Page 45 of Hot Momosa

“Just be careful. Her son is old enough to get attached.”

He’s my son, too.

Times like these, it amazed me my family hadn’t put two and two together. Sure, Dahlia and I had denied, deflected, and outright lied, but Gabe and I were close. He had to at least suspect Gunnar was mine.

“I’m aware. Gotta run. See you at the marina Thursday before dawn.” I disconnected before he could piss on my parade any more. Yes, I was moving fast with Dahlia. Yes, she had a lot going on. No, I wasn’t making a mistake.

My phone rang again. “Look. I appreciate your concern, but you need to get a life. I got this.”

“Is this Leo Marchionni?” A nasally male voice came across the line.

Definitely not Gabe.

“Speaking.” I glanced at the clock.

“This is Artie Guzman.”

Shit.

I always knew this day would come, but I had zero intentions of handing over the poodles. It’d been eighteen months, for Christ’s sake.

“What can I do for you, Artie?” I shrugged into my jacket and grabbed my keys.

“I would like my dogs returned as soon as possible.” Somehow, he made the statement sound like a question.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? They’re my dogs. I miss them horribly. This wasn’t part of the deal,” Artie whined.

“I’ll send you a check to buy new ones.”

“I don’t want your money. I want Fifi, Cupcake, and Eugene.” His voice cracked like a prepubescent boy.

“It’s been eighteen months. There’s no sense in uprooting them again. Get new dogs.” I hung up and slid the phone into my pocket.

Artie Guzman had some nerve calling so close to Christmas.

He wants to spend the holidays with his family. Just like I do.

The thought stopped me dead. Wasn’t that what I’d asked of Dahlia? To uproot Gunnar so close to Christmas? The situation was different. The Three Poodle-teers didn’t have a stalker. But…

Am I being selfish? Holding onto Dahlia, and the dogs, when they don’t belong to me? And my son? What’s best for him?

With or without her, Gunnar is my son. I have to be there for him no matter what.

The longer I mulled over the situation, the deeper the pit in the bottom of my stomach grew., Gunnar was my son, and I intended to be his dad, regardless of what happened between me and his mom. Dahlia and I needed to have a conversation. I was sick of pretending I wasn’t a father. We needed to come up with a plan that worked for both of us.

I intended to do just that as soon as I got home, but before I made it to the door, Harrison-fucking-Meriwether walked into my office.

“Marchionni.” His voice dripped with good-ole-southern-charm. Seriously, the guy could have done the voice over for Clark Gable, or better yet, Colonel Sanders.

“What can I do for you, Harry?” I looked him over. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand all the hype. Between the spray-tan and overly bleached teeth, he appeared even more plastic in person than he had in photographs.

“You can stay away from Dahlia.” He balled his hands into fists.

I’d seen this scene play out a couple hundred times in the movies. The caring friend or love interest or entitled prick warning the bad-boy—with the heart of gold—to stay away from the leading lady. It’d always struck me as ridiculous these well-meaning folks would go behind their loved one’s back under the guise of doing what was best for them.

I had no idea which category Harrison fell into, and frankly, I didn’t give a shit. He’d crossed a line. “Don’t you think Dahlia can make her own decisions?”

---