Page 14 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

I look up, meeting her wise gaze. "Or to remind us why we left it behind in the first place," I counter.

Birdie's lips quirk in a half-smile. "Perhaps. But tell me, Skylar, what does your heart say?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. What does my heart say? It's a jumbled mess of longing, anger,and fear. I'm not sure I'm ready to untangle it just yet. I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I do.

Because I made a pact with myself when everything was ripped out from under me. Money only ever brought sorrow. I’d seen it all firsthand—the fake conversations, the empty promises, the hollow hearts that came with that world of privilege. My parents' obsession with appearances, with climbing higher on the social ladder, all for the sake of some illusion of happiness. Theo had been a part of that world, and I’d let myself get swept up in it too.

But after everything fell apart, I swore I’d never go back. I wouldn't let myself fall into the arms of another man with money, no matter how easy it might be. Because in the end, that life had only left me feeling empty, even when it seemed like everything was perfect on the outside.

I take a deep breath, pushing down the tumult of emotions. "It's just my past coming back to haunt me," I say, forcing a wry smile. "But I'll figure it out. I always do."

Birdie nods, her eyes twinkling. "That you do, my dear. You're nothing if not resilient."

I'm grateful when she changes the subject, asking about my latest project. We chat about lighter topics—the unreasonably warm weather, the new bakery in town, Birdie's ongoing feud with her neighbor's yappy dog.

As I'm laughing at one of Birdie's colorful descriptions of said dog, I notice a shadow pass over her face. She sets down her teacup, her hand trembling slightly.

"Skylar," she says, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "There's something I need to tell you."

I lean forward, concern creeping in. "What is it, Birdie?"

She takes a deep breath. "I've been feeling...not quite myself lately. The doctors are running some tests, but..." She trails off, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen her.

"Oh, Birdie," I breathe, reaching for her hand.

"Now, now, don't go getting all maudlin on me," she says, straightening her shoulders. "It might be nothing. But if it is something, well...I've been thinking about selling the house."

I feel like I've been doused with ice water. "Selling? But why?"

"My sister lives down in Florida," Birdie explains. "If I need...support, it would be good to be closer to family."

My mind reels. The thought of losing Birdie, of losing this place that's become my sanctuary—it's almost too much to bear.

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "Of course, that makes sense. Family is important."

But inside, I'm crumbling. The familiar ache of loss settles in my chest, a weight I know all too well. It shouldn't surprise me anymore, this constant cycle of abandonment. First Theo, then my mother, and then everything else.

"Are you all right, dear?" Birdie asks, her brow furrowing with concern, her voice tender.

I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...thinking."

My mind races, calculating figures. There's no way I can afford to stay in this area if Birdie sells. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—I'm about to lose my home. Again.

"Have you thought about when you might list the property?" I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds, even though my insides are spinning.

Birdie sighs. "Nothing's set in stone yet. But I wanted you to know, to give you time to...prepare."

I force myself to meet her eyes, pushing down the panic rising in my throat. "I appreciate that, Birdie. Really."

She squeezes my hand. "You know I consider you family, Skylar. This isn't easy for me, either."

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The irony isn't lost on me—just when I'd started to feel settled, to believe I might have found a place to belong, it's all slipping away.

Later that day, I'm sprawled on the couch in the carriage house, nursing a glass of wine and wallowing in self-pity. The room is dim, the light from the TV flickering over me like a ghost, adding a surreal layer to my discontent. My mind keeps playing over the conversation with Birdie, the night I spent with Theo, everything.

The knock on the door startles me out of my funk. My heart skips a beat. Theo? My stomach flutters uneasily, but there's a tight, churning knot in my gut. I sit up, the wineglass still in hand, my fingers trembling just a little.

I glance down at my ratty tank top and sleep shorts, suddenly feeling like a complete mess. Screw it. If it is Theo, he's seen me in worse. And less. Just last night, even. The thought stirs something deep in me—something I choose to ignore like a healthy, well-adjusted adult.

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