Page 24 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
“What is it?”
He steps closer, lifts a hand, then says, “Your hair.”
I’m right. It is bad.
“Just a touch out of place,” he says, then smooths out an errant strand near my shoulder. A tingle spreads down my chest. Now I suddenly want every strand knocked wildly around my face so he can fix them.
One more stroke of his fingers. One more brush of his hand, then he lets go. “There.”
I catch my breath. My heart’s beating faster, especially when his eyes take a quick, furtive tour of me, then land on my neck. “No ladybug necklace?”
I half expect him to fiddle with the blingy heart one. I wholly want him to. “Not today. It felt too matchy-matchy. I’m pretty sure Mom picked this place anyway because of my ladybug phase.”
His smile is devilish. “You had a ladybug phase?”
I roll my eyes but at myself. “Yes,” I admit.
“Did you wear red with black polka dots all the time?”
“For a while,” I grumble. “I was in second grade…and third grade.”
His smile is infinite. “That’s?—”
“Silly. I know.”
He holds my gaze. “I was going to say…adorable.”
The word comes out more sensual than its meaning. Adorable isn’t just for children when he looks at me. “Thanks,” I say, feeling unsteady in the stomach-flippy way.
But I can’t linger in this fluttery little interlude. Time to set these shudders aside and face that weird place in every child’s life when they become the comforters of their parents. I hope Mom’s not in a bad place. I hope I can give her the support she needs.
We head into the café at The Ladybug Inn, where a silver-haired woman greets us wearing striped glasses and an apron that says, “I’m Pear-Shaped and Pears are Awesome.”
“Welcome to the café at The Ladybug Inn. We have the best ladybug pancakes below the arctic circle—” She breaks off and her eyes pop out. “Monroe Jameson Blackstone! Am I seeing things, or is it the good doctor’s son?”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting off a cringe before he manages a smile. “That’s me.”
“Why don’t you ever come back and see us?” She wags a finger, punctuating her playful demand, then scurries out from the hostess stand to throw her arms around him.
Monroe doesn’t look as uncomfortable as I bet he feels. “Just busy in the city, that’s all. But good to see you, Agatha.”
“Ridiculous. You’re never too busy to come back home more,” she chides, keeping that hug going on and on.
Finally, Agatha releases him but not without a last reprimand. “Get that doctor butt home again soon. You hear me now? You should be seeing your dad more often.”
Before Monroe can answer, I cut in, smiling brightly. “It’s just so hard for him to get away,” I say as I clasp his arm like a proud friend. “His clients adore him and depend on him. He can hardly leave.”
Agatha whips her gaze to me. “Where are my manners?” She quickly introduces herself, then says, “And of course his clients love him. He’s a Blackstone. Now, were you after a table for two?”
“Three,” I reply. She grabs some menus and gestures to a booth at the back. We follow, weaving through the charming café, where everything’s decked out thematically with red tablecloths and little bug illustrations as well as ladybug art on the walls—photographs alternating with illustrations.
“Here you go. And you be sure to come back for Christmas. With your dad retiring, he’ll have all this free time, and he’ll need you.”
On that do-more-for-your-dad note, she returns to her post. Monroe inhales deeply, then blows out a big breath. My heart aches a little for him.
“Ironic, right?”
With his jaw set hard, he meets my eyes. “When I was a kid and needed him, he was too busy for me. But no one knows that because…”