Page 8 of Role Play
“No, thank you.” A flat white seems sophisticated. I want Dane to see a mature, levelheaded author who also has a decent mind for business. I’ll double back after the meeting and get my caramel crème latte with extra whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle.
After swiping my debit card in a hurry, she hands it back, failing to offer me the receipt. “We’ll bring the coffee out.” The barista is already turning her attention to hot dad behind me. “Hi there. How are you guys today?”
I stifle an eye roll. That greeting was far warmer than the one I received. “Thanks, April,” I offer, glancing at her name tag just to make sure. It always makes my day when someone takes the time to notice my name.
She responds with a curt nod. “Oh, wait. Your cookie.” Swiveling around, she fetches a pair of silver tongs and opens her side of the bakery case. The very second the tongs clamp around the last kitchen sink cookie, there’s a loud wail from behind me. A painful, guttural, howl of agony that pierces through the entire coffee shop. Looks pour in from every direction. It takes me a moment to realize the sound came from the little girl behind me. I pictured her voice to be bright and squeaky, but what just came out of her was more akin to a Spartan war cry.
“M&M cookie,” she musters out through her hysterics. There’s a light thud as she stamps her teensy foot hard against the tile floor. “That wasmycookie.”
Oh, no.Oh fuck.
Heat races up my cheeks.I’m the asshole that just stole the cookie this little girl had her eye on.
Hot dad squats down, sinking to eye level with her. He strokes her back soothingly and whispers into her ear. Her bottom lip puckers, then quivers as she tries to protest against what he’s saying. But he stays calm and continues to talk into her ear until she stops blubbering.
For a split second he glances up and we meet eyes for the first time. His light brown eyes don’t match his daughter’s beguiling baby blues. I show him an apologetic smile as I shrug oneshoulder. My knees nearly buckle when he shoots me a quick wink. Translation:Don’t worry about it.
After gently wiping the tears from the girl’s cheeks, he kisses each of them. “You’re going to be just fine, my baby,” he murmurs. Then he rises, collecting his daughter’s hand once more, fastening it firmly into his. She’s calm now, only quietly sniffling.
My better sense tells me to get lost and let this man and his devastated daughter be, but my urge to “fix it” kicks into hyperdrive.
As soon as the barista hands over my cookie in the brown paper packaging, I turn to face the little girl. “Hi there. Was this the cookie you wanted?”
Her cheeks are blotched with red, evidence of her meltdown. With big, sad eyes, she nods.
Hot dad squeezes her hand gently. “Koda, what did we just talk about? There are other cookies to choose from. This one isn’t yours. Tantrums won’t get you your way.”
Actually, in this situation, it kind of will. Tearstained, chubby cheeks are my kryptonite. And she is particularly precious. I give her a quick once-over. She’s wearing a fancy sundress, paired with Golden Goose tennis shoes. I’m also convinced the prim pink Chanel backpack her dad is carrying for her is real.Mmmk, so Daddy’s rich.We have that in common.
He’s certainly dressed like he’s well-off. Hot dad is wearing black slacks with a white, long-sleeved, button-down shirt. I’m willing to bet he’s a finance guy. His business attire looks subtle, but throw in his dress shoes, and I bet that ensemble cost over a grand. Money in New York City is weird. People want to pay a small fortune to blend in. You only notice their net worth by the tiny logos peeking from their shirt pockets or belt buckle. The designer labels that scream, “yes, correct, passerby. I’m glad you noticed. I am indeed out of your league.”
I yank my attention back to the little girl before he notices me studying him. Just like her dad did moments ago, I squat down to meet her at eye level. “Here, sweetie.” I hold out the cookie. “My gift to you. I’m not that hungry anyway.”
“No, thank you. Please keep it,” hot dad says.
“I insist,” I say, shrugging him off.
The little girl wrestles out of her dad’s grip and grabs the package with both hands. This time, she lets out a shriek of glee. She has the deepest dimples when she smiles. It’s infectious.
I’m feeling like a damn hero for putting that smile on her face, but then I notice hot dad’s scowl.
“Oh, there’s nuts in there. Is she allergic?” I rise, grasping for some sort of explanation as to why my hero-move was poorly received.
He shakes his head. “Not at all. But you did just undermine me in front of my daughter. I’m trying not to raise a spoiled brat who stamps her feet and cries to get her way.”
A warm flood of shame washes over me. My palm meets my forehead as I shake my head. “Shoot. I didn’t think of it like that. I’m so sorry.” I glance down at his daughter who is clutching on to the cookie, eyes wide, like a feral animal, daring anybody to steal her treasure. “What can I do to fix it?”
A small smirk creeps over hot dad’s face. “Well, I’m going to need you to be the bad guy and take the cookie back. There will probably be more tears. But at least we won’t be reinforcing bratty behavior, right?”
My jaw sweeps the floor. “You actually want me to take the cookie away from her?”
Hot dad shrugs. “That about sums it up.”
I hold up my palms in surrender. “I can’t do that. That’s one small, adjacent step away from taking candy from a baby.”
He grins mischievously and nods. “Agreed. Total villain move. You are not going to come off good in this scenario. But you said you wanted to make it right.”
“Please don’t make me do this,” I plead, gaze fixed on the little girl’s twinkling eyes that are filling with horror. She understands where this is going.
