“Yes, really.”
“Okay, then,” he says, looking unhappy. “How about Sunday night?”
Damn, he’s persistent! “I can’t. My son is coming home from his father’s.”
“Next week then? Any night. You pick.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I give you credit for your persistence, but I can’t. I like you, I really do. I just can’t. My daughter thinks you’re hot. I can’t even wrap my head around what she would say if she knew I went out with you. It’s way too strange for me.”
He turns to close the shed door and latches it, giving me a great view of his broad back. I love how his hair falls down past his shoulders and his butt looks amazing in those faded jeans. He turns around to face me again, and I quickly look away. “Ivy, it doesn’t have to be strange. Just tell her the truth. She’ll be okay.”
“What truth? There is no truth.”
He reaches for my hand, holding it in the warmth of his. “The truth that I’m interested in you, and hopefully, you feel the same way. I mean, you were just checking out my ass, so that must mean something, right?” he teases.
Pulling my hand away, I glance uneasily up at Macy’s bedroom window, hoping she’s not taking pictures and uploading them to the interwebs. “Lukas, please. I can’t do displays of affection from a stranger in front of my kids. They’re confused enough already over their father and his new girlfriend. And I was not checking out your ass.”
“You can’t punish yourself for what he did. He’s enjoying his life. You’re allowed to do the same. Eventually, your kids will see you with another man, just like they’re seeing him with another woman. I know it sucks, but unless you plan to stay single for the rest of your life, which would be a total fucking shame, then you have to let your kids see you around other men.”
“I know that, but . . .”
He pulls a pack of gum out of his pocket and pops a piece into his mouth. “But what?” he asks “Is it me you don’t want them to see you with?”
I stare off for a moment before answering. “They would have a hard time with it,” I admit, trying to envision introducing him to my kids.
Leaning his back against the shed, he blows a bubble, pops it, and looks at me. “With it? With me? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
I hate making him feel like there is something wrong with him, because there isn’t, because he is wonderful just as he is. He’s just wrong for me in this time and place.
“No! Not at all! It’s just them seeing me with another man, and especially one that is younger and looks like a rock star. They’re used to their father. He’s clean cut, works in an office . . . I don’t want to throw too much crazy at them all at once.”
His jaw muscles flex and clench. “Please don’t say that. I hate that rock star term.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to offend you,” I stammer, knowing that I am offending him because I can’t find the right words to explain what I’m trying to say.
“Ivy, I don’t care what other people think, and you shouldn’t either. I’m not saying you shouldn’t care what your kids think, but I don’t think it’s a big deal to date a man younger than you, or one that looks like me. There are way worse things going on in the world they’re going to be seeing.” He takes his sunglasses off the top of his head, runs his hand through his hair, and puts the glasses on his face. “If they were my kids, I’d want to show them that we should accept people for who they are, not what they look like or how old they are, or what they do for work.”
I stiffen and back away from him. He’s right, but I don’t need some twenty-four year old kid with zero parenting experience lecturing me. Of course, I don’t want my children to be judgmental. I want them to accept people of all color, religion, career choice, and sexual orientation, no matter what.