Page 35 of Faking It With the Single Dad

“Pretty good?” I raise an eyebrow. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

She laughs gently, and the sound warms something deep inside me. “They’re amazing, actually. So, will you try them out?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply, pulling out my wallet. “I’ll take two, please.”

Bella starts boxing up the scones, and I watch her, my mind drifting back to everything she’s shared about her life. She carries so many burdens and disappointments, and yet she faces each day with strength and grace. It’s inspiring, and it stirs something in me—a longing to open up in a way I haven’t done in years.

Clearing my throat, I hesitate before speaking. “You know, I envy you sometimes.”

Bella looks up, surprised. “Envy me? For what?”

“For this.” I gesture around the café. “For the life you’ve built here. It’s…real. Honest. And I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

Her brow furrows as she sets the box of scones on the counter. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, but the look in her eyes encourages me to continue. “Growing up, everything in my family was about keeping up appearances: success, power, wealth. My father drilled it intous from the moment we could walk. There wasn’t room for…for anything else. Not love, and certainly not vulnerability.”

Bella leans against the counter, her brow furrowed with concern. She doesn’t say anything, but the way she tilts her head and keeps her eyes locked on mine encourages me to keep going.

“I remember once,” I begin, my voice tinged with a bitter laugh, “I came home from school with a ninety-eight percent on a math test. I don’t know—I must’ve been ten or eleven. I was proud of it—proud enough to show it off the second my dad walked through the door. Do you know what he said to me?”

Bella slowly shakes her head, her lips parting as if she already dreads the answer.

“‘Where’s the other two percent?’” I say, my jaw tightening at the memory. “That’s all he cared about. Not the effort, not the fact that I outscored everyone in the class—just the two points I missed.”

Bella’s expression darkens, her hands pausing in their movement across the counter. “That’s…awful, Ryan. That’s just so unfair.”

“Fairness isn’t part of the equation,” I say with a shrug. “It was never about being a kid or enjoying life. It was about being the best, always striving for perfection. And if I wasn’t perfect, I was a disappointment. Plain and simple.”

Bella’s gaze softens, her voice gentle. “That’s a lot of pressure for a child.”

“It isn’t just me,” I add, leaning against the counter as if the weight of the conversation is something I need support to carry. “It’s Caleb, too. He bears the brunt of that pressure, being the oldest. Dad expected him to lead by example and pave the way for me. And when Caleb…fell short, it was like the entire family fell apart.”

She tilts her head slightly, her curiosity evident. “Fell short, how?”

I hesitate, not wanting to expose too much of my brother’s mistakes, but knowing it’s an integral part of the story. “He didn’t want to follow the path Dad laid out for him. Caleb wants to be…free, I guess. To live life on his terms. And when he rebelled, Dad wrote him off entirely. He became the black sheep of the family, the cautionary tale. It’s brutal.”

Bella’s fingers trace the edge of the counter, her voice soft but steady. “And did you ever rebel?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I did the opposite. I worked harder. Studied more. I became the perfect son—everything Caleb isn’t. But it came at a cost.”

“What cost?” she asks gently, her eyes searching mine.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “I lost myself, Bella. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being Ryan and becamethis version of myself that my father would approve of: the successful businessman, the hard-nosed negotiator, the guy who always has it together. But it’s all surface-level. Underneath, I—” I pause, the words catching in my throat. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I’m just a lost soul.”

Bella reaches across the counter, her hand brushing mine. The touch is light and tentative, but it steadies me in a way I can’t explain. “You’re more than that, Ryan,” she says firmly. “I’ve seen it myself in the way you are with Alice and how you’re stepping up for Luke. That’s not someone who’s lost. That’s someone who cares deeply.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I find myself looking down at our hands, at the connection that feels as natural as breathing. “It’s so easy to care about them,” I admit. “They’re kids. They’re innocent. They deserve better than what I had.”

“And what about you?” Bella asks, her voice softer now. “Don’t you deserve better, too?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and unanswerable. I don’t know how to respond, so I lean into the honesty that’s carried me this far. “I’m trying to figure that out. But it’s hard to let go of the past when it’s all I’ve ever known.”

Bella nods, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve carried so much for so long, Ryan. Maybe it’s time to set some of it aside.”

I look at her then—really look at her. She isn’t just offering advice; she’s offering understanding and compassion—things I haven’t allowed myself to accept in years. “You make it sound so simple,” I say with a small, humorless laugh.

“It’s not simple,” she admits. “It’s terrifying. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

---