Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
He sits on the opposite end of the sofa. “My wife’s name was Brynn.”
I sip my wine before nodding. He’s right. It’s a difficult first-date topic. I want to ask him how they met and what she was like, but I don’t. Not yet. “Tell me about Lola. What’s she like, if you don’t mind me asking? I don’t know the protocol for dating a guy with a child. Maybe you’d prefer other questions, like what do you enjoy doing in your free time?”
Ozzy chuckles. It’s genuine and soothing, like someone squeezing my hand. He makes me nervous in a good way. I know virtually nothing about him, but I want to know everything. I’ve had that vibe since our first encounter. Public-bathroom chivalry will do that. I couldn’t stop thinking about him when I was in Chicago.
“In my free time, I like hanging out with Lola,” he says.
Of course he does. Have I been missing out on an untapped segment of Missoula’s eligible men, the secret society of nice guys, a.k.a. single dads?
“And I like watching her play softball, chase fireflies and butterflies, build snowmen, and hearing her gossip with her friends about boys at school when she doesn’t know I’m listening.”
I’m in over my head with this guy. One date and my heart already recognizes something that feels so different from anyone before him.
“And you enjoy riding your bike.” I smile.
After a beat, his brows pull together with a slow nod. “Enjoy might be a strong word. Lola was in the car accident with her mom. She was injured pretty badly. Her face will carry the scars forever despite several surgeries. But she’s alive, and that’s all that matters. However, she equates all vehicles to death traps. She refuses to get into a car and doesn’t want me driving or riding in one, either, because, in her words, I’m all she has.”
Jesus, that’s heartbreaking.
“So you haven’t been in a car since the accident?” I ask, trying not to sound so shocked, but it is unbelievable.
There’s no way. How would he function?
Ozzy shakes his head, risking a glance at me as if to gauge my reaction. I’m not sure I have one, just lots of questions.
“No taxis or Ubers?”
Again, he shakes his head.
“Buses?”
“Nope.”
“Has she talked to anyone about her fear? Like a therapist? And just tell me to shut up. She’s not my child. I’m not a therapist. And I’m not judging you. I promise.”
Ozzy eyes me, which makes me squirm. I’ve overstepped.
“Judge me,” he says. “Out of ten, what would you give me? An eight for sure, right? I mean, I was a little late to the date, but I brought flowers. So . . .”
I tap the rim of my wineglass on my lower lip. “You use humor as a coping mechanism.”
“Pfft.” He inspects his beer bottle like he’s reading it. “Everyone uses humor as a coping mechanism because it’s the best medicine. Right?”
I nod slowly.
He angles his body toward me and stretches an arm across the back of the sofa. “You can ask me whatever you want. Yes, Lola sees a therapist. The goal is to get her back in a car, but she’s young, and it’s hard to reason with her. I don’t want to force her to walk before she can crawl. And right now, we’re still learning to crawl.”
I think about his words—his life—even after he’s no longer speaking. “You’re a good father. A good person, Ozzy . . .” I laugh. “I don’t know your last name.”
“Laster.”
“Ozzy Laster.” I nod. “Is Ozzy short for anything?”
“I’m named after my mom’s father, Oswald. Everyone called him Grandpa Waldo, but my parents didn’t want my nickname to be Waldo.”
“Well”—I pull my knee toward my chest and take another sip of wine—“it’s a great name.”
Ozzy belly laughs while tipping his head back. “Thank you. I don’t know if I agree, but you’re the first person to say it, so today is the first day I like my name.”
I start to speak, but the doorbell rings.
“Let me.” Ozzy stands and heads to the entry. “I assume it’s the pizza.” He opens the door. “Hey, Mike, thanks. Have a great evening.”
I finish the last of my wine while padding toward the kitchen to retrieve plates. “You know the delivery guy?”
Ozzy sets the box on the table and grabs his phone from the counter, probably tipping delivery-guy Mike. “People who don’t drive tend to be on a first-name basis with all the delivery drivers.”
“That makes sense. What about groceries? Do you have those delivered too?” I set the plates on the table.
He waits for me to sit before he does. Seriously, single dads are gold.
“It depends. If I need a lot, I have it delivered. If I need only a handful of things, I pick them up. And Brynn’s parents pick stuff up. Lola’s okay with them driving. Her fear is over losing me.”