Tempting Fools

By Darien Cox

Newly divorced dad Kurt Varley is having a rough year. He’s lonely. His kids are avoiding him. His widowed father’s behavior has started becoming reckless. And to top it off, Kurt’s house is haunted. But despite all this, he’s been trying to date again, a challenge after years of marriage, and the women he meets seem to sense his hopelessness.

But things flip upside down when during an afternoon date, a mouthy staffer at an amusement park blurts out details of Kurt’s private life, things no stranger should know. The young man, Orion, claims to be psychic, but Kurt suspects he’s gotten his information elsewhere, and soon discovers they share an unsettling personal connection. But when Kurt’s fascination with the combative, charismatic Orion begins to overshadow everything else, the biggest mystery might be why he can’t stop making excuses to see him again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darien Cox
• Release date: Jan 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215536001

Darien Cox

Author Darien Cox lives in New England and enjoys using romantic fiction to explore the intensity, insanity, humor, and chaos that accompanies cupid’s arrow. http://dariencox.com/

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Tempting Fools

Darien Cox

Tempting Fools

Copyright © 2020 by Darien Cox

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2020 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

First Edition May 2020

SMASHWORDS EDITION

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Sometimes, everything that once felt stable gets demolished, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to fix it. And while in hindsight there might have been a few rumbles in the earth, a few hints this destruction was imminent, it usually comes in a blinding, unexpected flash. That’s how it felt when my former life crumbled, like some bored deity hurled a thunderbolt at my sandcastle.

Except that sandcastle was a life I’d spent years building. A marriage and family structure I’d thought I was pivotal in propping up. But when it fell, I learned a hard truth. I hadn’t been crucial at all. Or maybe I had been once, but now I was just some asshole staring at a pile of sand, wondering what the hell happened. Had my contribution to that structure always been temporary, or had I just not tried hard enough to hold it together?

Either way, I missed my old life. For all my bitching and complaining over the years, I’d enjoyed being relied upon. Being pivotal. Now I spent most of my time feeling useless, aimless, and wondering what to do with myself. But I hid these feelings, particularly today. Because today I was supposed to be exploring the potential for new beginnings, and putting my best foot forward. Sadly, I was beginning to think I didn’t have a best foot to put forward. But for the sake of my date, I faked it like a champ.

Kurt, you wanna go first? Bonnie asked.

No, you go ahead. I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines.

You sure?

Oh yeah, I have a lousy throwing arm. Count me out on this one. But you go on, give ’em hell.

She laughed, winking at me. I haven’t pitched a ball since junior high, but screw it, here we go. She accepted a basketful from the greasy-haired guy working the game, who then stuffed her cash into a fanny pack.

Bonnie seemed surprisingly excited to be at a crowded amusement park on a late Saturday afternoon, and I was glad for it, because this date had been my idea, but I wasn’t sure how it would be received. Much had changed in the years since I’d last been to Hillock Beach Fun Park, but they still hadn’t paved the dirt walkways within. Since the place was directly across the road from the ocean, the sea breeze kicked up dust, creating a russet haze that coated everything from carousel horses to sweaty patrons. But Bonnie didn’t seem to mind the wind or the dust. In fact, she seemed to be having a great time, which was both pleasing and surprising, considering she was there with me.

Since my divorce last year—accompanied by the death of my mother—I could barely stand my own company half the time. Inflicting my presence on others seemed cruel. But in my apathetic state, I didn’t trust myself to make decisions regarding my well-being, and everyone including my ex-wife and teenaged twins thought I needed to ‘put myself out there’. I’d yielded to the wisdom of others and had been reluctantly trying to date.

I had nothing to lose. When I wasn’t doing work on my house or diddling around with my art projects in the basement, I was alone in front of the TV with a beer and a Hot Pocket, shouting at the nightly news while nuclear-temp cheese dribbled down my shirt. Singlehood wasn’t looking so good on me, so I couldn’t really argue about my life needing a shakeup.

But maybe I wasn’t coming off as unappealing as I felt, because Bonnie was all smiles and warmth since I picked her up earlier, and seemed willing to make the best of an odd date for two adults. She was so damn nice about it, and that made me feel guilty as I watched her throw ball after ball trying to ‘Drown the Clown’. It was our second date, the first having been a dud, my shittiness at small talk leading to long, awkward bouts of silence. I was trying very hard to rectify that today, forcing myself to be more personable.

I figured today had to be better, if only as an apology, since the first date was such a wreck. When it ended at her door, I tried to give her a peck on the cheek. But I missed, turning it into an air kiss. A fucking air kiss, like I was some Hollywood housewife thanking her for brunch. She looked stunned and confused. I wasn’t sure what was worse, my dullness on the actual date, or the way it concluded. But I practically ran back to my car, just wanting the night to be over.

Bonnie was probably surprised I called her again. My choice of carnival date likely made her think I was trying to show her my lighter, more whimsical side, since I was such a bore last time. She’d be wrong. I didn’t have a lighter, more whimsical side. I was just being a selfish asshole. I’d originally bought the fun park tickets two weeks ago, along with booking the dinner reservations for later, because I thought my son and daughter were coming for the weekend. Their mother moved out of state with them after the divorce, and I didn’t see the little bastards nearly as much as I liked. The few times they had come to visit post-divorce were hellish, all of us stressed out by the new family dynamic, me shouting at them too much, them branding me a dickhead and locking themselves in their rooms.

So this time, I bought their favorite foods, made a bunch of fun plans, and was going to really try to make it special, to bury the hatchet. I hadn’t taken them to this park since they were little, and thought it would be a nostalgic laugh for all of us. But my kids blew me off at the last minute, by text, and I was sad and furious and feeling so rejected I made a second date with a woman I wasn’t even sure I was attracted to. Like I said—asshole.

Since I felt so bad about using Bonnie as a human Xanax, I was extra determined to give this date a proper chance. Bonnie was a sweetheart, and instead of balking at my purportedly spontaneous idea of the fun park, she’d jumped in with both feet, indulging in all the games and mystery meats and sugary snacks the place had to offer. Basically being the kind of woman I didn’t deserve under the circumstances. The clown perched above the dunk tank seemed to agree with me.

Hey tough guy, he shouted. Why you standing on the sidelines looking sooo sad? Because your girlfriend’s got bigger balls than you?

A collective ‘Oooh’ ran through the crowd, and I smirked as the clown’s amplified voice laughed long and hard at my expense. He wasn’t like the ‘Dunk the Punk’ clown I remembered from years past, but then, that was a long time ago. That clown had been a big, raunchy, barrel-chested guy with a keen wit and rattling smoker’s cough, so maybe he’d died, or gone to a clown retirement home or whatever old clowns did. Maybe he drowned in the tank.

But this new clown was a different breed, maybe mid-twenties, though it was tough to tell with the makeup. His white-painted face was traditional enough, but he wore a skintight polka dot tank top with his baggy clown pants, and his arms were tanned and tight with lean muscle. I’d never seen a clown with a hot body before, and it was uniquely disorienting. Clowns weren’t supposed to be good looking, they were supposed to be ridiculous and scary.

It wasn’t just the body; even with the clown makeup I could see this guy had a nicely sculpted face, high cheekbones and a perfect chin. His jaw-length brown hair was edged with ringlets under an oversized beanie, one thick strand near the front dyed bright yellow. Or maybe it was sprayed on or just a wig, since it matched the spotted red and yellow tank top that stretched over his fit chest and stomach.

High and dry! the clown taunted from his caged perch. "Sorry sweetheart, maybe you should get the tough guy to give it a go. Or is he too scared?"

I rolled my eyes, and gave the clown a wave. I’m good, thanks.

Baby man! the clown shouted. "Everyone look at the scared sissy baby man who won’t even try. Has to let the little girl do it for him."

Bonnie pulled her wavy black hair into a ponytail and readied another ball, her pretty face pinched in concentration. Screw you, clown, she shouted, throwing the ball harder this time. Oh, damn it!

I laughed as the ball missed its target and the clown began another tirade of insults, a few light ones for Bonnie, but most of his ire still directed at me. I had to hand it to these clown-dunking rackets. They’d found a surefire formula: Get some guy riled up by targeting his ego in front of his girl, and next thing you knew he’d be shelling out all his cash to defend himself. It was genius in its simplicity.

Come on little girly, the target’s over here! Are you blind?

You’re going down, clown! Bonnie handed another five-dollar bill to the carnie, who set up another basket of balls for her.

Oh great, the clown whined. We’re gonna be here all night!

Destroy him, Bonnie! I encouraged. I was gonna have to buy that girl a nice bottle of wine when we went to dinner tonight. She was a trooper, and I was laughing for the first time in forever.

What’s the matter tough guy, you let your woman fight your battles for you?

Sure do! I called back. She’s a lot tougher than I am.

The clown went silent and stared hard at me. He leaned forward, and his big, painted eyes narrowed. I figured he was wondering who was this odd specimen of man who could not be provoked. Or maybe he was trying to figure out if he knew me. This park was a staple in town that drew both locals and tourists alike, even in the winter when they traded out the rollercoasters and water flumes for indoor surfing attractions and ice skating. But it was unlikely the guy knew me. He was clearly several years younger, plus, I never came to this part of town much anymore. Which made me realize, not for the first time recently, what a bore I was. Because I lived in what outsiders like Bonnie referred to as a ‘fun’ town, I but rarely took advantage of any of it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even been to the beach I drove past every day.

But since getting Violet pregnant in high school, having the twins, and getting married a year later, I’d been a goddamn busy guy the past eighteen years. Working, building a business, raising a family. We’d gone on vacations now and then, but my day-to-day life had consisted of little more than work and the occasional barbeque or dinner at the homes of couple-friends for most of the years since.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. I did what I had to do, I was responsible and productive, and the years had flown by. My ex-wife Violet used to suggest going out a lot, to art galleries or live music or romantic dinner at one of the seaside restaurants. I acquiesced far less as the years passed and my business grew, and would grumble that I was tired a lot. It wasn’t making excuses; I’d co-owned a construction and building company, and I was tired a lot. But I’d also been negligent, barely registering Violet’s increasing protests, her pleading that we needed to do more as a couple. That negligence ultimately came back to bite me in the ass. I’d listened to her, but I’d never fully heard her.

Was this self-awareness? Maybe this dating thing was working out for me after all, if not by finding a love connection, at least by rattling something loose in my brain, helping me finally acknowledge my flaws. Too little too late. Because when Violet told me why she was considering divorce, my response had been a lot of shouting and denials. I’d worked my ass off for years to help make a good life for us, what the hell else did she want from me? A lot, apparently. Having more fun, primarily, and spending more time together, just the two of us. Oh yeah…and more sex.

I almost wished she could see me right now. Look Vi, here I am at the fun park, having FUN! And if the looks Bonnie was giving me were any indication, likely about to have some sex tonight. I could almost hear Violet’s response in my mind. "Why couldn’t you have done all those things before, when it counted? Why couldn’t you have done those things for ME?"

I guess I thought I was getting around to it. Our kids were nearing college age, we could finally take a breath soon. Having worked as an emergency room nurse for years, Violet was as stressed and tired as I was. I wasn’t shocked when she brought up the lack of fun in her ‘This isn’t working anymore’ diatribe, but I thought she’d have a bit more patience with me regarding that. But when she added that she found our romantic life lacking, I was shocked. And she in turn, was shocked that I was shocked.

She said I should have known. But I didn’t know, because I’d been content with what we had. I thought we were both happy. So what if we weren’t so hot between the sheets anymore? We’d been married for years. That sort of thing didn’t matter in the larger scope of things. Except apparently, it did matter, to her. Mattered enough for her to bring it up in the first ten minutes of our discussion about separating. My rationalization that we’d been married a long time didn’t fly so well, when she pointed out that we were only in our thirties, since we’d married so young. And that she was still a young woman, with needs and desires.

I told Violet she was being unreasonable, and she countered that it was perfectly reasonable for a wife to want to fuck her husband. She then rattled off a frighteningly detailed list of times she’d wanted to have sex when I’d declined, citing circumstances, locations, and my alleged excuses. Feeling cornered and angry, I’d offered to fuck her right there on the kitchen table if it would make her stop yelling and pointing her finger in my face. That suggestion went over as well as you’d expect, and I’d spent the night in a hotel.

Bonnie’s joyful laugh as she continued to throw balls at the dunk-clown brought me out of my self-pitying. I smiled as I watched her play. I needed to be focused on this woman tonight, my date. Whether this went anywhere or not, I aimed to prove tonight that I could give someone my full, focused attention, and show her a good time. I could be fun, damn it.

The clown was back to taunting Bonnie as she tried in vain to dunk him. His striking, painted eyes periodically flicked over to me, that same odd expression as before, like he found something about me troubling. It gave me a funny feeling whenever he looked my way, some instinct warning me to turn from his gaze, that there was hostility in it. But that was ridiculous. The dunk tank was just a game, as was his heckling. Whatever I saw in his eyes was likely either my imagination, or an illusion created by the heavy makeup he wore.

Even so, I held his stare each time our eyes caught, as though accepting a challenge. If there was any real animosity there, he was probably just annoyed I wasn’t falling for his racket. I felt bad for the dunk-clown in a way. He was just trying to do his job, and his consistent taunts of ‘tough guy’ meant he’d probably had me pegged as an aging, competitive frat boy type with insecurity bubbles just ripe for the popping. His gaze was not for me. It was for my wallet.

I’d dressed casual today, because I knew the park would be hot and dusty, and I was right—I could already taste the grit, and had seen that my dirty blond hair was literally dirty when we visited the funhouse mirrors earlier, mine and Bonnie’s locks both sporting a thin layer of dust. I was not, however, an aging frat boy, despite wearing a Trinity College tee shirt my older sister Gwen gave me for Christmas. I’d never gone to college myself, and though I’d worn my nicest dark jeans in a quest to look at least halfway decent when we went to dinner later, I was normally a work boots and baggy jeans guy—and not just because I’d put on a few pounds lately.

Now that I thought about it, the ‘nice’ jeans I was wearing felt a little too snug. There was definitely a bit more padding to me now, surprising really, since I’d spent most of the spring and early summer doing very physical work, and the mid-July heat had me sweating bullets before noon most days. But I supposed the beer and Hot Pockets were taking their toll.

I wondered suddenly if the clown in the cage, with his tight tank and hard body, thought I was overweight. What a stupid fucking thought. Who cared how the damn clown viewed me? Let him think I was some burger-gulping chest-beater about to jump in and prove my manhood, it didn’t matter. He had no way of knowing I felt like an old man in a thirty-six-year-old body, and had barely summoned the energy to leave the house today. He could have called me a fucking asshole right to my face and I’d have shrugged, agreed with him, then gone to get some cotton candy.

But fortunately, for the clown, his goading got another bystander all lathered up with toxic masculinity, so as soon as Bonnie’s turn was done, the new guy was gleefully handing over cash to drown the clown.

A valiant effort, I said as Bonnie strolled back over to me.

You’re too kind. I sucked.

But you sucked with enthusiasm. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Dinner reservations are in an hour, should I push them off? Think you’ll be too full from all the junk we’ve had?

She grinned up at me. I may be small, but I have a big appetite. I’m still game for dinner if you are.

Hell yeah. Do you want to leave and head down to the boardwalk for a bit? It’s walking distance so we can leave the car in the lot.

She brightened. Yeah, I heard there are some great shops down there.

Sure, yeah. I nodded, though I wasn’t sure. Things had changed so much since I’d last spent time on the seaside part of town. While it had been warmly nostalgic seeing the giant whale sculpture in the town center and a few other familiar landmarks, I’d barely recognized half the shops when we drove in earlier. But the boardwalk was still booming as ever, so I was sure we’d pass plenty of places for Bonnie to shop along the way down to the restaurant. That location I hadn’t forgotten, as it had been my kids’ favorite seafood place when they were younger, and we’d celebrated many an occasion there before they got too old and cool to hang out with me.

Captain Rusty’s Seafood was supposed to be another feature of my nostalgia tour planned for the kids’ visit. One more thing they wouldn’t get to appreciate because the little dickwads canceled on me. I loved my kids a ton, but my feelings were hurt.

My sister has a big birthday coming up next weekend, Bonnie said. Maybe I can grab her a nice gift.

I frowned, still thinking about my kids. They were turning eighteen at the end of the summer. Would I even get to see them for their birthday? They’d blown this weekend off because they had a party to go to. That was the excuse for breaking plans we’d had for a damn month. A party. But I had every intention on trying to get them down here for their birthdays, or at least driving up north to see them, if they could carve out time from their precious social lives. I’d had a significant goddamn hand in keeping them alive for eighteen years, I deserved to celebrate it with them.

Kurt, you okay?

Yeah, let’s head out, I said to Bonnie, but my gaze had been involuntarily drawn back to the clown in the dunk tank. His big dark eyes were on me again, even as he taunted the newcomer, a big muscular guy in a ballcap who was having as much trouble hitting the target as Bonnie had. Looking at the clown made me forget about my kids and my problems momentarily, as I found myself wondering who he was, and how a young handsome guy like that ended up in a sweaty dunk tank on a Saturday.

The clown’s amplified laughter echoed over the crowd, and I felt an incredulous stab of betrayal as he recycled his insults for the new player. But of course, it was all part of his schtick. What the hell did I think, that the clown had been personally attacking me? Like we’d had some sort of moment because he’d stared at me a couple times?

What the fuck is wrong with me? The divorce must have wreaked more havoc on my self-image than I’d thought, if I was allowing myself to be affected by my speculations over what strangers thought about me. And I was obviously starved for friendship if even a tiny, unspoken part of me wanted the freaking clown to like me. I’d grown up in this town, but had, over the years, whittled down my peer group to ‘couple friends’ that Violet and I hung out with. Even though Vi had been the one to move away, she seemed to have won most of our friends in the divorce. The guys I’d hung out with for years didn’t seem to have time for me beyond an occasional afterwork beer, and their wives didn’t want them going to nightclubs with a newly single dude. I got invited to fewer gatherings and dinner parties now, and even when I did, my spouseless presence made things awkward.

Bonnie tugged my arm, and I blinked at her.

Are we going? she asked, eyeing me strangely.

Oh, yeah, sorry.

You okay?

Great. Why?

You were just…staring at that clown. Like you were in a daze.

Sorry. I gave my head a shake as we started back down the dirt pathway. Think maybe I got too much sun.

You’re probably dehydrated. She nudged my side and grinned up at me. I think it’s almost wine o’clock.

I knew I liked you. Let’s get the hell out of here.

The clown was still hassling his patron as we passed by the tank. Despite Bonnie’s words, I couldn’t help stealing a last glance up at him now that we were so close. His white makeup looked glossy with sweat, or maybe it had gotten wet from prior dunks. Small beads of liquid blended with the painted-on tears dripping from his right eye. Suddenly, his head turned, and he looked straight at me. He had huge, luminescent brown eyes like a doll. Or maybe my mind conjured doll imagery because of the black lines drawn out from the eyes like stars. A colorful clown doll with a masculine jaw and a hot body.

But there was definitely something not very jolly in those big eyes that locked with mine, and I felt penetrated. When I didn’t look away, his painted red mouth grinned. Aww, you leaving, tough guy? Take me with you!

Bonnie snorted. I think he likes you.

Take me! the clown shouted, head turning to follow us as we passed. Come on, Squirt. You already got a table for three.

Bonnie had been holding my hand, and I nearly made her trip and fall as I stopped dead on the path. I turned back and stared up at the painted face behind the bars. "What did you just say?"

The crowd cheered as a ball hit the target, triggering the trapdoor beneath the clown. He went plunging under the water, out of sight.

Chapter Two

You don’t think it’s weird though?

Bonnie shrugged as she speared a scallop with her fork. She seemed less enamored with me since we’d gotten to the restaurant. Maybe because I almost pulled her arm out of the socket when the clown shocked me with his parting words. It’s not that weird, Kurt, honestly.

I set my fork down and picked up my beer. He called me Squirt. That’s what my older sisters called me when I was a kid. Then of course my parents picked up on it, and it stuck. Squirt instead of Kurt, stupid childhood nickname, but still. How the hell would the clown know that?

Setting her own fork down, Bonnie picked up her wine. Her lashes fluttered a moment before meeting my eyes, like she was summoning her patience. Kurt. I like you. You’re annoyingly attractive, and you seem like a nice guy. But can we please, please stop talking about that clown?

My lips parted as I let out a breath, embarrassed. Oh. Okay. Sorry.

I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve been going on about it since we left the park. It’s obviously a coincidence that he called you Squirt. It may be your childhood nickname, but it’s also a derogatory term if you want to call a big guy small. Like calling someone scrawny or wimpy. The goal is to target the ego, which is exactly that clown’s job. Can we move on?

I winced. Shit, I can see now how annoying I’ve been.

She smiled. Don’t worry about it. Small talk isn’t easy, especially on a second date.

I chuckled. I hope I’m at least doing better than our first date?

Laughing, she winked. Marginally. Maybe I’ll even get a real kiss later?

I nodded sheepishly. Couldn’t do much worse than last time, right?

Let’s toast to starting over.

Sounds perfect, I said, clinking my glass against hers.

Shit. I had been obsessing over the clown. Of course, Bonnie was right about the Squirt thing, could be just a coincidence. What I couldn’t tell her was that the clown was also right on target about my having made reservations for a table for three. Because I’d intended to bring my kids here before they canceled on me. That part was screwing with my head. Such a random thing to say, and so oddly specific.

But I was going to drive myself crazy if I kept thinking about it, and was clearly already driving my date crazy, so I switched gears. That’s a nice necklace you bought for your sister. We’d stopped at several shops along the way, which Bonnie seemed to enjoy. At least I’d thought she was enjoying it at the time, not knowing that my chattering about the clown was driving her bananas.

Yeah, hope she likes it. She’s kind of picky.

Are you close with your family?

We’re all really close, yeah, she said. Two sisters, three nieces and a nephew. My parents are great most of the time, and my grandparents are still alive and kicking. How about you?

I was pleased that her shoulders relaxed. She’d gone back to eating her dinner and was no longer gulping down her wine like she needed an emollient just to listen to me. Well, my mom died just over a year ago, I said.

Oh, I’m sorry.

Thanks.

So…you’ve had a rough couple years.

I smiled, because I knew what she was saying…divorce and death of a parent all wrapped up in one. But I appreciated her not specifically mentioning the divorce, though she knew about it from our early chats on the dating site.

Rough, yeah.

Is your father still alive?

Yeah, my dad lives in town, and I make sure I talk to him at least once a week, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much these days.

Bonnie laughed. What do you mean?

Oh, he’s just a grump. He’s getting older and started to get kind of loopy lately, and has been driving me and my sisters crazy. He’s fallen off the seawall in front of his house a couple times, messed up his knee, but he won’t ever admit he needs help, especially from me. It’s frustrating.

Oh, wow, that must be hard. Can your sisters help? Is he any better with them?

I rolled my eyes. Gwen and Allison, my father actually likes. But one lives in California and another in Colorado. They call me all the time to scold me for not keeping a better eye on our father. Granted, I live in town. But that doesn’t help when my father won’t even let me through his front door half the time. Always acts like I’m invading his privacy just by existing.

Oh. Bonne frowned. Since he gets along better with your sisters, could one of them move him out to live with them?

He wouldn’t go, he loves this town. Plus, they still have small children. Even though they’re older than me, I had my kids super young. So because I live nearby, and have no major responsibilities right now, my sisters think I should move my father in with me.

Is that something you’d consider? Moving your father in with you?

Yeah, I’ve actually spent the past few months renovating the big garage next to my house into an in-law suite, so he would still have his privacy and independence. We’ll see. Can’t force him to do what he doesn’t want to.

Wow, that sounds like a big job. You do it yourself?

Got a couple of guys who’ve helped out, local contractors I worked with back when I had my business. But I’ve done a lot of it myself. It’s basically finished, and looks damn nice if I do say so myself. But my dad won’t even come see it. He finds the notion offensive, and accused me of wanting to ‘lock him away in a prison for the crime of getting old.’ Still, at least it’ll be there, just in case he declines, you know? And now my older siblings can’t bitch that I’m doing nothing.

Chuckling, Bonnie rested a hand on mine. Sounds like you’re a good son.

Sorry if that got heavy. We’re supposed to be having fun.

It’s okay. She squeezed my hand. Family’s hard.

Yeah, it can be.

Sadness tried to creep in again, and I gently pushed my plate away, picking up my beer. It was always there, lingering in the background when someone brought up family. I’d spent the better part of my life building and raising one, and now it was just…gone, and I wasn’t sure who I was without it. No one needed me anymore. Even my cranky old father rejected my help. It made me feel useless.

So you’re a builder. We didn’t get around to talking a lot about careers on our last date. She cleared her throat loudly. Or much else for that matter.

I flinched, but then she laughed, and I pointed at her. You said this was starting over!

You’re right, you’re right. I can’t help teasing, it’s just my personality.

I am sorry about last time. And I am bad at small talk.

You’re doing fine.

I smiled. I was a builder, yes.

There you go! Expand on that.

I smirked, happy with her teasing, because it really was helping me relax and open up. My wife’s brother and I had a business together. He bought me out after the divorce though, thought it would be too awkward.

What do you do now?

Nothing. I do nothing, Bonnie. Still find me interesting? I scrambled to make myself sound like less of a loser than I felt. Because while I was financially padded enough to take my time and figure it out, I actually had no freaking idea what I was doing with my life now. Still got a few properties in town I own. Small houses I rent out as beach vacation homes. So that keeps me pretty busy.

That was a lie. It didn’t keep me busy at all. I cashed the checks, and paid cleaners and maintenance staff