Dad Bod Getaway: Dad Bod 2.0: Large And In Charge by Mae Harden

Author:Mae Harden [Harden, Mae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

6

NATHANIEL

“What about you?” Charlotte pushes a rogue olive around the now-empty charcuterie tray. “Any exes or cabana boys?”

That makes me chuckle. “Much like you, cabana boys aren’t really my thing. My ex-wife is long gone. Motherhood was… let’s just say it wasn’t for her. She never wanted kids, but birth control wasn’t one-hundred percent effective. Obviously. We were only married for a couple years, and things went downhill after she got pregnant, but even before that we never really clicked. You know?”

Charlotte nods, and it’s not lost on me that we click. “Anyway, she left us when Carly was just a baby. So it’s just been the two of us, all this time.”

“What the actual fuck?” Charlotte’s mouth hangs open, but I shrug.

“It doesn’t bother me. The only lingering feelings I have toward her is gratitude for giving me Carly. If she wants to go live wild and carefree in the Caribbean, it’s no skin off my back.”

“You’re a good person,” Charlotte murmurs. “It’s really annoying.”

“How so?” I laugh and toss back the rest of my drink.

“You’re making it really hard to not like you.”

“You don’t want to like me?” I ask, leaning closer, my heart beating harder at the way she hold my gaze. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who can’t look away.

“No, I didn’t,” she answers primly. “But I can see now how stupid that was.”

“Well, I’m sorry to let you down.” I say as seriously as I can.

“No, you’re not,” Charlotte laughs.

“You’re right, I’m not.”

I’ve never enjoyed spending time with anyone as much as I do her. Even setting aside her looks, which can only be described as ‘stunning’, Charlotte could wrap me around her little finger with just her sharp wit and wicked sense of humor.

Her smile could bring me to my knees and she’s made me choke on my whiskey so many times that the bartender brought over extra napkins and pointedly slid them toward me with a look that plainly read ‘Stop making a mess in my bar, or else.’

The restaurant fills up for lunch, empties, then refills around us for dinner, but we haven’t run out of conversation. It’s just the opposite. The longer we sit together, the more we have to talk about, to the point where we have to start taking notes. The napkin under Charlotte’s fingers is covered in loopy handwriting; reminders of all the things we mean to circle back on.

Charlotte giggles into her glass, stopping short of the sip she meant to take. “No, stop!” She moans, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “You can’t say things like that when I’m actively trying to take a drink! You’re going to make me spit and when you’re dripping with whiskey, it’ll be your own fault.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I say, lifting my glass in a salute. She snorts again and thunks her forehead on the bar. She stopped tightening her bun hours ago, and that flop was enough to make her hair come out of its elastic.

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