The Hot One

“Uh oh. You two are up to something,” I say as the light changes and we cross.

Nicole speaks first. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .” She takes a deep breath then exhales. “But I think he only did it because he loves you.” I’m about to respond, but she raises a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying you should get engaged after one effing week. But I am saying, in his own weird, warped, twisted way, the man is trying to show you he’s changed.”

“By leapfrogging into an engagement?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Men don’t always make sense,” Penny offers, and I mutter true because there’s so much wisdom in those words. “Sometimes, they take two steps forward and one step back. Or they take twenty steps forward when they should take two.”

Nicole jumps back in. “The point is, he might have missed on the timing of this one. He might not be showcasing change in the best way possible. But, at the heart of all this, I think he is changing.”

I shoot her a pointed look. “I thought people don’t change.”

Nicole shrugs and smiles. “Maybe they do for someone as amazing as you.”

Penny says, “Go see him. Try to find a middle ground.”

“Something in between twenty steps and two steps?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Nicole says.

I look at my watch. “Mind if I skip lunch? I should try to track him down.”

They both shoo me away, but as I walk, I see a message that stops me in my tracks.



When I was younger, my dad used to take me to the park. Anytime I wanted to go, it seemed. A monkey, he’d called me, because I climbed everything. I swung across the bars like they were my personal jungle. I clambered up the slide faster than anyone. Those crazy high crisscross rope structures? They were my stomping grounds.

And my dad always waited for me at the bottom, ready to encourage me to do it all over again.

Then once I wore myself out, he took my hand in his, and we walked home. Together.

He was, by all accounts, a good dad.

As I find myself wandering through Central Park, staring at the email from Joe Thomas, I flash back to those memories, rather than the ones of my parents arguing. I stop at a playground, watching the kids chasing each other, swinging with nannies, scampering with mothers and fathers. And I remember what this felt like when I was one of those little kids.

Wrapping my hands around the edge of the fence, I wait for the storm to lash me.

For the hurt to swoop down like a bat from a darkened sky.

Surely, this is when the memories will wound me the most—as I regard the tableau of what I lost. But as I run my thumb over the screen of my phone, staring at the number in Canada, and the Gmail address, too, I brace myself for the hurt to crash into me.

For the wave to tug me under.

Only, as I look up from the phone to stare at a little blond girl swinging high, kicking her feet happily, all I do is smile.

And the truth hits me.

Beautifully.

Peacefully.

And without regret.

He left and didn’t look back.

Time for me to look forward, and only forward.

There’s nothing I need from him anymore.

There’s nothing he can give me.

Curiosity is a powerful motivator, and it drove me to track him down. But he’s not a former classmate from college who I’m curious about. He’s not an old friend I’d catch up with over a cocktail.

He’s the man who gave half his DNA to me and then walked out fourteen years later.

I don’t need to make small talk with him.

I don’t need to talk to him at all.

This is my life, and it’s just as good as it’s been since he left.

I let go of the fence, turn on my heel, and head to the other side of the park.





29





Tyler



* * *



I stand in my doorway, waiting for the sound of the elevator. A few seconds later, a soft whoosh tells me it’s here. When the brass door slides open, I expect her to be sad. Crying. Distraught. But she’s none of those. Instead, she walks down the hallway with purpose. She wears yoga pants, sneakers, and a black V-neck T-shirt—her work attire. Her hair is pulled high in a ponytail.

“Hey,” I say softly, when she reaches the doorway. The damn organ in my chest hammers hard against my ribcage, thumping like it’s trying to escape. I’m fucking nervous and excited all at once. And I’m hopeful, too. “I’m glad you’re here.” I hold the door wide open, and she comes in. “Tell me what you found out. I want to help you. Like I told you I would.”

She stops, licks her lips, and says, “I know you do. But as I was walking over here, I realized something important.” She gestures from me to her. “That I want to talk about us first.”

The word reverberates. I have no fucking clue what us is. I have no idea if I messed up us completely. But she came to me. That’s a step, and steps are what I need to take, not leaps. “Talk to me.”

The door falls shut, but we don’t move. We stand in the entryway, not far from where I proposed this morning.

Her features are soft as she speaks. “I wasn’t leaving this morning. I know it might have seemed that way, but I was just going to work. I was thrown for a loop, though. I felt like a prize, like just your next victory.”

I jump in. “You’re not. I swear you’re not. I wanted to show you that you’re so much more.”

“I get that, but at the time that’s all it seemed like. It seemed impulsive and unplanned.” She runs her hand lightly down my arm. “But I understand now that it came from the best intentions. And I love the sentiment.”

“It was impulsive,” I admit, with a you-know-me expression. “I’ll probably always be a little impulsive. But I also want you to have faith in me.”

“But you see, I already do, Tyler,” she says, her eyes fixed on me, her voice steady and sure. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You don’t need to come to my place of work and strip for me again, or jump through any more hoops.”

I wiggle an eyebrow. “But you do want me to strip for you again?”

She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I absolutely do.”

“Good. Because I’ve got some new moves.”

She smiles. “I look forward to the next show. And that’s because you’ve already earned your way back in. Let’s just move forward now.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Us. There’s still an us. But it never hurts to confirm. “So we’re doing this? You want me, impulsive side and circumspect one both?”

She flashes a flirty smile and slugs my arm. “Yes. I like all your sides, both the naked and the clothed, too. And even though we might argue, I’m not breaking up because you proposed.” She rolls her eyes.