Valentine's with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 7)

by Whitley Cox

  “And I’m the photographer,” Mitch said. “Hate them both, but they booked the ultimate deluxe package, and I can’t say no to ten grand. Tori is going to be my second photographer, as she’s got a good eye and has been apprenticing with me when she has time.”

  Mark, Tori’s less-than-better half, simply nodded. “She says they’re enormous tools.”

  “Pretentious as fuck. Super-demanding,” Mitch confirmed. “And Paige is catering it. Comes home most nights and nearly kills a bottle of wine, they’re stressing her out so much. The bride calls practically every day to make some kind of a change or request. Again, if it wasn’t for the hefty price tag, and the fact that these two chumps are essentially paying for our new master bathroom, we’d have both told them to fuck off a long time ago.”

  “Zara’s doing the flowers,” Emmett chimed in. “She’s a third-generation florist, and not much rattles her or pisses her off, but this bride you guys are talking about has made her want to pull her hair out. Impossible demands for a winter wedding. She wants tulips brought in from Holland. Plumeria brought in from Hawaii.”

  “So a bunch of you guys are going to be at the wedding, then?” Mason asked, relieved that he would know people there, have some allies.

  Liam, Atlas, Zak and Mitch all nodded.

  Mason tipped back his beer and guzzled. “Well, that’s a relief.” He turned to Adam. “Lowenna’s apparently booked us for dance lessons with Vi.”

  Adam lifted his chin. “I think I remember Vi mentioning that. You want me there too?”

  “Yeah.” Mason needed to show Lowenna what a real family looked like, what real support and friendship looked like. Perhaps he could convince her that she didn’t even need to go to the wedding and they could skip it altogether. Go grab dinner and a movie on Valentine’s Day instead.

  And fuck, it was her birthday too. She definitely didn’t deserve to be faking it at her sister’s wedding on her birthday. He still didn’t understand why Liam and Atlas were going to the wedding if they hated the guy.

  “Is she doing chocolate for the wedding?” Scott asked, his eyes gleaming. Mason worried the guy might also start to drool.

  Mason nodded. “Yeah. They want her to do some big, ostentatious chocolate feature piece for the center of the dessert table, as well as all the guest favors. Like she has time for that during Valentine’s season. And they want her to do it for free as their wedding gift.”

  “Fuck that shit.”

  “Motherfuckers.”

  “Tell them to go fuck themselves.”

  “Brody is such a twat.”

  Sentiments akin to Mason’s bounced around the table.

  “So why are you two going if you hate the guy so much?” he asked, focusing on Liam and Atlas.

  Liam raised his bet, then took a sip of his drink. “Because we found out Paige is catering and that it’s an open bar.” He exchanged looks with Atlas. “Gonna drink that motherfucker straight into the poorhouse, right?”

  All Atlas did was raise his dark blond eyebrows.

  “So do we finally get to meet the elusive Richelle, then?” Zak asked, tipping his beer back and guzzling down half of it. “About time. You two have been together for a while now.”

  Liam made a noise in his throat. “No, she’s not my date. And we’re not together. It’s a sexual arrangement and nothing more.” He placed his hand over top of Atlas’s hand, earning a glare from the tall, quiet, gray-eyed man. “Atlas has agreed to be my plus one. I’m a little worried he may expect me to put out on the first date though.” He batted his lashes. “I’m not that kind of date. I need to be wooed and courted before I give up the goods. I’d also like a corsage. White roses, please.”

  Atlas pulled his hand free from Liam’s. “You’re a tool.”

  “A tool who you can’t live without,” Liam countered.

  Atlas simply rolled his eyes. “Only reason I’m going with this fucker is because his nanny agreed to watch Aria and Cecily for me too. My nanny booked the night off weeks ago.”

  “How’s that going, by the way?” Mason asked. Poor Atlas. The guy lost his wife just over a year ago, leaving him to raise their young daughter alone. He’d also recently gained custody of his cousin’s infant daughter. Not to mention the man was also a senior partner at Liam’s law firm.

  And here Mason thought his life trying to juggle the bar and Willow was a struggle.

  Atlas shrugged. “Taking it one day at a time.”

  Liam’s face went from teasing to serious, and he rested his hand on Atlas’s shoulder this time. “That’s all you can do. Cecily is really fortunate to have you.”

  Atlas grunted. “We gonna play poker or what?”

  Grunts and grumbles around the table had them all tossing poker chips into the center, taking long swigs of their drinks or scratching crotches beneath the table. Manly shit.

  Mason fought the urge to roll his eyes.

  Even though, yes, they all played poker, drank and occasionally—when doctors Mark and Emmett weren’t around—smoked cigars, Saturday night at Liam’s was more than that. So much more.

  This was their safe space to gripe and commiserate, lend support and offer advice. This was their dad group, their extended family, their village. And even though Mason had a great village for Willow with his parents and Katya and Delia as Willow’s aunts, it was nice to know he had more people out there who had his back as well. Particularly men who understood what it was like to raise a child alone—whether by choice or not. And enough of the guys had daughters too that Mason was already overrun with hand-me-down clothes for Willow until she was at least five, not to mention sage advice.

  He was so thankful that Mitch had welcomed him into the fold shortly after Willow was born. He knew becoming a single father was going to be tough, but he had no idea how isolating it could be.

  His heart went out to other single dads—other single parents—who didn’t have a village or any kind of family or community support. How did they do it? How did they get anything done? How did they manage to work all day and then come home and then put in another solid eight hours or more?

  Mason had a housekeeper. He had his parents. He had the single dads. He had a village, and without that village, he knew he’d be lost.

  “You should introduce Lowenna to the women,” Mark suggested, standing up and heading over to Liam’s leather-top bar in the corner. “Aurora will be at the wedding. Tori too. That way she has at least a couple of friendly faces in her corner.”

  That wasn’t a half bad idea.

  Might give him more of an excuse to get to know her as well. Spend some time with Lowenna outside of dance lessons.

  “Tori’s started planning Vi’s baby shower. Plans to have it at The Rage Room,” Mark went on. “Man, Luna must be just raking in the dough. Seems like every time we pass the place, it’s packed to the rafters with people taking baseball bats and crowbars to printers and toasters.”

  Aaron, who had remained quiet until now, snorted. “I’ve got one more on the punch card and then the next one is free.”

  Emmett’s interest piqued. “Hey, me too.”

  Mason scrubbed his hand down his short-cropped beard. “It’s going to be hard to be civil to these motherfuckers at their own wedding. Knowing what they’ve done to her, to his own wife … to her own sister. And all when she was battling cancer.”

  Eyebrows lifted and heads nodded.

  “Tell me about it, man,” Liam said. “Brody has only been with the firm for a few years, so we’ve only known him to be with Doneen, but they’re both a couple of real snobs. Knew that from the moment I met the guy. Fancy car, fancy watch, fancy clothes. Nose in the air, stick up his ass. And the way he treats the associates, fuck, we’re always on him to be nicer. He thinks they’re his slaves. He made Aurora run out and grab his fucking dry cleaning.”

  Zak sat up straighter. “He what?”

  Liam nodded. “Don’t worry, Dina put a stop to that right quick.”

 
; “You bet she fucking did,” Aaron said tightly. Dina was his sister and had passed away at the end of the summer. Aaron was now raising Dina’s infant daughter as his own.

  “Yeah, your sister even implemented a new hiring protocol after we realized what a total ass-wipe Brody is. We call the person back for a second interview and bring in one of the legal assistants, paralegals or receptionists. It’s important that the new potential hire treats the support staff like they would treat any other colleague. If support staff are not shown respect by the potential new hire, then they’re not hired. We can’t have the glue that keeps our firm running smoothly feeling like they’re not valued,” Atlas said. Mason wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man string that many words together at once. “It’s working out well.”

  “Brody is a typical yuppie,” Liam went on. “He wants you to think he’s loaded. Though I sign his fucking paychecks, so unless she’s independently wealthy in her own right, they spend more than they make.”

  “This wedding is proof of that,” Mitch added. “My services alone are costing them ten grand. Paige’s catering is another ten, as she’s also doing the cake, and there are going to be like two hundred guests or something ridiculous like that.”

  A bunch of the guys let out low whistles and averted their eyes.

  “Fuck, I’m pretty sure my wedding to Cidrah cost us twenty-five hundred bucks total,” Liam said, shaking his head. “We just weren’t into the pomp and circumstance. A few friends, family and a barbecue in the backyard. That’s all you really need. A fancy wedding doesn’t necessarily guarantee a happy marriage.”

  “Not always does a cheapo one either, bro,” Scott retorted. “You’re proof of that.”

  Liam’s face was that of resignation. “Touché, my good man.”

  “I don’t think the bride and groom are paying for this thing, though,” Mason cut in. “Not from what Lowenna has said. The bride’s parents are selling their organs on the black market to pay for their daughter’s outrageous demands.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Aaron murmured. “Need to instill in Sophie now that a big wedding is not a necessity. Add in inflation, and if she doesn’t get married for another twenty-eight or so years, I’ll be in the poorhouse simply from throwing a goddamn party.”

  “Dude, she’s like six months old or whatever,” Scott replied, giving Aaron a baffled expression.

  “No, I agree,” Mason said, nodding. “I’ll start whispering that same shit to Willow tonight. Can’t hurt. I’m not broke, but I’d rather have something left over for retirement, and not spend my life’s savings on a one-day party.”

  All the guys chuckled and agreed as they tipped up beer and shoveled in potato chips.

  “Just smile, wish them all the best, crush the shit out of Brody’s limp-ass handshake and then suck face with Lowenna on the dance floor all night,” Zak offered. “I’ll be there too, so we can party it up. Get our ladies out on the dance floor, spin them around.” His grin was playful. “Should we choreograph a dance number? Talk to Vi?”

  Every single one of them around the table said no at the exact same time.

  Zak’s smile faded. “You all suck.”

  “Wait a minute.” Adam tapped his chin, then reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. He hit dial and put it to his ear. A moment later they all heard a woman’s voice say hello. “Hey, babe. Quick question, what are the names of the couple who you are choreographing a big dance number for them for their wedding?”

  No fucking way.

  Really?

  With bated breath, they all waited.

  Adam’s face confirmed it. “Thanks, babe. See you in a bit. Love you.” He hung up his phone and stowed it once again in his pocket. “Yep. It’s the future Mr. and Mrs. Pretentious themselves.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Scott shook his head, then finished his beer before he stood up to head to the kitchen for another.

  Adam nodded. “Yep. Just the two of them, not the whole bridal party. But they’ve been working with Vi for weeks now to perfect their first dance. It’s a mash-up with various songs, both fast and slow, lots of hip-hop. She says they’re terrible dancers.” He turned to face Mason. “So you’ve got it in the bag if you can manage to keep from stepping on your date’s feet.”

  Well, that might be a problem right there.

  There was a reason he never hit the club scene anymore, and it wasn’t just because he was on the upper end of his thirties and finding gray whiskers in his beard … and other places. It was because he didn’t know how to dance to save his life.

  Mason cracked his neck side to side, glanced one more time at the cards in his hand and tossed them to the table. “I fold,” he said with a grunt, standing up and heading to the kitchen to grab another beer.

  “It’ll be fine,” Liam called to him from the table. “We’ll all just get shit-faced and dance. Once you’re drunk enough, you don’t care if you’re a terrible dancer or not.”

  “You don’t care if you’re a terrible dancer or not,” Scott corrected. “But some of us do.”

  Mason returned with his beer and sat back down at the table. All the men’s eyes followed him.

  “There’s something more you’re not telling us, isn’t there?” Mitch said, tossing his cards into the center of the table as well. “What’s wrong?”

  Mason’s fingers fidgeted on his beer bottle, his eyes glued to the kraken on the label. When he finally lifted his gaze, all the men were staring at him, waiting.

  “Well?” Liam probed. “Don’t tell us you’ve already proposed to this woman or something stupid like that? I tell you this is getting a bit ridiculous with you guys and your obsession with finding love—”

  “Shut it,” Atlas said, or more like growled. “Let the man speak. We’re in no mood to listen to your anti-love rhetoric for the millionth time. We get it. You, one of the Dixon Dickheads are a born-again bachelor.” He stifled a yawn. “But we’re tired of constantly hearing about it.”

  Liam grunted. Scott shuffled awkwardly in his chair, obviously put out that he was being lumped in with his brother as a Dixon Dickhead.

  Most of the guys around the table snickered or guffawed. Some of them had the decency to hide their grins in their drink glasses or their beer bottles.

  Mason shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just, I agreed to taking dance lessons, and I will, but I’m an absolutely terrible dancer. When you mentioned stepping on feet, I had this flashback to my sophomore year of college. I’m pretty sure I broke a couple of girls’ toes on the dance floor of the nightclub. I’m a big guy, and I was born with two left feet.”

  Looks of pity stared back at him.

  Fuck, he hated pity.

  No wonder Lowenna had jumped down his throat when she thought the only reason he was offering to be her date was because he felt bad for her. That could not have been further from the truth.

  Adam slapped him on the back. “Vi and I will sort you two out. She’s a pro, and I’ve never danced better since being with her. We’ll have you floating on air in no time.”

  Mason groaned. If only it were as easy as saying it out loud.

  “Otherwise, we’ll get you right plastered and you won’t care if you look like a fool,” Liam added, holding his drink up in a salute.

  Mason groaned again. Yeah, he’d look like a fool all right, and he’d probably step on everyone’s feet, break a few toes, and lose the girl in the process too.

  4

  Lowenna tucked herself tighter beneath the eaves of the strip mall as she made her way along all the storefronts toward the dance studio. Benson School of Dance was just a few yards away, so she didn’t feel the need to deploy her umbrella, even though it was lightly raining.

  With nerves in her limbs, she walked briskly to the front door and heaved it open, causing it to chime above her head.

  “Come on in,” a woman’s voice called out from the studio. She’d only met Violet Benson once, but she could tell th
at was her voice.

  “Shoes on or off?” Lowenna asked.

  “Off for now,” Violet replied. “Socks too.”

  Nodding, Lowenna shed her coat and sat down on one of the numerous benches. She unzipped her black leather knee-high boots, then removed her socks, stowing them beneath the bench.

  “Ready?” Her head was down so she didn’t see him approach, and the sound of his deep voice made her nearly jump out of her own skin.

  She lifted her head to find Mason cradling a baby in a hippo-covered sleeper against his chest. Her one remaining ovary was threatening to explode.

  “Is this Willow?” she asked, standing up and resisting the urge to extend her arms out and take the baby.

  His smile was small but serene as he planted a kiss to the top of the baby’s head. “Yes.” He turned slightly so she could see her little face. “Willow, this is Lowenna. She’s paying daddy to be her date.”

  Lowenna rolled her eyes and swatted him on the arm. “Thanks for that.”

  He was all grins. “Vi really wanted to see her, so I came by a bit early. She just had a bottle and is almost out. Vi has a bassinet in her office I can put Willow down in, so once she’s out, we can start the dance lessons.” He bounced the sleepy-eyed little baby in his arms, patting her bottom and humming a tune Lowenna didn’t recognize. He looked so comfortable in his role as dad, so in his happy place.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip and tentatively reached a hand out to rest on Willow’s back. It was warm, and she could feel every breath.

  “You wanna hold her quick?” he asked, his dark blue eyes squinting just slightly, causing the corners to crinkle. An amused smirk lifted one corner of his very talented lips—a talent she could attest to. “She’s almost out, and now that we’re on a schedule, she’s pretty easygoing. Those first few months were a bit hairy.”

  She bit down harder on her lip. “Can I?”

  He nodded, shifting Willow out of his arms and slowly passing her over to Lowenna. She cradled the baby against her chest just as Mason had and felt Willow snuggle right into the crook of her neck.