Page 40 of Kissed and Missed

Out on the stage, beneath the lights, Julian smiles. “Healthy Hearts is the first of what I hope will be many nonprofit organizations to be supported by The Ballard Fund andgenerous donors like yourselves. Our goal is to empower and uplift small nonprofits through charitable donation, training, and access to The Ballard Corporation’s resources. By leveraging our funds and their specific expertise, we believe we can do more good and change more lives.”

The answering applause is deafening, but my heartbeat seems to be louder. It pounds in my ears, because—holy shit—I’m actually going to do this.

As the crowd’s noises of approval die away, Julian stands up straighter, his face full of unmistakable pride. “Today is Valentine’s Day, which makes it an appropriate choice to introduce all of you to the person who will be heading up The Ballard Fund. While I plan to be greatly involved, it will be her vision and heart which will carry us forward. Ladies and gentlemen, my future wife, Miss Honor Vogel.”

EPILOGUE

JULIAN

TWO YEARS LATER

Riley is already at the café when I arrive.

She’s sitting at a table by the window, her gaze on the sunny street beyond. As I enter, she looks up, our gazes connecting from across the room, and my heart is in overdrive as I move toward my daughter, seeing her face for the first time in two years.

I haven’t been miserable during that time. My life is happy and fulfilled. I have a wife who loves me, and more to be thankful for every day. Even so, not a single day has passed that I didn’t feel my daughter’s absence, or that I didn’t wish things were different.

“Hey, Ri,” I croak, stopping beside the table.

Her bottom lip trembles. “Hey, Dad.”

I take the chair across from hers, jittery with nerves. “How are you?”

Not quite meeting my eye, Riley fiddles with the napkin in her lap. “Okay. Thanks for meeting me.”

Getting her email was a surprise. Since our falling out, we’ve had only sporadic contact, mainly through her mother, who was all too happy to pass along our child’s contempt.

In the days since I agreed to meet her, I’ve often wondered or suspected that this would be a financial request. A relationship centered on money is all I know with Riley, why would this be any different?

Now that I’m here, though, I can sense a change in her. Instinctively, I know that she isn’t the same person I knew.

“So, you married my ex-girlfriend, huh?” asks Riley with a weak laugh.

I scrub my hand over my close-cropped beard, gazing at her. “I did.”

She attempts a smile. “How is all that? Marriage? Living on the East Coast?”

“Good,” I answer truthfully, but a rock has dropped into my stomach. Of everything about this lunch, telling her this news was what I was most anxious about. “We go back and forth quite a bit, but it will slow down soon. You’re,ah, going to have a sister.”

Riley stills, her eyes widening. “Wow. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” I wait, tension bleeding into my shoulders as I prepare for the outrage to be unleashed.

The last thing I’m expecting is for Riley to shake her head, letting out an incredulous little laugh, as if she’s just as surprised by her reaction as I am. “That’s… actually kind of cool. When is she due?”

I swallow, frozen stiff, as if moving too fast will destroy this moment. “In about three months. This is our last trip before the baby comes.”

“Do you guys have a name picked out?”

I’ve never felt this thrown off balance in my life, and that’s including the reaction I had to my wife when we first met.“We’ve been talking about it. There’s a short list if you’d like to see,” I admit. Still reeling as I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone, I show her the shared note Honor and I have going which has dwindled to half a dozen names after months of debate.

There hadn’t been any discussion between me and my ex-wife. She told me she liked the name Riley, and I—overwhelmed and depressed by the unexpected left turn my life had taken—accepted it without question.

After two years of knowing Honor, of loving her and our relationship, I shouldn’t have been surprised when she plopped down next to me on the couch one evening and started quizzing me on my opinion of the names she’d found. I was, though, and ended up spending the better part of the night between her thighs, worshiping my wife for being the incredible woman and partner she is.

Now, Riley examines the list with interest, her gray-blue eyes—so like my own—skimming over the screen. “I like Eliza,” she declares finally, passing the phone back to me. “Edie Ballard is super cute, too, though. I think that’s my favorite.” For the first time since I sat down, she meets my gaze directly.

“Why did you want to meet, Riley?” I finally ask, not sure I can take skirting around the question for one more minute. Sheseemsdifferent, but if all this is to get money out of me, I would rather know sooner rather than later. Already, I feel so much hope, and I can’t bear for it to all be for nothing.

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