One minute you're at the top of your game, and the next, you receive a hit that knocks your skates out from underneath you.
Still reeling after an unexpected loss, Ryan Nyberg not only finds himself back in his beachside hometown of Neptune Bay, bu...
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I hadn't been kidding when I'd told Sloane I had no idea how to date with Bowen in my life, because yes, while I knew my parents were happy to take care of him some nights, it didn't feel right sending him to his grandparents just because I wanted to have her over. Or take her out. Or spend hours with her in my arms, our lips and hands exploring one another. He was my responsibility, and I wasn't going to shirk that just because I happened to be dating someone.
Which meant grabbing drinks at a bar or dinner at an upscale place—the typical kind of dates I'd take women on—weren't possible, and I had to come up with alternatives.
Like having her join Bowen and I for dinner at the house a few nights a week. Though since I hadn't explicitly told Bowen we were dating—I'm sure he assumed something was up, considering Sloane came around much more frequently—it wasn't a whole lot different than when she'd come over before. She'd drop by after work and talk to Bowen as I finished cooking—which could be as simple as macaroni and cheese or veer toward the top of my skill set with steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Then the three of us would eat together, and without fail, Bowen would convince us to play a game or watch something with him once our plates were clear.
And yes, there were some heated looks exchanged and subtle hand grazes when Bowen's attention appeared elsewhere, but overall Sloane and I kept things fairly PG with him around.
Once his bedtime passed, however, that was a different story.
Sloane would hang around for an hour or two as we talked over a glass of wine, or dug into a dessert she'd brought over. Inevitably, within minutes, I would find a way to touch her—whether it was my hand on her lower back, my arm around her shoulders, or our sides brushing against one another—and unlike the first time, when I made moves to kiss her, there were no interruptions.
To others, dates like these might not have seemed like anything special, but they were comfortable and what worked for us. We were spending time together, and that's what mattered.
Though that didn't mean I wasn't trying to think of other, more fun, ways for us to enjoy one another's company.
Rolling over in bed, I reached for my phone on my nightstand as the alarm went off. It was six in the morning on a Saturday—just over a week since Sloane and I had gotten together—and last night, as she'd gotten ready to leave, I'd nonchalantly asked if she wanted to come fishing this morning with Bowen and I.
She'd been a bit hesitant at first, not because she didn't want to, but because she still had to work despite it being a weekend. Though after reassuring her we'd hit the water early and be back to shore with plenty of time for her to be at Wilma's by ten, her lips had curved upward, and she'd agreed to come along.
After silencing my alarm, I pulled up our last text conversation and shot her a message.
Good morning! Up and ready to catch some early morning fish? 🐟
