Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“That’s a good gift.”
“It would’ve been. I picked out a really nice one. It cost me two hundred bucks! That’s nuts, right? Mine at home cost me three dollars at a yard sale, and it does the same thing as the expensive one—it makes a fucking pot of coffee.” He looked defeated. “I would have loved to do a lot more for the boys, but there’s no way I can compete with Daddy Warbucks.”
“Who says it’s a competition?”
He wobbled a bit, and then to my dismay, he sat down on the sidewalk. “No one, but I always wanted to give Kit the world. Instead, all I gave him was a lifetime of financial struggles. And a big-ass coffee maker.”
For lack of any better ideas, I sat down with him. “I’m sure you did your best.”
“It wasn’t enough.” He made a sweeping gesture that almost tipped him over. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great that his new in-laws are super supportive and generous. He deserved that gorgeous wedding, and it’s fantastic that he gets to go to Europe with his new husband. I promise I really am happy for him. But also, fuck my life.”
“What does his mother have to say about all of this?” That was a roundabout attempt at finding out if he was married. But why? We weren’t on a date, and his marital status didn’t matter.
“He doesn’t have one. I got my girlfriend pregnant when we were in high school, but she didn’t want to be a mom. I’ve been a single dad since I was seventeen.” I did the math based on his son’s age and was surprised to discover Armando was forty-six.
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
That started him on a long, slightly slurred ramble. “It wasn’t, but I love my son, and I tried really hard to do right by him. I had to work all the time to support us and keep a roof over our heads. I guess I got used to working a lot, because it’s still all I do, especially now that I own the diner. It’s always work, work, work. This is the first weekend I’ve taken off in years. No wonder my social life is nonexistent.”
He pushed his hair out of his dark eyes and continued, “Everyone else had someone to bring to the wedding, but not me. That’s another thing that made me sad tonight. I have no one, Tory. It feels like life passed me by, and it’s too late for me now. I’m going to be alone forever.” He looked like he might start crying again.
While he was talking, a group of frat boy types walked by and stared at us. One of them smirked and started to make a snarky comment, but he instantly thought better of it and shut up when I glared at him. Most people found me intimidating, but not Armando. For some reason, he seemed to feel right at home spilling his guts to me.
I turned my attention back to him when he muttered, “I wish you could have been my date today, Tory. It would have been fun to dance with you at the reception.”
“We don’t need a wedding for that. I promise I’ll dance with you if you get up, drink some coffee, and let me take you back to the hotel.”
“You will?”
“Absolutely.”
I would have agreed to almost anything at that point, if it meant getting him up and moving in the right direction. My worry was that he might pass out at some point, which would make all of this infinitely more difficult.
As to why I’d decided this man was my responsibility, that was anyone’s guess.
“Okay, then.” He tried to stand but didn’t quite make it, so I got to my feet and took his hand to help him up. He teetered a little and ended up falling against me with an, “Oops.” When he put his arms around me and grinned, it confirmed my suspicion that the “fall” had been intentional.
“You’re so cuddly,” he murmured. “You’re like a big teddy bear.” He had terrible instincts when he was drunk. I was far more grizzly than teddy bear.
He nestled against me, which felt good, but I couldn’t get distracted. “The café is probably closing soon. Can we please keep moving?”
Armando let go of me and took an unsteady step backwards before announcing, “I hate these shoes. They’re giving me blisters.” He almost tipped over as he pulled off one of his loafers, but I caught him before he hit the ground.
To expedite the process, I picked him up and carried him down the sidewalk. He wrapped his arms and legs around me and rested his head on my shoulder as he said, “I like you, Tory. You’re hot, and you’re a good listener. Can we be friends?”
“Sure.”
The young woman behind the counter didn’t bat an eye as I carried Armando into the café. I put him down and ordered two coffees to go, and he crouched down and peered into the bakery case as he muttered, “Those cookies look so good.” He tapped the glass lightly with the tip of the shoe in his hand, like a cat pawing at a door.