The Single Dad Arrangement

by Wylder, Penny

  “But Daddy, I want to see Princess Tilly,” she protests as I start to climb the stairs.

  Tilly trails after us. “How about this?” she says, and when I glance back over my shoulder, she catches my eye. “How about I read you a bedtime story. Then will you be ready to go to sleep?”

  I nod, just barely, and I can’t help but flash her a grateful smile, too. I don’t miss how great she is with Lina. Or how in love with her Lina already seems to be.

  I know the feeling, kid, I think as we ascend the stairs to Lina’s room. I tuck her under the covers, and then Tilly and I take up spots on either side of her. I don’t say anything. I just watch over the top of Lina’s head as Tilly reads from one of Lina’s favorite picture books. She reads each page with dramatic animation, and by the end of the reading, Lina has her head tucked against Tilly’s arm, and her breathing is a steady, slow rhythm.

  Together, we tuck her under the covers, and I plant a quick kiss on her forehead, before we back out of the room, doing our best to remain silent. In the hallway, we pause, face-to-face, and I reach up to cup Tilly’s cheek. “Sorry about that,” I whisper.

  She laughs under her breath, shaking her head. “Are you kidding? She’s the cutest.”

  But as I grasp her hand and tug her down the hall after me, toward my bedroom, I can’t help but thinking, Tilly is pretty damn adorable herself…

  9

  Tilly

  I sit in front of my computer staring at the blank screen. No matter how hard I try, the words just won’t come today.

  I have the outline for the story all drafted out. I even doodled example panels, picturing how I want the whole thing to look, laying it out, in the hopes that I find an artist to help me replicate it one day. To make the image in my head into a reality.

  But right now, I’ve got nothing. Not even an opening line. I rest my head on my forearms for a moment to give my eyes a break from the screen, and try to think.

  It’s useless. Every time I try and concentrate on my work, my mind keeps circling back to Killian.

  It’s been a couple of weeks since I first met him. After that first date, where he fucked me senseless in the restroom of one of the nicest—and most expensive—restaurants in the city, I’ve seen him almost every day since. His ex had Lina for the first weekend after we met, so we wound up spending it together. We had planned to go to the movies, then hit up a book festival in town. Instead, we spent the entire weekend in bed. We barely even left his bedroom to eat—and when we did, we wound up fucking in his kitchen, then ordering takeout because neither of us could stop snacking on one another long enough to actually cook.

  The rest of the next week, when Lina was around and he could find a sitter, we went on dates around town. He picked me up after most of my gigs. One night we went to a drive-in movie. Another night we just went home to his, and even though he’d warned me he wasn’t sure about us spending too much time together as a threesome—something I could totally understand, since this is so new—it felt completely normal. Lina ran up to greet me with a squeal and a hug, and the three of us spent the evening playing board games and letting Lina watch her favorite animated movie until way too late for a school night.

  Then we spent the rest of that school night out in the pool house, where we had enough privacy that Killian could make me scream in pleasure all he wanted, without fear of waking up his daughter.

  And as good as the sex is—because damn, not only does that man have a thick cock, but he knows how to use both it and his tongue to best advantage—that’s not even what I like most about him. The moments I like best are when we curl up together afterward and chat about everything and nothing at all. We share our hopes for the future—his hopes of cutting back his hours at work so he can spend more time with Lina. My hopes of publication. His dreams about moving to a neighborhood with better schools for Lina. My daydreams about owning a big house in the suburbs, white picket fence, a yard and all. I even joke about getting a dog, and he tells me he’s always wanted a German shepherd. He didn’t even know that was my favorite breed.

  And every morning when I leave to go to work, he makes sure to send me off with a parting text, just a little kissy face or a thinking of you or any one of a million short and sweet texts that let me know he’s still got me on his mind. Which is reassuring, because otherwise I’d have to start worrying about how often he appears in mine.

  Like right now. I sigh and rest my forehead on the desk, willing myself to stop getting so distracted. I carved out the whole afternoon to get some real writing done, and I’d been looking forward to settling down and being productive. But instead, I’m daydreaming.

  I pull out my old drafts of the story I’m working on and read through them to try and jog my memory of the scene I wanted to work on today, the imagery I wanted to sort through.

  When that doesn’t help, I stand and pace around the kitchen, and try not to think about how fast I leap for my phone the moment it dings. Killian, I think, unbidden, unable to help myself.

  But it’s Jayne’s name on my screen. Can you let me up?

  I leave my phone on the table and head down to unlock the front door for her. Soon enough, I see why I needed to—her arms are laden with grocery bags and dry cleaning. The latter is a constant necessity when you’re in the princess business. She explodes through the doorway in a cloud of plastic and heads straight for the staircase.

  “Thank you,” she shouts over her shoulder, and I grin, shaking my head a little as I shut and lock the door behind her.

  “What’d you buy me?” I call to her jokingly as I trail her up the stairs.

  “Oven-bake pizza, if you’re up for having a girls’ night in for once,” she calls back, smirking, right before she hauls her load through the doorway of our apartment. I follow, and watch her unload the groceries onto the counter. She reaches into one of the brown bags and pulls out a bottle of red wine. “Plus, I got some refreshments. You in?”

  Unable to help myself, I spare a glance at my phone. It’s been quiet all day—Killian already told me he had a parent teacher meeting after work at Lina’s school today, and he’d planned on taking her out for some Daddy/Daughter time afterward. But a tiny part of me can’t help wishing he’ll text me soon, asking me to swing by after she’s in bed for the night.

  I shove that impulse down. “Sure,” I say, with an overly bright smile. “I’m free tonight.”

  When I look back at her, Jayne is watching me with a smug, far too knowing look. “So how’s it going?” she says, as she turns away to begin unloading her groceries.

  “Pretty slow, actually,” I reply. “I gave myself all evening to write, and instead I’ve just sat here staring at my screen.”

  “Does that slow going have anything to do with how your other new favorite after-work hobby is doing?” she asks, and I can hear how carefully lighthearted she’s keeping her voice, how casual she wants to make this sound.

  I laugh. “Go on, Jayne, ask me what you really want to.”

  “What I really want are details!” she replies, whirling back to face me, her hands flung wide. “You’ve been spending so much time with this guy, I practically never see you. Not for long enough to find out all the juicy tidbits, anyway.” She leans a hip against the counter and levels her make-me-tell-all stare. “Is it getting serious? Is he nice to you? I assume the sex is great, but how’s the sex? And didn’t you say he has a daughter, how does—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hands in surrender, still laughing. “One at a time, girl.” I join her at the counter and lean on one elbow. “To answer those in no particular order, he’s the sweetest, most attentive guy I’ve ever dated. The sex is phenomenal. His daughter loves me, and I adore her, too. And…” I breathe out a long sigh. “Yeah, I dunno, I guess it might be getting serious. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but…”

  “But you’re already attached at the hip like some kind of old married couple?” Jayne arches a knowing brow. “And you already hang
out with his kid on the regular, which can’t be something he does with any old hookup?”

  I swallow hard, but I nod, too. “Basically.”

  “Well.” Jayne sidles around the counter. I brace myself, not sure what to expect. But she just wraps her arms around me and pulls me against her in a crushing hug. “I’m so happy for you!” she squeals, right by my ear, and I laugh harder, and try to squirm out of her grip. “It’s about damn time a hot man noticed how fucking perfect my bestie is,” Jayne adds when I finally manage to pull away, and we both exchange grins.

  “You’re biased,” I point out. “And anyway, there’s still the whole…” I gesture vaguely toward her stack of dry cleaning, through which we can both see a hint of her go-to bright blue tulle skirts pooling.

  Jayne arches a brow. “The whole, you met him while on the job you can’t afford to lose, factoid?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “If it had just been a one-time thing, or even a few-times thing, I doubt it would’ve been a big deal. Nobody would’ve ever found out. But now…”

  “Now, if you start seeing him all the time, word will get around, people will start mentioning his name around you, Tricia never misses a single detail …” Jayne elaborates for me.

  “Exactly.” I bite my lower lip. “Do you think I should tell her?”

  Jayne rests a hand on her hip and tilts her head, studying me. “It’s not like this is some kind of hedge fund office or anything. He’s a client, yes, but he’s a once-a-year client at most, since it’s not like our birthday princesses tend to throw parties dozens of times a year. Besides,” Jayne points past me at my computer, “A year from now, you’ll be a bestselling children’s book author, and you won’t need this job anymore anyway. So the next time Killian throws a birthday for his little girl, he can hire a new princess, and then there’s no harm, no foul.”

  “You’re right. I just know how Tricia—Ms. Connery, I mean—is about propriety. I mean, do you remember the on-boarding process she put us through?” A three-day bootcamp, complete with PowerPoint slideshows about appropriate and inappropriate behavior on the job. The latter was a far, far longer list. Most of it was about working with children, of course, which made total sense to me at the time. But now I’m thinking back, trying to remember whether fraternization with adult clients was anywhere on our lists.

  “How could I possibly forget?” Jayne asks me with a sardonic smile. “But look, Tricia is an adult. She’s a business owner, a professional, but she’s also a human. She’ll understand that sometimes you just meet the right person at the wrong or weird time. I doubt it’ll even be a blip on her radar, to be honest.”

  My sigh deepens. “You think?”

  Jayne waves a hand. “I’m positive. Hell, I went out for drinks with her last week, and that woman has way too much on her plate to be worrying about one employee’s love life.”

  Now I tilt my head, frowning. “What do you mean, what’s on her plate? Is the business okay?”

  “The business is doing great.” Jayne shrugs one shoulder. “Sounds like that’s just about the only thing that is, for her, though. It’s all personal stuff, I shouldn’t really talk about it behind her back…”

  “No, of course not.” I shake my head. “That sucks though, I didn’t realize she was having a tough time. She always seems so together, so on top of it all at work.”

  Jayne shrugs one shoulder. “Guess it just goes to show you never really know what’s going on inside a person’s head, huh?”

  I think about Killian. About everything he’s gone through, which he’s only barely touched on with me—his divorce was really hard on him, I can tell, but he doesn’t like to talk about it, which I get. I wouldn’t want to rehash old wounds with my new partner, either. But it does have me wondering what exactly he went through, and how fresh his wounds really are. Could I just be a fling for him, a rebound? It doesn’t feel like it to me, but how would you know…?

  I shake myself back to the present. “Yeah, true. You’re right,” I say again, squaring my shoulders. “I’ll tell Ms. Connery about it. Explain what happened.”

  “Good.” Jayne grins at me. “But not tonight. Tonight, we’re renting terrible chick flicks and dishing more about boys. Deal?”

  I grin back, and reach for the bottle of wine. “Deal.”

  * * *

  The next day, nursing a faint hangover from splitting two bottles of red with Jayne, instead of the single bottle we promised we’d stick to, I roll over in bed to call my boss. I’m seeing a client later for a consultation about their party, to plan what all they’ll need next week. But otherwise my morning is free, and I know Ms. Connery doesn’t have any other important meetings today—since she insists on keeping her calendar open for anyone to view, to make scheduling easier—so it’s the perfect time for my awkward conversation.

  Before I reach her number, though, I spy the usual morning text from Killian.

  A smile touches my lips as I click into our conversation. Morning, sunshine, he wrote a couple of hours ago. He always wakes up ridiculously early to get to work before anyone else starts. That way, he explained to me once, he can head home as soon as possible in the afternoon to maximize his time with Lina.

  It’s sweet, really, how much his world revolves around her. He’s a fantastic father. And he’s turning out to be just as good of a boyfriend.

  About an hour after my first text is another message. Dreamt about you last night. Even when you aren’t in the bed next to me, you still manage to drive me wild.

  My heart beats a little faster, reading that. You’ll have to share details, I reply, a grin already on my mouth. I’m feeling jealous. I need to know if dream me is better in bed than I am.

  I hit send and then I take a deep breath and brace myself for one of the more awkward phone calls I’ve ever had to make. The other end rings a couple times before it picks up, and I can hear the usual bustle of the office in the background—the distant whir of construction, as Tricia works to expand the building we’re in to include party space as well, and nearer at hand, the clatter of an office door.

  “Talk to me, Tilly,” comes my boss’s eminently practical tone on the other end. She never wastes much time with small talk.

  “Yeah, hi, I, um…” I clear my throat, thinking frantically. How do I even begin this conversation?

  “Speak fast or I’m cutting you off,” Tricia says. “I have a call with the contractors in five minutes.”

  I clear my throat again, harder. “I’m seeing someone.”

  There’s a short, fraught pause on the other end of the line. “Congratulations,” she replies after a moment, in a dry tone that tells me she’s wondering why on earth I’m sharing.

  I lever myself upright in bed, hoping the sitting position will encourage more blood flow to my brain and help me word this better. “I mean, someone I met on the job. One of our clients. It’s not—I mean, I didn’t mean for it to anywhere, but it just sort of happened, he asked me out and I thought it was nothing, but it’s turning into something, and I… I just wanted to tell you, so you wouldn’t be blindsided by it, in the future, if it ever came up.” I shut my eyes, internally cursing myself. Why did I agree to do this? Why did I even feel it was necessary?

  But in my mind’s eye, all I can see is that PowerPoint presentation she made us sit through. Slide after slide of instructions on proper workplace behavior.

  I’m pretty sure hitting on a client, much less accepting his invitation to sneak back into his house late the night we met and fucking him, would be high up on the No No list.

  “I see,” Tricia replies, after far, far too long a pause, this time. “And who might this client be?”

  “Killian Flore,” I answer, right away. “He hired us to do a last-minute party, not sure if you remember, it was a few weeks ago, for his daughter—”

  “I remember. Older man. Divorced.”

  I clear my throat. Handsome. Silver fox. Hot as hell steel gray stare. “That’s him,” I say
aloud, willing the errant memories of Killian bending over me, naked, his gray eyes fixed on mine as my hands roam over his sculpted chest.

  “Is it serious?” she asks, after another hesitation.

  I suck in a deep breath. “Yes. I mean. I think so. It’s starting to be.”

  “I see. And does… Mr. Flore, feel the same way?” I notice the way she pauses before she says his name, like she’s checking her files.

  “He does,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. He’s certainly acting like it’s getting serious, anyway. Introducing me to his daughter, inviting me over all the time, taking me on dates to restaurants I could never in a million years afford.

  And then fucking me in the restroom of one of those restaurants, while half the waitstaff probably listened to me come, and neither of us even cared.

  Is this really serious to him, or am I just his young, hot, sexy fling? It doesn’t feel like that when he looks at me. He gazes at me like I’m the only person in the world, like he’d do anything for me. But I haven’t exactly asked him to define us yet—it’s felt too soon, too early to put labels and definitions to all of this. Maybe I should, though…

  Then I tear my mind back into focus, because Ms. Connery is talking. “Well, thank you for your honesty, Tilly.”

  I breathe out sharply, not realizing how much tension I’d been holding in until she said that. “Of course, Ms. Connery,” I reply. “Anytime.” Then I cringe inwardly. “I mean. Not that I plan on doing this kind of thing often. Or ever again. It just sort of happened, but—well. Yeah.” I cough. “I’m glad we talked.”

  “So am I, Tilly.” I can’t be sure over the phone, but she does sound honestly pleased. Maybe like she’s even smiling right now. “I’ll talk to you again soon, okay?” she says, and I find myself nodding even though it’s a phone call.

  “Okay. Thanks for understanding.”