“Listen, I am the last person to talk to about relationships because mine never work out.” I huff a laugh because Celeste isn’t wrong. Any advice she gives I usually take with a grain of salt for that reason. “But maybe you need to tell him you’re sorry you accidentally friend-zoned him. That puts the ball back in his court, and it’ll get clearer.”
“That is—” I begin but am cut off by the obnoxious sound of her timer, the one she keeps because it’s apparently the only noise that will actually wake her up.
Celeste’s hands begin flying around her keyboard and mouse as she prepares for what she would argue is the fight of her life.
“Listen, I want to chat more, but if I don’t get on this—”
“I know, I know,” I say dismissively. “Go get your tickets.”
She smiles and blows out a deep breath, probably in preparation for all the physical exertion her fingers are about to endure. “Thanks. Love ya. Oh and Carrie?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s a squirrel sticking out of your shirt.”
The screen goes blank just as I look down. Sure enough, Sven has maneuvered his way to the collar of my shirt. Even more exciting, though, he’s looking around.
Gasping, I reach down and pull him all the way free, tsking my tongue at him in my best mama squirrel imitation. “Look at you, big boy. One of your eyes is finally open. Hi there. There’s lots to see in this big wide world.”
He keeps blinking and looking around, likely in a bit of shock from all the light and colors.
“Your daddy is going to be so happy to see this.”
And then I pause and think about what I just said.
I have potentially friend-zoned the father of my baby squirrel.
My life has hit a new level of ridiculousness.
Chapter 19
Matthew
In the weeks since I donned that awful teal monstrosity some call an Elsa dress, my daily routine has changed a little. Now, if Olaf uses his “there’s a critter on the ground” bark, I do a perimeter search of the yard. Okay, I do that anyway because while he told me about Sven, our dog isn’t exactly a reliable source for other potential orphaned animals.
The second addition to my day is talking to my new best friend. My relationship with Carrie has evolved from virtual strangers with mutual friends to her easily becoming one of my favorite people. Sure, she likes to give me a hard time and ask me random questions about Australia and international travel in general, but she also calls me on my crap and reminds me to stop and enjoy life.
Her zest for knowledge reminds me of a younger me. The guy I was before dropping to the ground for twenty quick pushups to get my muscles ready for a photo shoot so I can spoil my daughter and prepare for her future. Yes, twenty pushups. It’s enough to engage my muscles but not really break a sweat.
This morning after I dropped Sprite off at school I had an overwhelming desire to drive to the shelter. Without a valid excuse, I didn’t do it. Sure, I could have picked up some donuts or maybe her favorite chai tea on the way. Friends buy friends breakfast, right? It’s a sign you are a good friend and care about the person. Maybe if I use the word “friend” enough, I’ll start seeing her more that way than what my heart—and body—actually do.
I used to think I had walls up, that I was afraid of putting myself out there and seriously dating. Hesitating to bring someone into our lives. Now, I see that I simply hadn’t met someone I wanted to incorporate into our little family. A person I could not only trust with my daughter and the aspects of my life, both modeling and single dad, but who respected Delilah and her place in our lives. Becoming friends with Carrie has been seamless, but the undeniable attraction I have, we have, has me wishing for more with her. She fits. She respects who we are, how our family isn’t necessarily traditional but it works.
Full disclosure, her declaration of celibacy did cause a little pause. It wasn’t something I’ve encountered before, but it is also something I respect. And, truthfully, understand. Her desire to have a solid relationship first made me rethink my own boundaries, and it’s something that pops in my head often. Daily. Sometimes hourly.
Physical intimacy is important, but it isn’t a deal breaker. Trust, honesty, and a willingness to put in the work matters more. I know that, now that I have a daughter. One day, Calypso will be dating and the idea of her not being respected enough to build a foundation before giving up the most precious part of her makes me sick. And leads to some random online searches for how to keep your daughter from dating until she’s thirty. Apparently, other than a one-way ticket to Mars it’s unlikely I will be successful.
“Okay, Matthew, I think the electrician will only be another twenty minutes or so. You still doing okay?”
I turn my attention to Shane, the photographer. I’ve been here for hours, and we have managed two pictures. The power in this building keeps going out and we haven’t been successfully able to accomplish much more than me doing a set of pushups and climbing into the bed before the lights flicker and the room goes dark. Normally, we’d reschedule but since the holidays are approaching, it’s today or never. If we cancel, I don’t get paid and the author doesn’t get her custom photos. Since this is a very popular author, and she’s recently announced a movie deal, neither of us wants that. The potential for exposure is too great.
“I’m good. I think I’ll step out and take a quick walk, get my energy levels back up. I’ll make sure I’m back in twenty.” He nods and returns to the group of people standing around in a circle, phones in their hands as they frantically tap away.
The weather has dipped a little in temperature, so I grab my sweatshirt and tug it over my head before slipping my wallet into my pocket. Retreating toward the door and out of the studio, I tap my social media and begin liking and responding to tags and mentions. The elevator ride to the first floor is quick and I’m out onto the street in minutes. Looking left to right, I spot the telltale green awning on the corner and turn in that direction for a much needed caffeine fix.
My phone rings as I step off the curb.
“Hey, Mom,” I say in greeting.
“Hi honey. How’s it going?”
“They’re saying twenty minutes.”
Her sigh tells me she’s worried about me finishing this shoot in time. I don’t dare tell her I have the same fear. As a surprise, I bought tickets to Christmas on Ice for Calypso. The look in her eyes when I told her last week was more than I could have expected. To say she was elated would be a tremendous understatement. Of course, she’s been planning her outfit for days. Last night I had to break it to her that the dress she wore as flower girl in my cousin’s wedding was a little too much for this type of event.
Instead, my mom took her shopping today for something special and new to wear. About an hour ago, I received a text message with her sitting in a big teddy bear chair getting a children’s pedicure. My little girl is getting the full princess treatment and I know she’s looking forward to our father-daughter date night. So am I. Only, a part of me is worried I won’t make it.
“You know your father or I would happily take her but we have this retirement dinner to attend.”
“I know. It was a complete rookie move on my part for telling her in advance. I should know better.”
“Maybe you can exchange the tickets for another night?”
“This is the last performance on this leg of the tour for our region. I think it heads west before shutting down for the year.”
I approach the door to the crowded coffee shop and step aside to finish my call as people scurry in and out, all dressed more for winter than I am. I suppose when the average temperature is closer to eighty-five than the seventy it currently is, numbers are irrelevant. We’re freezing.
“What about… never mind.”
“No, I’m open to suggestions. I don’t want to disappoint Sprite, but the potential future income from this shoot could allow me to take us on that Disney cruise I’ve been eyeing and still
add a chunk to the college fund. I also don’t want to cancel the gig.”
“I was just wondering if maybe your friend Carrie would take her. Calypso adores her and from the little you’ve told me, the feeling is shared.”
My mind starts spinning at what she’s suggesting. Not because it’s crazy or without merit, but because it seems natural. Simple and within reason. I have zero hesitation when it comes to Carrie doing something with Calypso on their own. I have no doubt my daughter would much rather hang out with another female instead of me, something she doesn’t get nearly enough of.
“That’s a great idea, Mom. Let me hang up and call her. Hopefully she doesn’t have to work tonight and doesn’t have an aversion to people dressed as popular animated characters while they ice skate.”
Laughing, Mom says goodbye and I open the door and head inside for a little pick-me-up. Placing my order, I step aside and peruse the display of cups and other retail items. It’s only minutes before my name is called and I step up to retrieve my drink. Doctoring it up with some cream and sugar, I take a sip to check the sweetness level. Satisfied, I check the time and confirm I have about five minutes before I need to be back on set.
My phone vibrates in my hand as I exit the store and a quick glance sends an immediate smile to my face. It just so happens to be the one person that elicits that reaction from me and the person I was just going to call. Instead of responding to her text about tipping in Australia, I hit the call button.
“Hello?” Her voice is confused and… a little out of breath.
“Why are you out of breath?”
“I was moving things around for a shoot. I have to get some new graphics done for upcoming releases. Wait. Why are you calling? You’re supposed to be doing a photo shoot for some unknown author who you won’t tell me about. Stupid NDA.”
Chuckling, I step off the curb and jog across the street. The sign said “Don’t Walk” but I feel like living on the wild side.
“It’s been a shit day and we’ve accomplished nothing. I stepped out for a coffee while they try to get things ready.”
“Oh no! Don’t you have that thing with Calypso tonight?”
“That’s actually why I’m calling. But first, tipping is almost non-existent in Australia. That’s something we’ll talk about when the time comes. Add it to the list.”
Carrie lets out a long breath before there’s a pause on the line. I wait for her to speak, but when she doesn’t, I look down at the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Are you there?” I ask as I approach the building where the shoot is taking place.
“Oh yeah. I was doing as instructed and adding it to the list.”
Of course she has an actual list. This girl is so determined to go to Australia it’s not even funny. I hope she can make that dream a reality one day.
“So, what are you doing tonight?”
“The usual. Solving crimes, saving the world. Why?”
“How do you feel about ice skating?”
She lets out a squawk of excitement and it triggers an emotion in me I haven’t felt in a long time. No, ever. Making Carrie happy and giving her a reason to make that sound of joy is something that hits me deep to my core and is a feeling I want over and over again.
Chapter 20
Carrie
Reason number one why people have kids is because of moments like the night when Calypso fell asleep on me. Practically angelic when they’re deep in slumber, it’s enough to make anyone’s ovaries explode.
Reason number two? Special performances geared toward children. Not like school plays or band performances. Heaven knows people don’t have children to attend those. No, I’m talking about big budget productions with light shows and professional entertainers.
I have been dying to see Christmas on Ice because it looks like so much fun. The costumes and music alone would be entertaining but on ice? That’s taking things to an epic level. How creepy would it be if a twenty-something, childless woman shows up in a princess dress and sits all alone?
Hella creepy.
So when Matthew asked me if I could take Calypso last minute, I may or may not have blown his ear drums out with my squeal. He doesn’t need ears to flex his man muscles anyway. He’ll be fine.
My only hesitation was meeting his mother under such odd circumstances. That’s a big deal, isn’t it? Meeting his mother? I was probably overthinking the whole thing, which was completely unnecessary anyway. It isn’t like we’re a couple. Heck, we’re not even dating. Matthew is my friend. A friend I’m unbelievably attracted to and who I talk to everyday.
Since Mr. and Mrs. Roberts were in a rush to get to a retirement party, they practically threw the tickets at me through their car window when they arrived at my house. Meanwhile, Calypso jumped from the moving vehicle with the Mission Impossible music playing in the background, her skirt flying in the wind.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that dramatic. But there certainly wasn’t time to chitchat before we all said our goodbyes. It’s a good thing, too, because after a forty-five-minute drive across town, Calypso and I got a primo parking spot at the Convention Center. That’s a great thing since there’s a fifty-fifty chance I may have to carry her to the car at the end of the night.
“Ooh!” Calypso exclaims, hopping up and down excitedly making her ringlets bounce too. “They have princess wands! And they light up!”
The child in me is excitedly waving around her credit card, ready to purchase two. But the adult in me needs to be practical.
“Do we really need those?” Need, want. It’s all relative at a place like this. “We already bought matching tiaras, T-shirts for us and your dad, and we’re getting those refillable Olaf water bottles when we get snacks. Is a princess wand necessary?”
“Yes!” she yells without hesitation. “What if it’s dark while they skate? How can we see what we’re eating?”
“Good point.”
And the child in me wins out. To be honest, adult me isn’t sad about it at all. The holidays are upon us. It’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year and if spending boatloads of money on unnecessary crap that makes us smile is the way to do it, so be it.
The line moves quickly and before I know it, we’re now the proud owners of twenty-dollar light-up plastic wands, our refillable Olaf bottles, and an ornament for Calypso’s tree because of course we need a yearly reminder of this momentous occasion.
Oh and a drawstring bag to carry it all in. It’ll be twelve dollars well spent when Calypso decides she’s done carrying all her purchases.
Making our way to our seats, I’m impressed to see Matthew didn’t skimp. We aren’t front row, or anything, but being seated in the first row of the second section so the only thing in front of us is the railing isn’t too shabby either. Especially since there is a lot to see.
The ice rink itself isn’t that big, which makes me do a double take. How in the world are the performers going to be able to jump and spin in that small of an area? No matter. They’re professionals after all, so I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, whatever they do will be exciting. The floor to almost ceiling blue sparkly curtains are teasing us with what’s to come by hiding whatever is backstage from the audience. I’m glad because while she’s only six years old, Calypso would surely spot every out-of-costume performer and be outraged at the shenanigans. There are rock and forest decorations strategically placed around the stage and next to the floor seats, so I know there’s going to be a large amount of audience interaction. Not that I ever questioned that. This is a national touring company after all.
It’s crazy to think it wasn’t long ago that Matthew and I were standing on the ice, well it wasn’t ice then, watching Blind Fury perform. Flashes of the night in my mind send a wave of warmth across my skin. Not that I’m complaining. There is ice nearby, it’s a bit cool in here without my lady flashes of heat.
“Are you excited?” I ask once Calypso is settled into her seat.
She responds by happily nodding, eyes wide as she stuffs cotton candy in her mouth, legs in motion as they dangle.
“Good. I’m kind of glad your daddy got stuck at work. It’s always fun to have a girls’ night.”
“And you look way prettier in a dress than Daddy did.”
I laugh and whip my phone out, ready to capture the moment for all time and send it to Matthew so he relaxes. As grateful as he was that I stepped in, I know he’s also concerned she’ll be disappointed he couldn’t make it. The first three text messages said just that.
Based on her squeal when the lights begin to dim, I think she has other things on her mind.
Quickly, we get head to head, making sure our tiaras are on full display. One pic is all I get before Calypso’s attention is on the moving spotlights and I’m no longer her concern. The distraction gives me a chance to text the picture to Matthew without her asking to scroll through the pictures on my phone like she did in the car. I don’t know why she expects me to keep a daily picture log of Sven’s childhood.
And I don’t know how she found that exact folder either.
M: I see you both have been crowned princesses for the night.
Me: Night? Try permanently, buddy. We have matching wands and T-shirts to prove it.
M: Please say you aren’t spoiling her. I try to limit how much crap she comes home with at these things.
Me: Princesses can’t be spoiled. Only indulged. Because we deserve it. Now be quiet. I’m pretty sure my prince charming just skated by.
Matthew responds with an angry face emoji which makes me laugh and then think. What does that mean? Is he mad I’ve admittedly spent a little too much money on character merchandise that likely won’t work by next week? Does he think I’m actually hunting for a date with his daughter next to me? Is he jealous?
I still have a hard time reading him. That’s probably my own darn fault. Celeste was right. I need to acknowledge the potential friend-zone label, and maybe apologize, so the ball is back in his court. But I’ll do that later. Right now, I have a shrieking six-year-old who is squeezing my forearm so hard in excitement, I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up with a bruise.
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