The Rules of Dating a Younger Man

“Hey. Could I talk to you a minute?”

The next afternoon, Brayden came into the upstairs bedroom as I was finishing taking measurements. I pressed the button to retract the measuring tape, plucked the pencil out from behind my ear, and lifted my notepad off the floor.

“Sure,” I told him. “I’m almost finished. Just let me write this number down so I don’t forget it.”

It was the first time the two of us had been alone together since I’d left the bar last night. When I’d arrived at the house this morning, the other team leader was already here. The three of us had talked for a while, and then Brayden had run out to pick up a long list of supplies. Twenty volunteers were scheduled to arrive at eight AM tomorrow morning, so each of us had a lot to do to prepare.

It was no surprise that Brayden had mistaken me for a man in our email exchanges, and I’d managed to avoid any conversation about last night until now. I wasn’t really upset with him for calling me a pain in the ass, especially not after I’d gone back to my room and looked through our messages back and forth. I had suggested a lot of changes, but it was only because I wanted the house to come out perfect. Plus, I’d been called particular and extremely detail-oriented by people before, including my business partner, which was just the polite way of saying pain in the ass. So it wasn’t news to me that I was picky. I was more upset with myself than Brayden—for allowing myself to feel tingly over a man. I hadn’t done that since my husband died three years ago, and guilt weighed on me, even though I knew I had nothing to be guilty about. Besides, Brayden was too young for me anyway.

I finished scribbling in my notepad and flipped it closed. “What’s up?”

Brayden raked a hand through his hair. “I want to apologize for last night.”

“It’s fine.” I shrugged. “I realize I can be difficult. But it’s because I want to do a good job.”

“I should never have spoken poorly about anyone who volunteers. You’re doing a good thing, and I was being a jackass. I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He extended a hand. “Friends?”

I nodded and shook. “Sure.”

I hated that the tingly feeling I’d had last night came rushing back as soon as I put my hand in his. I also couldn’t help but notice how big his hand was, and how warm it felt wrapped around mine. I pulled away as quickly as possible, a fraction of a second longer than coming off as hasty.

Brayden tilted his head toward the front door. “Do you want to take a ride to Home Depot with me? You can help me pick out the moldings.”

“Do you want my opinion, or are you asking because you realize I obviously like to give it?”

Brayden smiled. “I’m going to go with honest here. Both.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But I’m joining you because I saw the vanity you picked out when it was delivered this morning.”

“What’s wrong with the vanity?”

“Nothing. If you live in a dorm room.”

“It’s simple. I like simple.”

“It was the first one that came up on the website, wasn’t it?”

His lip quirked. “No.”

I pointed to the grin he was trying to contain. “You’re full of crap, Foster.”

I followed him downstairs and outside, and Brayden was quiet for the first few blocks of the drive.

“So what’s the Rejuvenation Center?” he asked out of the blue.

“How do you know that name?”

“It’s the website at the bottom of all your emails. TheRejuvenationCenter.com.”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s my business. I own a medi-spa. Well, half a medi-spa. I’m partners with my best friend, Wells.”

“A spa? Like massages and stuff?”

I shook my head. “A medi-spa is different than a relaxation spa. It’s short for medical spa. We do non-invasive cosmetic treatments like laser hair removal, Botox, lip filler, chemical peels, teeth whitening…that sort of thing.”

“Interesting. How did you get into that?”

“I’m an RN. Years ago, I worked for a plastic surgeon. A ton of people came in for consults, and then wound up not having the surgery they were considering because of cost, or after they found out how many hours they had to be under anesthesia. They’d often ask for referrals for alternative treatments that were less invasive. I figured, why refer them to someone when I could offer those treatments myself?”

“So you left to open your own business, and the doctor started referring people to you?”

I smiled. “He didn’t have a choice if he wanted dinner. The plastic surgeon was my husband.”

At the next light, we stopped. Through my peripheral vision, I could see Brayden checking out my face. I spoke looking straight ahead. “Are you trying to figure out if I’ve had work done because I was married to a plastic surgeon?”

“No,” he answered way too fast.

“Yes you are.”

“I was actually looking at your lips.”

“Because you think I have filler?”

“No, because they’re pink. But it doesn’t look like you have lipstick on. I noticed it last night too.”

“Do you always scrutinize people that closely when you first meet them?”

“Only the ones I can’t keep my eyes off of.”

I chuckled. “Smooth.”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth. I barely slept last night because I was so pissed at myself for the dumb stuff I said. I think you’re beautiful, and I really enjoyed talking to you.”

I’d slept crappy last night, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about a certain guy with a sexy, dimpled smile. But I wasn’t about to share that tidbit and encourage him.

Home Depot was a block ahead on the right. I pointed. “You have to pass the store. There’s a parking lot around back.”

“Do you live in the area?”

I shook my head. “No, I live in Connecticut. But I came here yesterday afternoon to look at other vanities. I was going to suggest a different one. That is, before I found out what you think of my suggestions.”

Brayden hung his head. “I’m never going to live down being a jerk, am I?”

“Probably not.”

Inside Home Depot, Brayden let me pick out the moldings. After that, we stopped by the paint department, and I showed him the difference between his shade of blue-gray and the slightly different one I’d picked out. Under a light box, it was easy to see that his had a green base and mine didn’t.

“There’s a lot of light in the living room,” I told him. “So your color is going to look more green than it appears on the little paint sample square, even though mine is only a shade different. The adjoining kitchen is going to have blue tile, so I thought the one I picked would coordinate better, yet still keep to the color palette you’d selected.”

“I can see that now.”

I squinted. “Can you? Or are you still kissing ass to make up for what you said last night?”

Brayden smiled. “No, I actually do notice the difference now. But I couldn’t on the paint website, so I thought you were just being difficult.”

“You see?” I plucked the sample square from his hands. “There’s a method to my madness after all.”

When we returned to the project house, Brayden pulled to the curb. “Do you have to go back inside, or are you done for the day?”

“I’m all done and ready for my volunteers tomorrow.”

“Would you want to get something to eat?”

I nibbled on my lip. “Are you asking as colleagues or as a date?”

“What if I say a date?”

“Considering you’re young enough to be my son, I’d have to decline.”

Brayden’s face scrunched up. “There’s no way in hell you’re old enough to be my mother. Not unless you’ve got the fountain of youth at that medi-spa of yours.”

“Maybe not physically, but I have a stepdaughter who is probably close to your age. And my guess is I have ten years on you, at least.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirty. My husband was seventeen years older than me.”

He shrugged. “So you didn’t care about an age gap when you married him. Why do you care now?”

I smiled. “It’s not a good idea, Brayden.”

“Alright, so we’ll have dinner as colleagues.”

I wanted to. Really, really wanted to. Which is why I knew I needed to say no. I sighed. “Thank you for the invite. But I think I’m going to have a quiet dinner alone.”

He frowned. “Fine. Where did you park? I’ll drop you at your car.”

I pointed to the car directly in front of his. “I’m right there. Have a good night, Brayden.”

He sulked. “You, too.”

I got out of the car and walked to mine. Just as I opened the door, Brayden rolled down his window.

“Hey, Alex?”

“Yes?”

“You might be a stepmom, but I don’t know any moms who look like you.”