Page 22 of Second Chance Daddy
I roll my eyes and set the phone down. “Aria, baby, we’re going home now. Have to get you all dolled up for the party.”
She looks up, clapping her hands with a childlike joy that makes her whole body shake, her face beaming like the sun itself. “Party! Party! Party!”
For a brief moment, I feel content. This party? I was going for her, anyway. And if it brings her such joy, it’s worth all the pain in the world.
I lock down the bakery, leaving a sign that we’re closed for the rest of the day. I planned on taking some muffins to Tina’s, but since Aria insisted on ‘helping,’ they didn’t turn out the way I expected. A bottle of wine will do just fine. I grab Aria in my arms and put her into her seat so we can get home and get dressed for this social experiment of a party.
By eleven AM,my bedroom looks like Macy’s exploded. Clothes everywhere. Dresses I forgot I owned. Jeans in various states of wear. Tops that seemed like a good idea in the store but have never actually left my closet.
“Not trying too hard” is the goal. I want to be casual and breezy, like second thoughts are for women who have too much time on their hands.
Like, I don’t care that I’m about to face the man who’s haunted my thoughts ever since we conceived a child together.
“Too fancy,” I mutter, tossing aside a maxi dress. “Too desperate,” goes the low-cut blouse. “Too ‘I’ve given up on life,’“”for the mom jeans.
Aria sits on my bed, legs swinging, watching this fashion crisis with patient bemusement.
“I like the blue one,” she offers, pointing to a sundress crumpled on the floor—the one Tina mentioned.
I shake my head.
Too obvious. I’m going for ‘I accidentally look this good,’ even if I won’t admit it.
“How ‘bout that?” She points to denim cutoffs I haven’t worn since before she was born.
I hold them up. They’re faded in all the right places, hitting that sweet spot between “mom appropriate” and “I still have legs, thank you very much.”
“Not bad, kid.” I dig through the pile again, unearthing a crisp white button-down. Simple. Classic. With the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone? Perfect.
I try it on and check the mirror. It works. I look like I just threw this on without thinking, when in reality, it took twelve outfit changes and the help of a three-year-old.
“You’re pretty, Mommy,” Aria says, now digging through my makeup bag like it’s buried treasure.
“And you’re a mess waiting to happen,” I laugh, rescuing a tube of red lipstick from her grasp. “Let’s get you dressed, too, nugget.”
“Can I do lipstick?” she asks, refusing to budge.
“Not today, baby.” I brush my hands through her hair.
“When I’m really old like you?”
“Ouch,” I protest, clutching my chest dramatically.
“You’re like… old.” She looks at me like I’d better get in touch with reality.
“Okay. When you’re really old,” I say, knowing I’m not winning this round.
I wrangle her into a yellow sundress with daisies. She fights me the whole damn time—kicking, pouting, acting like I’m dressing her for prison. Typical. She’s been begging to go all morning, but outfit drama is law around here.
At last, I manage to get the now excited again Aria and still terrified me into the car so we can head to Tina’s summer lake house.
I can do this. I’ve faced worse. Divorce lawyers, drunk exes, threats to my life.
But Dante?
Yeah… that’s “Jurassic Park but T-Rex has eyes just for you” level of danger.
Thirty minutes flat and we’re at the Romano estate. The mansion sits on the edge of the lake. It’s all glass and stone, right out ofArchitecture Digest. Every time my eyes land on this place, my jaw insists on hanging open.
