Best Laid Plans

by Farlow, LK

  One thing’s for sure, I’m honored to know her, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d be saying about anyone’s kid other than my own.

  Still, I can’t stop wondering about Tatum’s father—no, not father, sperm donor. How any man could leave those two is beyond me. Nat is sexy, smart, selfless, funny, driven…the whole fucking package. And Tatum, my God, I’ve only met the kid once and can already tell she’s amazing. She possesses all of her mother’s best features and for some reason, we just got each other. It’s like her brain and mine connected on a whole other level.

  I asked Nate about the father when he broke the news all those years ago that Natalie was going to have a baby before she even finished high school. He said she didn’t know for sure who her baby daddy was…or she wasn’t telling.

  Hell, I even shot her a message asking about it all, and while it was read, it went unanswered.

  But what reason would she have to keep it under lock and key? I know for damn sure if I knocked someone up, I’d want to know. I’d want to be present and to help…to know my child. I swallow down the bitter memories that threaten to invade. It’s fucking crazy how Mia has managed to poison so much of my life with her lies.

  For real, though, that shit pretty much blew my mind. My Small Fry has always been a good girl, and the thought of her letting some dude between her legs when she probably should’ve been studying lowkey pissed me off. Which is kind of absurd. What right did I have to be upset over her doing the same things I was doing at that age? I told myself I was merely feeling overprotective of her—like a brother. Except, the uninvited thoughts I had of her from time to time were far from brotherly.

  * * *

  Natalie

  It feels like my entire body is being poked by a million pins and needles anytime I’m in Alden’s vicinity at work. If he gets too close, my skin feels too tight, my gut like lead, and my brain turns to mush.

  I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s my guilt slowly eating its way through my internal organs, working to consume my soul. Which is why I’m coming clean Saturday night at dinner.

  I know it’s going to be painful and awkward, but hopefully in public, the inevitable fallout won’t be too catastrophic—though, I definitely deserve his anger. And I’m prepared for it. Obviously, I’m not expecting him to throw his arms around me and thank me for taking on the hard parts alone. I’m not stupid, and he’s not a martyr.

  Nope. Just a girl prone to making monumentally poor decisions.

  Unfortunately, I came to this decision over coffee on Sunday morning while standing in Tatum’s doorway watching her sleep. So far, she’s never asked about her father, or where he is, or why she doesn’t have one. But, one day, she will. And I’m doing them both a major disservice by holding onto the truth.

  So, Saturday night it is.

  Downside, it’s only freaking Wednesday, which means I get to help Alden close tonight. Like I said…pins and needles. And because of that, I can’t seem to get my shit together enough to put up a front of being cool, calm, and collected.

  It’s like that one time in high school when I drank for the first time. All of my friends were having a good time, but I was jumpy and paranoid that we were going to get caught and grounded for all of eternity.

  So far, thanks to Jenny running interference, it’s been easy to avoid being completely alone with him. When I asked for a helping hand, she looked at me a little funny but agreed anyway. Thank you, girl code. But the fact that he just told her to go home early tells me he’s onto my avoidance tactics and that some one-on-one time is inevitable tonight.

  I mean, she was in the middle of her freaking side work, for Pete’s sake, but Alden didn’t even blink about cutting her. Told me to take over and her to see Carlos for tips and to vamoose.

  The sounds of the kitchen crew breaking down for the night filter out into the dining room, letting me know that soon they too will be gone.

  All I have left to do is clean my section and stack my chairs, and then I’m home free. Only thing stopping me from doing so is the fact that I have to go to the supply closet right next to Alden’s office. The very same office where I know for a fact he’s holed up doing end of day paperwork and God knows what else.

  But, it’s the only way I’m getting out of here, so I need to put on big girl panties—so to speak—and deal with it. Plus, maybe with a little luck, I can creep by really quietly, and he won’t hear me.

  I tiptoe through the dining room, probably looking like a cartoon villain, checking over my shoulder every few steps as if he’s going to pop up out of nowhere. I’ve almost made it when he steps out of his office, causing me to shriek. “Jesus, Alden! You scared me!”

  He blinks innocently at me, but the spark of delight in his eyes isn’t very convincing. “Did I?”

  “Ugh, yes! I about jumped out of my skin.” Luckily the startle has overridden some of my nerves. I better hurry before the effect wears off.

  “Sorry ‘bout that, Small Fry. You about done for the night?”

  I give him a tight smile and nod. “Yep. Just gotta clean my section.”

  He moves past me, grabs the cleaning caddy, and passes it to me. “I’ll help. Two sets of hands are better than one, right?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, but…technically if he helps, I’ll finish faster. And plus, we won’t be able to talk over the vacuum.

  “S-sure. Sounds good.” I turn on my heel and head back to start wiping down my tables and chairs. Alden follows, vacuum in tow. I wait to hear the whir of the vacuum, desperate for some sort of noise to drown out his presence. But it never comes.

  Determined to ignore the tension blanketing the room, I move to the next table, scrubbing away at a wine stain. “Natalie,” Alden speaks my name, and even though it hits me like a dart, I ignore him.

  “Nat, please look at me?” he asks, his voice softer than before.

  I’m well on my way to my third table when I feel Alden standing behind me. He’s so close that my body is absorbing the heat from his. If I were to move back even an inch, we would touch. Intent on continuing to ignore him, I vigorously scour the already-clean table.

  Displeased with being ignored, he clears his throat. I spin to face him, and he steps into me. I try to move back, but the table digs into my ass, stopping me. “Wh-what do you want?” I whisper, terrified by his nearness and turned on all the same.

  “This.”

  He cups the back of my neck, pulling my face to his. The next thing I know, his lips are descending onto mine, claiming them in a hungry kiss. He nips at my lower lip, tugging. I open my mouth, intent on stopping him, but he takes it as an invitation and deepens our kiss. His tongue moves against mine in the most sensuous dance, robbing me of my words. He shifts his hand from my nape, trailing his fingers down my spine, settling his hand on my waist, pulling me into him. I gasp as his much-larger-than-I-remember erection brushes against my belly.

  That’s all the encouragement he needs. Using his free hand, he threads his fingers through the end of my ponytail and fists my long locks, guiding me to the position he wants me in.

  I’m all but ready to rub up on him like a cat against a tree when he pulls away. “What was—” I start to ask, but he shushes me with one last chaste kiss, followed by parting words that cause my heart to drop.

  “Head home, I’ve got this.” I start to walk away, and he reaches out and snags hold of my wrist. His touch is like fire and ice all at once. “Oh, and Nat—plan on us picking up where this left off on Saturday.”

  15

  Natalie

  If I thought getting ready for my date with Kevin was hard, it’s got nothing on this. I mean, what do you wear to tell the man of your dreams he’s unknowingly the father of your toddler? Somehow, I don’t think there’s an outfit in existence that says I’m sorry for not telling you, please don’t hate me.

  I settle on dark indigo wash skinnies with a chambray boyfriend-fit button-down. A statement necklace and pointy-to
e nude heels complete the look. It’s casual and comfortable and maybe it screams I’m not a total monster…or at least I hope it does.

  I’m ready with twenty minutes to spare, which is no good since Tatum is already at my parents’ house. I’m anxious and restless, like a caged lion. I’ve been pacing the short hallway for at least five minutes when I decide a glass of wine to take the edge off is exactly what I need.

  Moving to the kitchen, I grab the bottle of Riesling from the fridge and a stemless glass from the cabinet, pop the stopper, and pour. I take a sip, relishing the burst of crisp fruit across my tongue.

  Yes. This is just what I needed.

  The temptation to pour a second glass is strong, but I recork the bottle and rinse my glass in the sink. I want to dull my nerves, not get white-girl wasted.

  I resume my pacing until a knock at my door lets me know it’s showtime. Hindsight, I should have insisted on driving myself instead of letting Alden pick me up. But he used his charm like a weapon and wore me down, plus I’ve known him forever. But, it’s still a bit weird. I’m pretty sure the last guy to pick me up for a date was pot dealing Paul.

  I debate simply not answering the door, but knowing Alden, he’d find a way in. I crack my back, neck, and knuckles, and head to the door.

  On the other side stands Alden, dressed in a pair of Nantucket red chinos and a navy and white buffalo check button-down. Sounds like it wouldn’t work, but my God, it looks like it was made for him and him alone. He honestly looks so damn fine that my words seem to dry up and desert me.

  Alden, on the other hand, not so much. “Damn girl. You look so good.” He leans in for a kiss, but I sidestep him. He chuffs out a laugh. “Okay then, Nat. We’ll play it like that.” Ever the gentleman, he opens my car door for me and helps me into my seat. His hand on the small of my back sends sparks racing through my bloodstream and to my heart.

  Alden tries to start up a conversation on the drive, but I stick to one or two word answers. I can tell he’s confused by my erratic behavior, but my God, this feels more like being led to stand before a firing squad than a dinner between old friends, much less a date.

  I think he’s pretty much resigned to our night being a flop by the time he parks. He’s taken me to R Bistro—a personal favorite of mine, due largely in part to their steaks being so tender you can cut them with a spoon. Not that we’ll be here long enough to order. I try to offer him a grateful smile, but it’s most likely more of a grimace.

  Even with me acting like I have split personality, Alden opens my door and helps me out. Gah! He even takes my hand in his, and like the selfish bitch I am, instead of pulling away, I savor it, knowing it will probably be the last time.

  Inside, Alden informs the hostess he called ahead for a table, and she takes us right back. We’re in a little alcove; it’s private and romantic and all wrong for what’s about to go down.

  “What are you in the mood—”

  Our server arrives, cutting him off. “Welcome to R Bistro. My name is Jamal, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Tonight, our specials are a blackened red snapper served atop a bed of wilted greens and whipped purple cauliflower puree or a pan-seared filet of beef with sweet potato mash and broccolini. But for now, may I take your drink orders?”

  Alden orders a pale ale while I opt for a glass of water. My beverage choice earns me a brow quirk, but I can’t stomach the thought of anything else at the moment.

  Our server heads off to retrieve our drinks, and I decide it’s now or never. “I…I have something to tell you.”

  Alden nods, encouraging me to continue.

  “Y-you’re not gonna like it.” I lick my lips nervously. “In fact, you probably won’t like me.”

  “You’re freaking me out, Small Fry.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from crying at the use of his nickname for me. Might as well add it to the list of shit that ends tonight…

  “It’s about Tatum.”

  Alden immediately looks alert. “What? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  This. This right here is what dying must feel like. “Oh, no. She’s…she’s fine. It’s just that…” I let my words fall off, wondering how in the hell to say this.

  Impatient, Alden prompts, “It’s just what, Natalie? You’re building this up to something momentous and freaking me the fuck out.”

  I cringe. Ugh, I’m messing this all up. “It’s about her dad…” I lock eyes with him. “You’re her dad.”

  Whatever reaction I was expecting, Alden’s laughter was not it. Only it’s not humorous laughter, it’s dry and decidedly dark. “Not funny, Natalie. Get real.” He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard on the ends. “Jesus. I thought you really had something to tell me.”

  I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I’m being real. You’re her father.”

  He looks almost sick to his stomach as he eyes me skeptically. “You do realize sex is required to procreate, right?”

  I nod, my eyes welling with tears. “You—” My voice breaks. “You remember that night the summer before my senior year when you woke up, and I was in the guest room with you?”

  His stare is blank, almost as if he’s somewhere else. “Yeah, Nat, I do.”

  “Wh-what else do you remember from that night?”

  * * *

  Alden

  My jaw ticks. What the fuck kind of game is Natalie playing right now? Whatever it is, I’m not interested. After everything Mia put me through, I vowed no more bullshit, and this conversation reeks of it.

  “Honestly, not a whole lot. It was a long time ago, and I had been drinking.”

  Natalie sucks in a deep breath, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “We slept together that night. I came onto you, and you seemed into it. Into me. I-I didn’t realize just how m-much you’d had to drink. It was my first time and yeah…”

  Her first time? What the…is that why she had on my shirt and was in the guest room with me? No. No way. Thinking back, I realize the timing is spot on, but still…this can’t be real, can it? Hell, I was so drunk that night, I couldn’t tell my ass from my face. Could I really be Nat’s baby daddy? And if what she’s saying is true, what gave her the right to deny me a spot in my daughter’s life?

  My heart stops. Time stops. The fucking world stops.

  “Holy shit. You…you’re serious, aren’t you?” My gut and her eyes say she’s telling the truth—that we did sleep together. But that sure as shit doesn’t make me her baby daddy. Hell, for all I know she sees me as an easy target. Lord knows Mia did.

  She nods, her tears finally falling, running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

  I drop my head into my hands, massaging my temples...how is this even real? “I…I have a daughter,” I murmur to myself, testing out how it feels. My initial instinct is to call her on a bullshit and leave, but something keeps me from doing so.

  “I have a daughter.” My shock quickly gives way to anger. “How could you not fucking tell me? What right do you have to keep something like this from me?” Jesus, do I know how to pick ’em or what? My ex was the single most conniving woman on this earth, and Natalie, well, I’m not sure yet, but she could be a close fucking second. Because even if this shit is true, she kept it from me for four fucking years.

  “It’s n-not l-like that,” Natalie hiccups out. “I-I never—”

  I scoff, hardly able to even look at her, sitting there sniffling like she’s the wronged party…like she’s some delicate little flower that got trampled on. When in reality, she’s nothing more than a liar and a thief of my time. “You never what? Thought this day would come? You never thought you’d have to come clean?”

  “No!” she shakes her head rapidly. “No, that’s not it, I swear.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and sit back farther into my seat to create more distance—emotionally and physically—between us. “You might want to explain what it is like, really fucking fast, Natalie.”

  She blink
s through her tears and glances around the alcove like the answers she’s looking for will magically appear. Too bad, sweetheart, ain’t gonna happen.

  “I…I was so young and sc-scared, and I know I made the wrong choice. I know I should have t-told you.”

  I pound my fist onto the table, causing our glasses and such to rattle. “You’re damn right you should have!”

  My hard, angry tone makes her jump back in her chair. I’d feel bad if I wasn’t so damn furious. And hurt. This sense of betrayal and loss is so potent it’s almost choking me.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “Save your apologies, Natalie. They don’t mean shit to me. There’s nothing you can say that will fix this. You robbed me of three years of my daughter’s life. All those firsts you got to cherish? I. Missed.” I grit my teeth together. She continues to cry and apologize, but I ignore her. My head is spinning, but I know if I don’t get the fuck away from her, this is going to get ugly. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I tap the Uber app on my home screen and order her a car.

  With that done, I push back from the table and grab my wallet, throwing down a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Wh-where are you g-going?” she asks through her sobs.

  “Away from here…from you. I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

  “Wha—”

  I speak over her, not interested in anything else she has to say. “I ordered you a car. Don’t come into work on Monday.” I push past her and stalk out the bistro, ignoring the curious stares from other patrons. To say this is not how I saw the night going might just be the understatement of the year. I feel blindsided and deceived and so fucking angry.

  Who does shit like this?

  Natalie fucking Reynolds—that’s who.