Chapter 2 Vance #2
“How did they find you?” Mama asked.
“They said they were looking for people with interesting personal stories. I guess moving into your childhood home is interesting to them. Plus, my wine app and how it sold—kind of a great American story.”
“The whole ‘starting over’ concept mixed with restoring your childhood home,” Mom said. “People will love your story.” She paused for a moment. “Think of all the women who will see it. Maybe one of them will be your future wife.”
“As a matter of fact, I have a date tonight.”
She clasped hands over her heart. “I’ve been praying.”
“The big guy must be listening,” I said. “That and I joined a dating app.”
“How unexpected.” Her eyes sparkled with gentle amusement. “You’re ready, finally?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready, but I’m going to try.”
“Tell me about her,” Mama said.
“She has a daughter,” I said. “Fourteen. Her ex-husband left them five years ago.”
Mom’s expression shifted—something knowing and sad passing across her face. “So she understands what it’s like to go through something so hard.”
“Yeah. I think she does.”
“And you told her? About Margot?”
“Not yet. I didn’t want to lead with that.” We continued down the path, past some pickleball courts. “Hi, I’m Vance, I have a daughter I haven’t seen in six years because her mother poisoned her against me. Want to get dinner?”
“Honey.” Mama’s hand covered mine. “You can’t keep carrying that shame. None of this is your fault.”
“I know that. Logically, I know that.” I met her eyes. “But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I failed her.”
“You didn’t fail anyone. You fought. You spent every penny you had on lawyers. You moved back here to be close to her. You’ve sent letters, cards, gifts—”
“That all get returned unopened.”
“Because her mother is a narcissist who cares more about punishing you than protecting her own child.” Mom’s voice was fierce. “That’s on her, not you.”
I wanted to believe that. Some days, I even did. Today wasn’t one of those days. “I’m sorry, Mama. I wish it was different. I know you’d love to be part of her life.”
“I would. And I will. God will answer our prayers, if we’re faithful.”
I kind of wanted to roll my eyes but didn’t want to offend my sweet mother.
“Do you think a woman could ever love a guy who’s estranged from his own child?” I asked. “She might think it shows lack of character.”
“Not if you tell her what happened,” Mama said.
“It’s hard to explain what Nicole’s really like.”
“Trust me, everyone knows the type of person she is. Vain. Narcissistic. Shallow. But enough of that. Tell me what appealed to you about this woman?” Mama asked.
“We have a lot in common. She loves food and wine. She’s an interior designer, which is such an interesting job.”
“Oh dear. Are you going to tell her about the reality show?”
“I think I’ll see how it goes first.” She might be bothered that I would be on television. I sensed she was private. However, I’m only going to be on one episode. It isn’t like it will be ongoing. They said something about three days of shooting for the preliminaries.
I’d swiped past dozens of profiles over the past few months—beautiful women, interesting women, women who probably would’ve been perfectly fine for a casual date or two.
Yet, I’d never reached out to any of them.
I don’t know exactly what made me reach out to Lila, other than our profile handles were eerily similar. And she was stunning.
“It’s been a while since I took a woman out,” I said. “I hope I still remember how.”
“Be yourself, honey. And she’ll fall madly in love with you.”
By six-thirty, I was back at the apartment, changed into dark jeans and a white button-down, sleeves rolled to my forearms. I'd debated about a blazer. Too formal? Trying too hard? Finally, I decided to bring it just in case. If she was dressed up, I’d slip it on.
My hair was still damp from the shower. I ran a hand through it, checking my reflection in the small mirror by the door. Did I look okay? Too eager? Not eager enough?
The guy looking back at me looked older than I felt—salt-and-pepper hair, lines around the eyes.
But not bad for forty-three. When I was a younger man, I’d never worried about my appearance or whether I could pull out the charm.
I’d never had a problem attracting women.
But lately, I didn’t feel so charming. Mostly just sad.
“You’re fine. You can do this.”
My reflection didn't look convinced.
I checked my phone. No messages from Lila. That was good, right? She wasn't canceling. Stop. Breathe. After a few deep breaths, I grabbed my keys and wallet, double-checked I had my phone, and headed downstairs.
The bookstore was closed for the evening, but I could see Dorian through the window, still inside doing paperwork at the counter. He looked up as I passed, gave me a thumbs up and a grin. I made a face and kept going.
The evening air was warm, carrying the salt-sweet scent of the ocean. Downtown was busy with Saturday night energy—couples window shopping, families heading to dinner, teenagers clustered outside the ice cream shop.
I walked the two blocks to The Pelican, my heart beating too fast, my palms slightly damp.
This was ridiculous. I'd dated before. I'd been married, for God's sake.
I knew how this worked. Except I didn't. Not anymore.
Not after how badly Nicole had wrecked my heart, my confidence, my belief that I was lovable.
The moment I stepped inside, I relaxed slightly.
The Pelican had that worn-in kind of charm like all good neighborhood haunts.
Exposed brick, faded nautical maps, vintage guitars and mandolins nailed to the walls—smelling of salt air, spilled beer, and grilled meats.
The mismatched tables and chairs looked like they’d each lived a dozen lives before ending up here.
Kind of like me.
Hunter Sloan was behind the bar when I walked in, already drying glasses.
He looked like he belonged in an action movie—leather jacket, strong jaw, a little edge that women probably found irresistible.
I didn’t know him well enough to know what had given him the hard glint in his eyes, but I had a feeling he’d gone through some stuff.
I was curious about his past, but I also understood the guy code. Nothing too personal.
He looked up as I approached, giving me a friendly nod. “You look nice. Special occasion?”
“I have a date.”
“Okay, well, good for you?”
“Why did you say it as a question?” I asked, laughing.
“A nasty divorce can do that to a guy.”
“You have one of those?” I asked.
“Sure did. As nasty as they come.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t, but I get it,” I said. “Even so, I’d really like to meet someone. So I went on that app. Second Chance. Have you heard of it?”
He grimaced. “Sure. Not for me, though.”
“I don’t know what got into me but one night I decided to put my profile up and immediately got matched with someone. She seems great. On the app anyway.”
“Can’t hurt to try, I guess. Hey, I’ve got a wine for you to try.” He poured me a glass of Syrah from the Rocks District in Oregon. “Wine distributor brought it by the other day. I’d love your opinion.”
I swirled the glass slowly, watching the deep garnet cling to the sides before I took another sip. The Syrah was earthy, with that smoky, meaty edge I loved. Briny olives, black pepper, maybe a little plum.
“What do you think?” Hunter asked, rounding the counter with a tray of dirty glasses. “I’m not a fan myself. What do you taste? Because it’s like sucking on a rock to me.”
I took another sip and did my sommelier thing. “River rock soils and stressed vines give it a slow-roasted blackberry bush over campfire coals with a side of bacon.”
Hunter leaned against the bar. “It’s really hard not to roll my eyes when you say stuff like that.”
My phone buzzed. Lila. Was she canceling? Had I gotten nervous for no reason?
Lila
I’m running late. I’m SO sorry. I’ll be there in five minutes. Please don’t leave!
Vance
Not a problem. I’m having a glass of wine. Take your time.
Relief flooded through me. She wasn't canceling. Just late. I could handle late. Regardless, my palms continued sweating. My pulse hammering as fast as a pair of hummingbird wings. I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to look casual. Confident. Like I did this all the time.