: Chapter 8

I was so confused. Wilder and my father were laughing and smiling like old friends.

Wilder lifted his chin to me. “Hey, Sloane.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

He shrugged. “I came in for a beer.”

Dad pointed to Wilder. “You know this guy?”

“We met a couple of weeks ago at a wedding I covered for work.”

“Why didn’t you didn’t tell me you knew Wilder Hayes?”

My nose wrinkled. “Why would you care that I know him?”

“Because he’s a legend.”

“Uh … a legend at what?”

Dad shook his head. “You really don’t know who this is?”

“My boss’s boss’s boss’s son?”

“He’s Wilder Hayes, Sloane, one of the best players to have ever played pro rugby.”

I looked to Wilder. “You played professionally?”

For the first time, he didn’t seem cocky. He looked a little modest even as he nodded. “Yeah, for eight years.”

Dad thumbed over at Wilder. “Honey, he’s the David Beckham of rugby. He’s going to do for rugby what Beckham did for soccer in the US. He’s starting his own team, and with his fan base, it’s gonna get a lot of attention.”

“The team isn’t a done deal yet,” Wilder said. “The commission votes in less than two weeks on the expansion.”

“They’d be idiots not to do it,” Dad noted.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“What can I get you to drink?” Dad asked. “It’s on the house.”

“I’ll just take a beer,” Wilder said. “A stout on tap, if you have it.”

I needed a minute to let everything sink in. “Excuse me. I need to put these glasses away.”

I walked to the middle of the bar and worked on hanging the glasses from the overhead gantry. But every few seconds, my gaze wandered back to Wilder. He was famous? A rugby player? David Beckham? Most perplexing of all, my dad had offered him a free beer. Whenever anyone who wasn’t a member of the NYPD or FDNY wandered in, he charged them double to discourage hanging around. No civilian got free drinks from Dad.

I finished hanging the glasses just as Dad finished pouring Wilder’s beer. His hand shook a lot more when he was tired, and I watched Wilder hone in on it. Unlike the guy earlier, Wilder’s eyes softened, and he smiled. Damn it. I don’t want to find things to like about you.

Dad walked over. “I need to hit the head. Be back.”

“Okay.”

I checked in with a few patrons to see if they needed refills, then walked down to Wilder. “So what are you really doing here?” I asked. “You didn’t just wander in for a beer. There’s probably a thousand places to get something to drink between here and the office, most of them with friendlier people and glasses without dishwasher spots.”

“You said this place was a legend in New York—third-oldest bar, was it?”

“Are you sure it’s not because I turned you down and you can’t handle that? You seem like the type who always gets his way and might not take it so well when he doesn’t.”

“I do like to get what I want. But I’m willing to work for it.”

I shook my head and sighed. “So you’re famous, huh? How come you didn’t mention that little fact?”

Wilder shrugged. “Was hoping you’d like me for my personality.”

“Your personality?” I laughed. “Really?”

He grinned. “I’m not that bad.”

Dad ambled back from the restroom. I nodded toward him. “I should go. He’s been here all day, and if he thinks I’m busy talking to you, he’ll never leave, and he needs his rest.”

“Okay.”

Before I could walk away, Dad was at my side. “Why don’t you go have your dinner break now?”

“I’m fine. I’ll eat when I get home.”

“Order something and sit and eat. Or I’m not leaving. I don’t want your blood sugar going low when I’m gone.”

I frowned. “How about we compromise? I promise to order something that I’ll eat when it’s slow, and you go home now and get off your feet. Also, you take an Uber, not the subway.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dad…”

Wilder butted in. “I didn’t eat yet, either. I noticed an Italian place a few doors down. How about I run over and grab something for us both? I’ll be quicker than delivery.”

I said no at the same time my dad said great.

Wilder knocked back the rest of his beer and stood. He lifted his chin to my dad. “You want anything, sir?”

“No, thank you. And it’s Harry, please. If you have a sweet tooth, they make fantastic cheesecake.”

Wilder nodded and started to walk away. “Be back.”

I blinked a few times. “Wait. I said no.”

He didn’t turn around as he responded. “Your father’s right. You need to eat.”

“But, but you don’t even know what I want.”

He chucked a smile over his shoulder. “Sure I do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Wilder returned with a large takeout bag. He motioned to the small tables across from the bar and spoke to my dad. “Any particular table?”

“Why don’t you go toward the back, where it’s quieter?”

My head volleyed back and forth between the two men, who acted like I wasn’t here. When I looked to Dad, he gestured to Wilder, who was already approaching the back table. “Run along.”

I sighed. “You’re leaving in an Uber as soon as I’m done.”

Wilder had unpacked a bunch of tins when I got to the table. “How many people are eating?” I asked. “Six containers?”

“I figured I’d get a few choices.”

I slid into one side of the booth. “You wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d asked what I wanted.”

He pushed a tin over to my side. “Spaghetti carbonara.”

My jaw dropped. “How did you know it was my favorite?”

He grinned and sat down. “I have my ways.”

I’d gone to therapy at lunch today, so I was actually pretty hungry. I peeled the lid back and salivated at the smell that wafted through the air. “Why don’t I go get us some real plates, and we can share?”

“Sounds good.”

I disappeared into the back and returned with plates, utensils, and drinks. Wilder was at the bar with one of the tins. Dad took whatever it was with a big smile.

“What did you give him?” I asked when Wilder sat back down.

“The cheesecake he said he liked. They had plain or blueberries on top. I got the blueberry—loaded with antioxidants and easy to chew. Does he have difficulty swallowing, too?” He paused. “My grandfather had Parkinson’s. He had trouble chewing.”

I shook my head. “Luckily he doesn’t. At least not yet. Thank you for doing that.”

“I didn’t get us any desserts. I wasn’t sure if you could have them.”

I tilted my head. “Why do you say that?”

“I noticed the insulin pump on the back of your arm when you were walking away today.” He pointed his fork at me. “See? I wasn’t just looking at your ass.”

I smiled.

Wilder opened the rest of the tins, and we loaded up our plates. He eyed mine.

I shrugged and forked a mouthful of pasta. “I didn’t get to eat lunch.”

His lip twitched. “Wasn’t judging. I like a woman who eats. Just taking note of what you picked.”

“Why would you do that?”

“For when you come over. I like to cook. And eat pasta in bed after sex.”

I covered my full mouth, laughing. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to start.”

“You’d prefer I take you out somewhere nice?”

“Don’t you live in England?”

“I do. But you can’t expect me to always come here. I think it would be nice if you visited me once in a while. Have you ever been to London?”

“No.”

“Perfect then. I’ll get to show you around.”

“Did you bump your head when you walked to the restaurant?”

Wilder grinned. “Just looking ahead.”

“Or you’re looking at fantasyland.”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “Talk to me about this man moratorium. Is it because you’re not engaged anymore?”

I had my fork midway to my mouth and paused. “How do you know I was engaged?”

“Same way I know your favorite food is spaghetti carbonara. Your bio on the magazine’s website.”

I’d forgotten my bio said I was getting married. I needed to change that. Although that didn’t explain everything he knew. “I’m pretty sure my bio only says I’m engaged. How did you know I’m not anymore?”

Wilder looked away. “I guess I assumed you weren’t because of what happened in the coat closet.”

Something told me there was more to it than that. “What was your number when you played rugby?”

“Seventeen. Why?”

Gotcha, NumberSeventeen. I leaned forward, across the table. “Come here.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“No, just lean close for a minute.”

The table wasn’t that big, so with both of us leaning in, we could’ve kissed. But I made sure there was a little distance between us. I looked straight into his eyes. “You watched my YouTube show the other night, didn’t you?”

Wilder’s eyes widened. “I really want to smash my lips against yours right now, but I think I got an in with your father and don’t want to ruin it.”

I leaned back in my seat. “I freaking knew it!”

Some men might’ve been embarrassed to admit they’d stalked your company website, memorized your favorite food, and watched you do a wedding-related talk show on YouTube. But not Wilder. His eyes sparkled. “I wasn’t happy when I found out you were engaged.”

“You thought I was still engaged and made out with you anyway?”

“That’s what it looked like, but I hoped I was wrong.”

I laughed. “You’re a stalker.”

“It’s a first, trust me.”

“I bet it is. Apparently you’re a famous rugby player, so I wouldn’t imagine it’s too hard for you to meet women.”

He skirted my comment and redirected to the question that had led us here. “So this man moratorium you’re on … that start after your engagement ended?”

I nodded. “That definitely contributed. But I’m twenty-six, and I feel like I’ve had a boyfriend since I was sixteen.”

“The same boyfriend?”

“No. I’ve had a few long-term relationships.”

“How long were you with your fiancé?”

“Two and a half years.”

“Can I ask why you broke up?”

“He was still in love with his ex.” This might’ve been the first time it didn’t sting too badly to admit that. “I had no idea until I was standing at the altar.”

“Jesus. What a dick.”

I smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

He wiped the corner of his mouth. “Well, his loss. My gain.”

I laughed. “You haven’t gained anything, Mr. Hayes.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “I like the way that sounds rolling off your tongue.”

“Rejection?”

“No. You calling me Mr. Hayes.”

I had to give him one thing, I’d been smiling since we sat down. Maybe I’d give him two things. He was even better looking than I remembered.

I twirled more spaghetti carbonara onto my fork and stuffed my face. “I feel like you know my life story—from favorite food to my relationship history. What’s your deal? Why are you single?”

“Busy. I’ve jumped through a lot of hurdles over the last year to get this close to adding an expansion team in the US. I should get my name painted on the side of a British Airways jet with all the miles I’ve flown. Plus, my little brother spends more time at my place than his dad’s. He’s a handful.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

“His dad was always flaky, and then a few years back he got remarried. Brenda is a little too free-spirited to enforce rules for a teenager. Lucas tells her he doesn’t feel like going to school, and she tells him to stay home and immerse himself in a book of poetry instead. He also started getting into her pot stash, so I stepped up my time with him.”

“Oh boy.”

“He’s a pain in my ass, but I think we were all pains in the asses at his age.”

I smiled. “I take care of my niece a few nights a week for my brother who works overnights. So I very much understand. But I have the opposite problem. Today I heard her talking about kissing a boy. If my brother knew, he’d ground her until she was thirty. So I try to manage what I share with him and give her guidance as best I can. Her mom died eight years ago.”

Wilder leaned back, spreading an arm across the top of the booth. “Look how much we have in common already? Family with Parkinson’s, helping raise teenagers, we both think I’m handsome.”

“Modesty, too.” I laughed. “Are you also obsessed with self-help books?”

“I’ve always thought those were dumb. But I might need a book for my recent obsession.”

“What about before last year? How long was your longest relationship?”

Wilder’s smile fell. “I haven’t dated anyone for more than a few months since college.”

“Why is that?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

“It’s okay. I prefer honest answers. I don’t love lies that pacify me.”

“I enjoyed my single life. I traveled all the time when I was playing. Rugby is big in Europe, and I was the team captain, so…”

“So…” I said. “We’re sort of the polar opposite in that area. I’m a relationship girl, and you’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”

“Was. I’m not like that anymore.”

I tilted my head. “No? How can you be sure if you’ve never had a serious relationship?”

He grinned. “Because I met you.”

I chuckled. “Smooth, Hayes, smooth. I can see why you don’t have a hard time getting women. The bullshit flows easily.” I wiped my mouth. “But I should get back behind the bar. Dad needs to get off his feet.”

“You stay here all night by yourself?”

“It’s a cop bar. Nobody gives me any trouble.”

“Cop bar?”

“Well, cops and firemen.” I pointed to each of the ten guys sitting at the bar. “Cop. Cop. Cop. Fireman. Cop. Fireman. Fireman. Cop. Cop. Cop. My dad worked the first precinct for thirty years. It’s a few blocks away. He retired a captain. But he’s fourth-generation NYPD, and one of my older brothers is NYPD. The other is FDNY.”

“Damn. That sounds like a lot of guns pointed my way if I do something wrong.”

I slid out of the booth and stood. “Thank you for dinner.”

Wilder followed. He reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “Let me take you out.”

As tempting as it was—as tempting as he was—my gut told me it wasn’t a good idea. “I don’t think so. I’m going to stick to my moratorium.”

“How long does it last?”

“A year. I have six months left.”

He smiled. “So Ryan’s wedding then?”

“Is that who’s getting married next?”

He stood and kissed my cheek. “Nope. That’s whose wedding is in six months when your moratorium is up. I’ll wait.”

“You’re going to wait six months for me to potentially go out with you?”

Wilder rocked back on his heels. “Yep.”

“The man who has never committed to a woman for more than two months is going to wait six months for a woman who isn’t sleeping with him?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

“You have your man moratorium, and I’ll have my miss moratorium.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“We’ll see.”

I cleared the table, separating the garbage from the leftovers. There were a few trays we hadn’t even opened. “Do you want to take these?”

“I have an early flight in the morning. You take ’em.”

“Thank you. They won’t go to waste. One of my brothers or my dad will eat them if I don’t.”

“I guess I’ll see you in a week. At the wedding?”

“I guess so.”

Wilder walked over and shook hands with my dad. “Thank you for the beer, Harry.”

“Anytime. Come back again, son.”

He thumbed over his shoulder, gesturing to the door. “You want a ride home?”

Dad waved him off. “I’m good. I’ll jump on the subway.”

“You sure? I’m driving one of my dad’s cars. He collects old classics. This one is something else—a ’64 Pontiac GTO.”

Dad’s mouth dropped open. “No shit? My dad had a ’64 back in ’64. Loved that damn car.”

Wilder gestured to the door. “Come on then.”

“You sure? I don’t want you to go out of your way…”

My father might’ve asked the question, but he was already untying his apron.

“Positive.”

Wilder waited for Dad to come around the bar. He turned back to me as he pushed open the door for my father and winked. “See you soon, Cupcake.”