Page 31 of Faking It With the Single Dad

I hand her some cash, grateful for the distraction. As she bounds off to the counter, Bella glances over at me, her expression unreadable.

Later, after the café closes and Alice is playing a game on her tablet, Bella sits down across from me at the now-empty table.

“Okay,” she says, her arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

I run a hand through my hair, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know why I acted like that earlier. Seeing you with him…it just—”

“Bothered you?” she finishes, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I admit. “It bothered me. A lot.”

She tilts her head, her voice calm but curious. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been an idiot,” I say finally. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t stop to think about yours. But spending time with you—seeing how strong you are, how much you’ve done for Luke and the café—it’s made me realize that you’re not just…someone I’m helping out. You’re incredible, Bella.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her expression softening. “Ryan…”

“I know this wasn’t part of the deal,” I say quickly, holding up a hand. “And I’m not saying I know what this is or where it’s going.But I care about you, more than I expected to. And I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore.”

Bella looks down at her hands, her silence stretching between us. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet but steady. “I don’t know if I can do this, Ryan. I’ve spent so long protecting myself and Luke by keeping people at arm’s length. Letting someone in…it’s terrifying.”

“I get that,” I say softly. “And I’m not asking for anything right now. I just…I need you to know how I feel.”

Her eyes meet mine, shimmering with something I can’t quite place.

Something unfamiliar, something raw, stirs within me. It isn’t the same relentless drive I’ve felt for years—the drive to build, to succeed, to dominate. No, this is something completely different. It’s like I’m waking up from a long sleep and seeing everything in a new light. Bella, her soft eyes, the way she hesitates, the way she isn’t afraid to admit her vulnerabilities—it’s all pulling me in. And I’m so confused.

Her words hang in the air between us, still vibrating with the honesty she hasn’t shied away from.

The vulnerability in her voice mirrors a part of me that I’ve buried for years. I can feel it in my chest, tight and heavy, this unfamiliar ache that I’ve long since abandoned in the pursuit of everything else.

I want to reach out to her, to tell her I understand—because I do—but something holds me back, like I’m not sure if I have the right to make that kind of statement.

I hadn’t planned on saying any of this to her. I don’t even know what I’m saying half the time anymore. All I know is that something in me has shifted, and I can’t ignore it or push it away. This is new. This isreal.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. There’s a softness there, an understanding, like she’s seeing me for the first time—really seeing me, and not the mask I’ve carefully crafted over the years. It makes me feel exposed in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” she whispers.

That single sentence hits me harder than any boardroom deal or business win ever has. It’s a simple thing, but it’s everything. And in this moment, I realize just how much I’ve been craving someone to see me in a different light. Not as the businessman, not the successful entrepreneur, but the man who’s just trying to figure out what it means to be a father, and maybe—just maybe—a man who could love her if she’d let him.

I’m not expecting her to say anything else, and honestly, I’m not sure if I even know what I want from her. But I know one thing for sure: this feeling, whatever it is, is new. It’s uncharted territory, and I’m not sure how to navigate it.

For the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about the next step in my business or the next project I have to tackle. I’m not calculating the risk or the reward. I’m not thinking about making more money or building my empire. No. This feeling is different—it’s about connection, something I’ve never prioritized before.

My thoughts keep circling back to what she said about protecting herself and Luke. I get it. I do. I’ve been so caught up in my world that I haven’t considered what it would feel like to have someone close and not know how to let them in. But now, as I sit here with Bella and listen to her voice, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I don’t want her to keep me at arm’s length. I don’t want to be part of her past anymore, in the shadow of Caleb and everything he did. I want to be someone who can be a part of her future, someone she can lean on, someone who will stand by her.

The thought of her letting me in—of being close to her in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be close to anyone—is terrifying. But it also feels like the most natural thing in the world. The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m finally finding a piece of myself that’s been lost for a long time.

And the thing is, I don’t want to fight it. Not anymore. I don’t want to fight the way my heart beats a little faster when I see her smile, or the way I find myself lingering just a little longer than I should whenever she’s near. I’ve never been someone to let emotions rule me, but here I am, doing exactly that.

“I can’t just forget everything, Ryan.” Bella’s voice breaks through my internal chaos, and I turn to look at her. She’s watching me with those searching eyes, the ones that seem to seeright through me. “This whole thing…it’s so complicated. You and me, Luke, Alice…it’s a lot.”

Her words are full of fear, but also a hint of something else—desire, maybe even hope.

“I know,” I say quietly. “And I’m not asking you to jump into something you’re not ready for. But you deserve to have someone be here for you, Bella. And I want to be that person. I’m not perfect, and I don’t have all the answers. But I want to see where this could go.”

Bella bites her lip, clearly torn. I can see the struggle in her eyes, the way she wants to say something, but she’s holding herself back.

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