Page 1 of My Daddy Valentine

1

Ella

I swear, the city is like a dream. The kind of dream where everything is a little too shiny, a little too fast, and every corner you turn promises something you’ve never seen before. But here I am, standing in the middle of it, staring at the towering buildings with wide eyes and a hand on my hip, trying to convince myself that this is actually happening.

“Ella, you’re going to love it here,” Ava says, her voice carrying over the hum of traffic. She’s standing at the back of her car, grabbing a box from the trunk. Her blonde hair bounces in waves as she slams it shut with a satisfying thud. “New city, new opportunities, fresh start. What could go wrong?”

I laugh, half nervous, half excited. It feels like I’ve been dreaming about this moment for months, and now that it’s finally here, I’m a little… overwhelmed.

"I still can’t believe you're letting me crash at your place," I say as I tug my oversized suitcase along behind me. "I swear, I’ll be out of your hair in no time."

Ava grins, her eyes lighting up with that mischievous spark she’s always had. “What are best friends for, if not for giving you a place to sleep while you conquer the world?”

I snort. “Conquering the world might take a bit longer than I expected, considering how much I’ve packed. I’m not exactly a minimalist."

Ava rolls her eyes. “You’re going to need a bigger apartment for all your art supplies and sketchbooks anyway. Can you even walk through the door without tripping over a pile of paint tubes?”

I shrug, trying not to blush. "It's a creative process."

The truth is, I can’t wait to dive headfirst into my new life here. I’ve always dreamed of being part of the city’s art scene, and now I’m one step closer. I’ve scored an internship atLinden & Co. Gallery—the kind of place that exhibits famous artists and hosts exclusive events. The kind of place where my sketches could one day hang next to the masterpieces of people whose names are whispered with reverence. It’s a big deal, even if I’m justtheintern.

“Have you heard anything about who’ll be mentoring you?” Ava asks as we head toward the entrance of the building.

I shake my head. “Not yet. But I’m hoping it’s someone who actually wants to mentor me. I mean, I can handle a little criticism, but if they’re going to toss me in a back room to organize boxes for eight hours a day, I might lose it.”

Ava raises an eyebrow. “Knowing you, you’d probably organize those boxes in some genius way, like a work of art.”

I laugh, but it’s half true. My obsession with neatness borders on ridiculous sometimes. “Yeah, well, if I’m gonna spend my time there, I’d at least like to make a good impression.”

The doorman gives us a polite nod as we walk through the glass doors of Ava’s building. She leads me to the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor, where I’ll be crashing until I can stand on my own two feet.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asks as the elevator hums upward.

“Unpack my life into your guest room,” I answer with a dramatic sigh.

Ava laughs and elbows me gently. “It’s acozyguest room. You’ll love it.”

We reach her floor, and I follow her down the hallway to the door of her apartment. She digs through her bag for the keys while I shift my heavy box to one side.

As she opens the door, I take in the familiar smell of her place—fresh coffee beans, vanilla-scented candles, and a trace of something sweet she probably baked earlier. My stomach growls.

“After you,” Ava says, gesturing with a flourish.

I step inside, already envisioning where I’ll set up my sketchbook and art supplies. I know this space will be temporary, but I’ll make it my own. I’m used to living in cramped dorms and shared apartments, so a small guest room is nothing new.

"Where do you want me to put this one?" I ask, lifting the box that’s holding my favorite supplies—sketchbooks, pencils, paints.

“Just dump it on the couch for now,” she says.

I smile, depositing the box on the couch. “I need to grab the last box from the car.”

She nods, opening the box on the couch so she can peer inside.

I head out of her apartment and into the hallway. I slip inside the elevator, excited to start this dream come true. As the elevator music plays, I smile.This is happening.

I rush outside, opening the trunk to grab the last box, phew. A sense of freedom washes over me as I tuck the smaller box under my arm and slam the trunk closed. This is really happening. I suck in a breath of fresh air, and head back past the doorman.

“Hi Charles,” I say, reading his name tag.

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