my Scottish fantasies as he holds out his hand.
If I lick his hand, will it be weird? Too desperate? Too personal for a first encounter? Too immature for forty-one?
Probably.
“Gracelyn.” I shake his hand like I’m mad at it. And I am. I’m so pissed off that he’s my neighbor for the next three months. Where was he when I needed him during my active, sexual prime—before my ban on all men?
Really, I demand an answer.
He narrows his eyes a bit just before I release him. Then he quickly recovers with a smile.
“Morgan.” I clear the anger from my throat. “Well, Morgan and Nathaniel, it’s nice to meet you. Gabe is my nephew, but …”
And here it is—the awkward moment. Please tell me this will get easier. I don’t want to spend forever explaining our relationship to everyone we meet. Yet, it requires some explanation. “His parents died, so he’s with me now.”
I guess the answer is yes. Yes like someone in a wheelchair explaining a million times how they ended up in a wheelchair.
It sucks explaining it.
It sucks that it happened.
“Oh my god!” Morgan’s hand flies to her mouth. “My mom died while giving birth to me. I never knew her, so it’s hard to miss her. He must be completely heartbroken. I can’t imagine what I would feel like if my dad died.”
I force a smile. “It is sad, but he’s hanging in there. You should go introduce yourself. I bet he’d like that.”
“Oh …” Her hand falls from her mouth and covers her chest. “Of course.” She hikes up the beach toward Gabe.
Nathaniel bites his lip in a slight cringe. “She’s very talkative.”
“I can see that. It’s refreshing. I have to drag words out of Gabe.” I can’t find a great place to put my hands, so I try to shove them into my front pockets, but I’m a bit bloated with my impending menstrual cycle, so it’s a tight squeeze.
We stare at Gabe and Morgan making introductions, a good distraction. If I concentrate on Nathaniel Hunt too long, I will melt—most likely a PMS symptom. It doesn’t have anything to do with his ripped jeans, bare feet, and sculpted torso.
Nope. That does nothing for me.
My fingers have no desire to make a slow trip through his hair.
Fun fact … PMS for women in their forties is quite the head game. Some days I hate all men I see, and some days I imagine making out with all men who cross my path.
Another fun fact … It’s Wednesday—hump day.
“Did I hear you say you’re renting from Mr. Hans?”
“Yes. Just the top floor and a shared kitchen. How about you? Summer vacation?”
Nate slides his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans—with ease. He must not be bloated like me. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
I nod, contemplating asking more questions to get him to elaborate. It’s possible he has a story about his wife dying that he’s told a million times, so I don’t pry. “Is it true that you abhor technology?”
He smirks, keeping a close eye on his daughter. “I’ve just been raising Morgan to experience life a little more hands-on. Organically.”
I glance over at the kids—Morgan’s lips moving nonstop and Gabe ignoring her like a pesky bug flying around his head. “Well, that’s probably a good thing. Gabe is on electronics all the time.”
“That’s …” He shrugs. “Probably pretty typical.”
Typical? I suppose. I’m not sure. Yet, I feel judged. It’s likely an irrational response, but my step-in-parent self feels like Nathaniel, Mr. Abhors Technology, is silently judging me for letting Gabe be on a cellphone playing games.
“He lost both parents. If electronics keep him from feeling sad or depressed, then I’m fine with it.”
He chuckles. “I’m not sure that phone will keep him from feeling sad and depressed. But hey … you gotta do what you gotta do.”
It’s the shirt. I know it. If he’d put on a shirt, I wouldn’t feel so angry.
Angry that Kyle and Emily died.
Angry that I’ve retired from men.
Angry that I’m probably screwing up my new role in life.
I start to defend Gabe’s pastime when Morgan runs toward us, dragging Gabe by the arm behind her and thwarting my words before I bring them to life.
“Dad, you should invite them to dinner tonight.”