The Last Single Garrett

“Okay,” they agreed, each already with a controller in hand and attention fixed on the demo game system.

The hopeful employee was still hovering beside him—no doubt working on commission. “Can I help you find something, sir?”

“I need a new phone,” he admitted, and handed over his dead—albeit squeaky clean—iPhone 7.

Tristyn returned with Hanna just as the tech guy—who had been attempting to work magic on Josh’s SIM card—gave him the bad news: none of the information could be salvaged. Which wasn’t really a surprise but a disappointment nonetheless.

“All of those names and numbers...gone?” Tristyn asked, feigning horror. “The cute little messages with kissy-face emojis from all of your girlfriends...gone? Your electronic little black book...gone?”

He slid her a look. “No worries—I have a real little black book for all of the important names and numbers.”

“I have no doubt,” she said.

Josh passed his credit card to the salesman. A few minutes later, he walked out of the store with his new phone, which indicated the time to be 5:26 p.m.

“I’m hungry, Uncle Josh,” Emily said.

“It’s not even five thirty,” he noted. “What time do you guys usually eat?”

“Five thirty,” Charlotte told him.

“I guess that means it’s dinnertime,” he acknowledged, mentally inventorying the contents of his refrigerator to determine if he had anything left to feed them. “What do you like to eat?”

“Pizza,” Emily announced.

“Chicken fingers,” Charlotte countered.

“S’ghetti,” Hanna chimed in.

“Well, at least we have a consensus,” he said drily.

“What’s a sen-sus?” Emily asked.

“It means agreement,” he told her.

Her little brow furrowed.

“He was being sarcastic,” her older sister explained.

“Oh,” Emily said. Then, “What’s scar-tas-tic?”

“Sarcastic.” Tristyn enunciated the word for her. “And it’s your uncle Josh’s way of trying to be funny, but he’s not.”

“S’ghetti,” Hanna said again.

“You had pasta for lunch,” Josh reminded her.

“Not s’ghetti,” she argued.

“What’s your vote, Tristyn?”

A peek at her watch made her grimace. “Actually, I—” she glanced at the girls’ hopeful expressions “—I think going out to eat would allow everyone to choose what they wanted.”

“And it would give my kitchen a reprieve,” he agreed.

“I just need to make a quick call first,” Tristyn said.

He offered his new phone.

“I’ve got my own,” she reminded him, tapping the screen as she stepped away.

“Can we go eat now?” Emily implored. “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” Charlotte said.

“As soon as Tristyn’s finished with her phone call, we’ll go.” He didn’t pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping on her call, and though he heard only bits and pieces of one side of the conversation, it was enough pieces to put together and figure out she was canceling plans for dinner with someone else.

“You had a date,” he said, when she’d disconnected the call.

She nodded.

“You didn’t have to cancel,” he told her, though he was secretly pleased that she’d done so. And grateful that she would be sticking around to help him out with the girls for a little while longer.

“Well, my car’s still at your place, and by the time we drove back there and then I drove home to change, I would have been late, anyway.”

“I’m sure your date wouldn’t mind waiting...especially if you promised to make it up to him later.”

“So what’s the plan for dinner?” she asked, deliberately ignoring his comment.

The question was answered with renewed calls for “pizza,” “chicken fingers” and “s’ghetti.”

“All of those are on the menu at Valentino’s,” Tristyn pointed out.

“But what do you want to eat?” he asked her, as he led the girls back to his truck.

“Are you buying?”

“It seems the least I can do to thank you for your help today,” he told her.

“Then I want steak,” she decided. “A nice thick juicy steak.”

He buckled Hanna into her booster seat, then stepped back so that Emily could climb into hers while Tristyn opened the door on the other side for Charlotte. “From Valentino’s?”

“No, from The Grille. So I’ll have the seven-layer lasagna tonight and take an IOU for the steak.”

He lifted a brow. “You’re trying to wrangle a date, aren’t you?”

“Ha!”