Page 51 of The Art of Loving You

Ella shot me a helpless look over her shoulder. “Apparently, I’m not qualified to dress myself anymore.”

I grinned and leaned against the counter. “Sounds about right.”

Bess beamed at my agreement and grabbed another option. “This one.” She held up a soft blue blouse, nodding like she had just brokered a world peace agreement.

Ella sighed but took it, turning to wink at Bess. “I don’t know why I even pretend to have a say anymore.”

By the time we were all ready, Bess was practically vibrating with energy. The second we pulled out of the driveway, she twisted in her booster seat and asked, “When are we going to pick out Mom’s wedding dress?”

Ella turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Your daughter’s got a timeline.”

Bess huffed. “I’m not his daughter. Yet.” She squinted at me. “But if you do a good job, I guess you can be my stepdad.”

I bit back a laugh. “Good to know I’m still in the probation period.”

She nodded, very seriously. “And we need to pick out my flower girl dress, too.”

Ella laughed and reached back to squeeze Bess’s hand. “I promise, we’ll go soon.”

Bess looked satisfied with that answer, and by the time we pulled up to the preschool, she had moved on to talking about her latest playground rivalry. We walked her inside, and before she ran off, she gave us both tight hugs, whispering to Ella that she was going to tell all her friends about the wedding.

When we got back in the car, Ella exhaled, shaking her head. “Well, I guess we’re officially on a deadline.”

I smirked. “Better get moving, then.”

She shot me a mock glare but leaned back, her fingers drumming against her knee. I started the engine but didn’t pull out just yet.

Instead, I glanced at her and asked, “What’s the story with Bess’s dad?”

Ella blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve never heard anyone mention him,” I said carefully. “Not Bess, not your parents. And you never bring him up.”

Ella was quiet for a moment, staring out the windshield like she was debating how much to say.

Finally, she sighed. “Kelly was… a wild child. She did what she wanted, lived fast, never thought too far ahead. Bess was a surprise—at least, she was to everyone but Kelly. She never really said who the father was and never admitted it to Mom or me. Then she got sick with leukemia, and our focus was only my sister’s recovery.”

I frowned. “Never? No idea at all?”

Ella shook her head. “Kelly partied hard while she was in college. But she was secretive when it came to Bess. If she knew who the father was, she took that answer with her.”

That didn’t sit right with me, but I kept my thoughts to myself. The idea that some guy might be out there, completely unaware he had a daughter like Bess, pissed me off more than I cared to admit.

“I just figured someone would’ve tried to track him down,” I said.

“My mom did,” Ella admitted. “But Kelly had a way of shutting down conversations she didn’t want to have. She was stubborn like that.” She let out a breath and looked at me. “Bess has never asked about it. She’s always had my parents, and now she has me. And maybe she’ll have questions one day, but right now? She’s happy. She’s loved. That’s what matters. I realize that someday, when I least suspect it, she will have questions about who her father is.” She turned to face me. “And I’m not at all sure how to handle that question.”

I studied her for a moment, then reached over and took her hand. “You did right by her.”

Ella gave me a small smile. “I hope so.”

I squeezed her fingers before letting go. “I know so.”

She exhaled, and some of the tension left her shoulders.

I pulled the car onto the road, heading toward the Ocean View Museum. The closer we got, the more her confidence seemed to shift into something tighter—anticipation, maybe even nerves.

“Relax,” I murmured, reaching over to squeeze her hand again. “It’s going to be perfect.”

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