6. Michael #3
“God, that’s so fucking embarrassing. I am so sorry for her,” I tell her, shaking my head.
“Is she always like this with you?” Diana asks, slipping her apron over her head and tying it behind her back.
The movement pushes her chest out, forcing me to look away even though I really, really didn’t want to.
It’s not a conscious effort, like it was with Daisy.
And it’s certainly not one that isn’t well-received. Diana has a perfect set of—
Whoa! Slow down there, cowboy.
“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh, a little frazzled by my own train of thought.
“But it’s bordering on harassment. She kept touching my arm while she was helping set up right before you got here.
She also always seems to catch me at pick-up to give me an update on Rachel.
Which, at first I appreciated but, like, I don’t fucking want her to tell me what they did at arts and crafts every day?
Unless it’s something important about her safety or happiness, I want my daughter to tell me about it.
So Rachel and I can bond over it. I think it’s pretty evident this seemingly-innocent crush she has on me has turned into a full on inconvenience. ”
“Oh my god,” she says with a laugh. “That’s crazy. You’re like twelve years her senior! What is she thinking?”
“You calling me an old man?”
“No,” she smiles. “Just saying that’s a big age difference. Duh. She must be, what, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
I dig through the basket of utensils, find the food signs, and place them in their respective spots.
“Here.” I take a few items and hand them over to her so she can help set up.
She takes them from me with a smile. “But yeah, absolutely. She’s way too young.
I would never date anyone who doesn’t pass the ‘half plus seven rule,’ you know? Too weird.”
“The what?”
“The ‘half plus seven’ rule? It’s what determines whether someone is age appropriate for you. The minimum age you can date someone has to be half your age plus seven. So the youngest I could date without any weirdness—or too much of it—would be—”
“Twenty-four.”
I nod and she takes a beat to think about it.
“I still think that might be too young for you.”
“Now you’re telling me who I can date?” I poke her in the side with a pair of tongs with a laugh.
She swats my hand away and shoots me a menacing look. Still, though, she suppresses a smile.
“No. I’m just saying there is a huge difference in where someone is in their lives in their mid-thirties and their early twenties.”
“Not necessarily. I could find myself a twenty-four year-old looking to have kids and settle down immediately.”
She presses her lips together and thinks on it for a moment. “You’re right. You could. And honestly, intellectually and emotionally you could also pass for a twenty-four year-old, so you’d be a perfect match.”
I sputter a laugh. “Wow, really? High compliment, coming from Diana Castillo,” I say sarcastically. “What about you, though?”
“What about me?”
“Would you date a half-plus-seven?”
“A twenty-two, twenty-three year-old?” She winces. “I don’t have time for babies. Already got two kids—don’t need another one.” I burst out laughing, watching her smile at her own joke. “I’m not looking for anything now, but when I’m ready, I’ll be looking for a real man.”
“I’m a real man.” And as soon as the words escape my lips I want to die. Want to hit myself in the head with the tongs, and bury myself in the bowl of vegan coleslaw I spent all morning making.
“Um,” Diana looks up at me, face flushed to her hairline.
My jaw drops as I scramble, tongue-tied, for something to say, how to save this awkward encounter.
“I just meant—”
“No, it’s okay,” she says with an awkward laugh. “It’s fine; I know what you meant.” Which is great, because I have no idea what I meant. Would love for her to explain it to me.
“Right.”
The silence that falls between us is painful as we just stare at each other.
I hold her gaze—or maybe she holds mine—and that’s when I notice how beautiful her brown eyes really are.
The depth of color in them, the variety of different hues.
Coffee black and dark chocolate, with mahogany and flecks of gold—even a splash of hunter green.
Never in my life have I seen such beautiful, complex eyes.
Never in my goddamn life have I noticed someone’s eyes like this.
What is going on with me? So she’s hot. Big deal. So many other women are hot, too. But I’ve never had this… reaction before.
As if out of my control, I take a step toward her.
Diana inhales sharply, tilting her head back to look up at me better, the wind tugging at the loose tendrils of her hair as if trying to untie them from that bun.
A wave of honey and peaches—and is that mint?
—overwhelms my senses. Unconsciously, I step closer.
And just as I’m about to speak, to say… something, anything—
“Are you getting ready to serve lunch soon?” one of the campers interrupts.