Page 1 of Christmas with the Baby Daddy

1

BLAKE

Abag of Yukon gold potatoes in each hand, Jenny West grimaced at me from across the kitchen. “I’m not sure we’ve got enough.”

I sighed, recounting the bags on the table between us. Three, five… Calculating the recipe that all customers voted as a West Catering favorite, I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t think we’ve got enough.”

“Not enough for the Parkers’ party tomorrow night.” She set the bags down with the others and huffed a breath to blow her graying blonde hair out of her face. It was cute, but that red and green Christmas headband wasn’t cutting it for her wavy curls. Since it was only inventory day, before Jenny and I would prepare the food tomorrow morning, we were a little more lax with the hairnets.

“The Parkers’ party and the Henrick gathering this weekend,” I reminded my boss.

Boss was an understatement for all this seventy-year-old meant to me. Jenny was more like the grandmother I never had. Maybe a fairy godmother. But right now, as we were the only two people in the kitchen of her family’s former restaurant, it felt like we were almost like partners. She beamed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Blake. You don’t forget anything.”

I smiled, wishing it would never have to come to that. Working without her would be horrible, but I had to do something drastic come the new year. Simply put, I needed to find more work. It was insane to consider adding more hours to my life as a working single mom, but I had to get more money somewhere, somehow.

“Since you’re going to the store, you may as well get a couple extras,” Jenny said as she perused the contents of the larger-than-average pantry.

Grocery shopping was stressful on most days—particularly this time of the year. It seemed that once Thanksgiving dinner prep hit, everyone was buying too much to leave anything else on the shelves for others. But shopping for West Catering wasn’t the same. I was in work mode as I purchased supplies and ingredients, but shopping in any fashion was a headache.

“Okay.” I nodded at the inventory list we’d collaborated on. “If I hustle and leave now, I’ll be able to be done before?—”

My phone rang, cutting me off. A glance at the screen showed that it was a call from a number that was becoming far too frequent on my call log. “Not again…” I muttered with a slight whine.

“Don’t tell me it’s the school again,” Jenny quipped as she rotated the spice container on the shelves.

I brought the phone to my face as she raised one thin brow. “Okay. I won’t tell you it’s the school again.”

She shook her head, letting me answer.

“Hey, Cole,” I greeted. That was how familiar I was with the principal of Vernford Elementary—a first-name basis. Cole Ameena wasn’t a stranger. He couldn’t be when I was best friends with his sister, Sara, but the man did find reasons to call me more than I imagined any other parent in the district.

He chuckled at my tired, exasperated greeting. “Hi, Blake. Sorry to call, but?—”

“What is it this time?” I asked, keeping my voice polite but letting him hear the hurry in my tone. Shock didn’t register. This same old song and dance was becoming such a routine that I could no longer fake the slightest surprise. So long as my son and Brent Francis attended the same preschool-aged class, I would have to brace myself for these calls.

“Brent and George?—”

“Enough said.” It was rude to cut him off, but it really was all I needed to know. That boy would never stop harassing my son, and I lost hope that anyone would convince Reagan Francis to give a damn. As long as it wasn’t a call from the nurse, I could handle this.

“Could you please pick him up?” Cole asked, his apologetic tone clear. “Reagan’s on her way, and since their uniforms are wet from the paint, we can’t let them return to the classroom like this.”

“Paint?” I grimaced. Jenny looked back at me and winced.

“Washable,” he added. “They had a disagreement in the art room and, well, like you mentioned, enough said.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t fine. I should’ve been able to drop off my son and count on him to be there until dismissal so I could function as a working parent.

“At least it’s near the end of the day,” he added.

“That’s not exactly helping me,” I groaned. Once I said I’d come to pick him up, we ended the call.

“I guess I’ll just have to take George with me to the store,” I told Jenny. Even though we were close and she’d always been there for me as a boss and friend, I hated to seem this unreliable.

She frowned, peering at me closely. “That’s fine.” Her gentle expression suggested that she heard the discomfort in my voice. “And don’t worry, Blake. Being a parent is unpredictable. That’s life. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I know. I’m trying not to be.” But I’ll never feel like I can catch up like this.

“Being a single parent is rough,” she added. She’d know. She raised her son on her own after her husband ran off. And when her son and daughter-in-law passed away from a car accident, she’d practically raised her granddaughter, Amanda, on her own too.

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