Page 20 of Royally Benevolent

WYATT

February in Neandia was often a rainy slog, but sometimes it threw you a bone. While it was still chilly, the sun was bright on a lazy Saturday. I brought Theo downtown to grab coffee and play in the park. We had a ten AM appointment, but I figured it would be good to stretch his legs. Either way, I’d be miserable if I didn’t get a coffee. My mother was only capable of producing “church lady” coffee—a weak, terrible pot that left me depressed.

We walked to my favourite shop, a glare making it hard to see. Theo took off like a shot, making me so nervous. I raced after, panic-stricken. He ran just out of sight, around a corner.

“Doggy! Chien! Doggy!” Theo shouted

“Theo, come back here and slow down!”

“He’s fine!” A voice called in English.

I finally passed the glare around the corner and was face-to-face with a woman in head-to-toe pink. It was Odie. Theo focused entirely on the dog in the bike basket. He must have seen them ride by.

“Grieg, right?” I asked.

“He loves children, don’t worry about it.”

“Papa, it’s a doggy!”

“I know, buddy. His name is Grieg. Andthis is Odie,” I said.

I was glad she caught him. My heart slowed, happy he hadn’t bolted into traffic. However, I stared awkwardly at the woman who still hadn’t emailed. I tried not to make it weird, but I was hurt. She never followed through. If she had time for a Saturday morning ride, didn’t she have time to email?

“You’ve got a runner,” Odie said. “My niece is the same way. She’s fast, like a racehorse. She will drop your hand and take off.”

“We’re… working on it,” I said, annoyed.

“Kids… they’re predictably unpredictable,” Odie said, adoringly.

Was she unaware I was frustrated with her? Or was she just really good at ignoring tension?

“He’s your son?”

“Yes,” I answered curtly.

“He’s a doll. Honestly. Absolutely adorable.”

Odette removed her helmet, unveiling her soft blonde hair. She smiled and focused on Theo. Her eyes shone bright and kind. Theo beamed back at her, patting Grieg too intensely.

“That might be a bittoomuch love, friend,” Odette said in sweet French. “What is your name?”

“Theo! I’m four!”

“Oh, such a good age,” Odette tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear and turned to me.

I didn’t know if it was the sheer kindness in her gaze or her broad, unrelenting smile, but I couldn’t stay mad.

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Wyatt.”

“Sorry, I didn’t… mention him,” I said.

“It’s okay. You should have gloated!”

I was relieved to see she liked kids. Business associates rarely wanted to hear about my kid. My team knew he was the centre of my universe—like it or not. And sometimes, when I brought it up, I got dreaded sympathy.Oh, look at the poor widower and his young son! Let’s pity him!

“He’s great, yeah.” I needed to leave.

She was kind, but the longer Ididn’ttalk about the email, the more frustrated I became. Why didn’t it bother her that she didn’t keep tothis commitment? I supposed someone her age was too flighty to remember.

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