Valentine's with the Single Dad

Single Dad of Seattle Mason Whitfield made some big changes in his life five years ago, starting with quitting his Fortune 500 job and moving away. Now he's back in Seattle, he bought a bar and is finally a father--life is good. But when a beautiful mystery woman keeps coming to his bar interviewing men night after night, Mason's curiosity is piqued and he just has to know more.

She was back.

Same time.

Same table.

Same drink order.

Same little pink notebook and pen.

Only today, her hair was different. Normally, she kept her short, chin-length, dark
brown bob straight with a soft swoosh over her forehead, but today she’d gone
and let it get all wavy and had secured the swoosh with a little silver clip on
the side of her head.

It helped him see her eyes better.

He really liked her eyes.

Bright gray with soft flecks of white around the iris. He’d never seen anybody with
eyes like that before. And the way the corners crinkled when she smiled or took
a sip of her wine made the apples of her cheeks lift and go extra round.

He had no idea what her name was because she kept to herself, but for the past
three weeks, the woman had been coming into his bar every Tuesday and Thursday
night. She would sit in the same spot every night. Order the same thing every
night. And there she would stay from eight fifteen until ten fifteen. She would
drink nothing but wine or water, and over the course of those two hours, she
would entertain—though it looked more like interview—a different man every half
hour or so. Some men made it to nearly the one-hour mark, while others were
sent on their way before their drinks turned warm.

They would chat. She would smile but ultimately let him do the majority of the
talking. Then they would shake hands and the man would be on his way—never to
return again, or so it seemed.

Was
she doing her own variation of speed dating?

Was she interviewing them for jobs?

Was she a pimp—or a madam—and vetting potential gigolos?

All the guys who had sat down with her so far were not trolls. In fact, they were
all pretty decent-looking, so maybe she was interviewing them for an all-male
burlesque show.

Either
way, the woman who sat at the table by the window intrigued the crap out of
Mason. He thought about her all the time. She was like a song or tune stuck in
his head. He just couldn’t shake her—and he didn’t want to.

 He looked forward to Tuesday and Thursday
nights. He’d actually switched his shifts around with the general manager so
that he always worked Tuesday and Thursday nights. This mystery woman had put a
spell on him, and he just needed to know more.

What was her name?

Where did she work?

What was she doing every Tuesday and Thursday night, sitting in his bar with a
different man every thirty minutes?

Normally, he would have had no problem walking up to the woman, offering her his hand and asking what she was up to. He was, after all, the owner of Prime Sports Bar and
Grill and a very friendly, outgoing person, but for some reason, he got the impression
that she wanted to be left alone. She had a slight sense of almost embarrassment in her face as she met each man, shook his hand and sat down with him. As if she didn’t really want to be there but was doing so because she had
to. It only made the mystery behind her all the more alluring, all the more
exciting.

She was also crazy-cute, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of approaching her for more than just her drink order.

He glanced at his watch. It was closing in on ten o’clock. She would be leaving
soon.

Pulling the lever on the tap for the San Camanez Lager, he filled up a pint for an order that had just come in. He’d
gotten so good at filling up a draft that he didn’t really have to pay attention or watch what he was doing. He simply counted in his head, tilted the
glass just right, and ninety-nine percent of the time, he was dead on when he
dropped his gaze again and pulled the pint glass free.

Tonight was in that ninety-nine percent.

He plopped the beer stein down onto the bar so the waitress could come and grab it along with the rest of the drinks ordered. His eyes remained glued to the back
of the head of the man who was currently entertaining—or should he say failing
to entertain—Mason’s mystery woman.

Then the guy stood up.

Mason
glanced at his watch again. Oh, this dude was obviously a dud. He didn’t even make the full thirty minutes.

The dud grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped his arms into the
sleeves before nodding at Mason’s mystery woman and then making haste to leave
the bar, leaving her sitting there all alone, a bored, disappointed look on her face.

Was she going to get up and leave now?

She never stayed past ten fifteen, and it was now ten o’clock. Surely, she didn’t
have another “date” lined up.

He hoped she didn’t.