Snow guy? Confused, I watch her go to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water as she continues talking. “I’m going to go bring him some water because he looks hot and dehydrated. But mostly hot.”
“What? What snow guy?” I ask her, still not following the conversation. “Macy, what are you talking about?” She skips out the back door before I have a chance to stop her and get some answers.
I didn’t even hire a handyman yet, so I assume that Paul sent someone over here to take care of the shed roof, to let himself off the hook. I grab my coffee cup, hoping Paul is paying this guy so I don’t have to, and look out the window to see my daughter talking to a very muscular young man with long black hair just past his shoulders, wearing a black thermal shirt, faded jeans, and workboots, who’s standing next to our shed with a shovel. I can see the tattoos on his hands from here.
Oh, damn. It’s Lukas.
What the—?
I watch as my beautiful daughter flirts with him, playing with her hair, and standing way too close to him. She’s wearing a tight sweater, her favorite jeans, and big fuzzy boots. She tilts her head, giggling at something he’s saying. They actually look really cute next to each other.
Oh no. This cannot be happening.
I feel like a squirrel in the middle of the road with an oncoming car, going this way and then that way and then the other way again. Total confusion of epic proportions.
Should I be feeling jealous? No. But I do.
Should I be glad that a guy as nice, talented, and caring as Lukas might be interested in my daughter’s attention? Yes. He’d definitely treat her a lot better than the last boy she dated, who I caught trying to sneak into her bedroom like a little perv. I kicked his ass right out of here.
But I don’t want Lukas interested in my daughter for any reason, because all I can think of is how he kissed me, and the passion I saw in his eyes, and how he made my legs weak. I can’t even think about him making my daughter feel that way, because I want him for myself, not to mention that I don’t want my little girl feeling that way until she’s at least thirty.
I watch him from the window for signs of flirting with Macy, but I don’t see any, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’m glad.
And what is he doing at my house anyway? How does he even know where I live?
I want to go out there and interrupt them, but I can’t because Macy will be furious and embarrassed if I do that when she’s so obviously flirting with him. A sick feeling creeps over me as I think about what my daughter would say if she knew Lukas and I were friends, and possibly a little bit more. This is definitely not a situation I ever thought I would be in.
Feeling guilty, I watch them talking until she spins around and comes back inside, smiling from ear to ear.
She playfully fans herself with her hand as she comes through the door. “Wow, is he hot. Did you see the body on him, Mom?” My God. When did my daughter start thinking about men like this? She was five only yesterday. Wasn’t she?
I smile weakly from behind my coffee cup. “Macy, he’s a friend of mine. He’s my tattoo artist.”
Her jaw falls open in shock. “Oh my God, Mom, are you kidding me right now?”
“Nope.”