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Part of Your World(6)

Author:Abby Jimenez

He looked at his watch. Then he seemed to decide he had time and took a seat.

“So, tell me about yourself,” I said. “What do you do?”

“I’m a property manager,” he said.

Liz laughed from behind the counter where she was pouring beer from the tap. “He’s the mayor.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Wow, the mayor?”

He gave her a look. “It’s more of an honorary title. This is a small town. My duties are very minimal.”

Liz shook her head. “He’s being humble. He’s sort of everything around here. Calls bingo on Saturday nights, volunteer firefighter. He’s even Santa.” She nodded to one of the framed articles above the cash register.

Santa Comes to Wakan.

The article was accompanied by a color photo of a fat Santa Claus with a little boy on his knee.

I looked back at him with a smile, and he changed the subject. “And what do you do?”

I shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

I didn’t like giving out my personal information to a stranger.

He didn’t push it.

“Okay,” he said. “And what brings you to Wakan?”

“I’m coming from a funeral.”

His face went serious. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Aunt Lil was ninety-eight, and she had a very good life. Many lovers, as she liked to say.”

He smiled.

“I live in Minneapolis. I’m just driving through. Hey, is it always this foggy out here?”

“There’s fog outside?” Liz asked, looking surprised.

Daniel shook his head. “Never. It’s weird, actually.”

“Huh. So you have a kid?” I asked.

He looked at his watch again. “I do. Chloe.”

“How old?”

“One week.”

“Oh,” I said, pulling my face back in surprise. “She’s little.”

He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—not that that meant anything. He could have a kid without being married.

“So you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have taken this wager if I did.”

“Well, you’re not actually taking me home,” I pointed out.

“But I’m pretending to. I wouldn’t disrespect my theoretical girlfriend.” He grinned.

I had to stifle a smile. “So you’re not with your baby’s mother?”

He looked amused. “Definitely not. I’m fostering.”

Liz smiled. “Chloe is soooo cute. He’s such a good daddy to her.” She nodded at him. “Show her a picture.”

He pulled out his phone and swiped. Then he held it out to me.

A laugh burst from my lips. “Your kid is a baby goat? In pajamas?”

“She is. She goes home in a few weeks. She belongs to Doug. The guitar guy. Mom has mastitis and Doug couldn’t do middle-of-the-night feedings, so I volunteered to help.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said, crossing my legs. “Doug is trying to seduce me with a poorly sung version of ‘More Than Words’ when he has an entire baby goat? If you have a baby goat, you always lead with ‘I have a baby goat.’”

He chuckled. “Technically I have the baby goat.”

Liz put ice into a tumbler. “I keep telling him his Tinder profile could be nothing but a picture of Chloe and an address.”

I laughed.

Daniel smiled and nodded over his shoulder. “Are they watching us?” he asked.

My eyes flickered over to the pool table. “Oh, yes.” I looked back at him. “Carhartt Jacket Doug is tuning his guitar. So how much time do you think we have until I’m serenaded?”

“I’d say another minute or two.”

“Okay.” I leaned forward. “I’m going to pretend that you just said something really funny and I’m going to laugh. Then we can wrap this up.”

He put a hand to his chin. “What kind of laugh?”

“What kind?”

“Yeah. In theory whatever I’m saying to you has to be good enough to make you leave with me after only knowing me for five minutes. It’s going to have to look pretty convincing. I’m thinking Julia Roberts?”

This actually did make me laugh, which made him laugh—and it was adorable. His warm golden-green eyes creased at the corners and it lit his whole face.

God, he had a nice smile. Really nice. Something about it darted me right in the heart, took a little of my breath away.

We sat there, still cracking up, and I found myself biting my lip and leaning into him a little, and I realized with shock that I was flirting. Like, actually flirting, not pretending.

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