Best Friend's Daddy (Forever Daddies Book 3)

by Victoria Snow

I also grabbed some dish soap and a bag of potato chips. Dammit, I was still hungry.

  When I got home, my hands were shaking. I hurried to the bathroom and had to try four times before I could get the damn box open and get the stick.

  So many times, I’d seen this in movies or television. I had always watched, a little bored, wondering why they were bothering to go with that storyline again.

  Now I was living it.

  It took what felt like forever to get my body relaxed enough to even pee. I was definitely having a panic attack, like I’d never had one before.

  I paced the bathroom, my hands still shaking, not entirely sure that I wasn’t going to throw up.

  At last the stick gave me the results.

  Positive.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I chanted, dazed, sounding delirious or drunk or both. I grabbed the other two tests and did those as well.

  Positive.

  Positive.

  Three tests lined up in front of me like little soldiers, spelling out my doom.

  I had never been claustrophobic. Not my whole life. But just then it felt like the walls were truly closing in around me, like I had to get out of the house or I’d die. I wanted to claw at the floor. My breath was coming in harsh and fast. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t relate anything. I just wanted to run. Like an animal caught in a trap.

  Hiding the pregnancy tests was the first item on the list. I got rid of all the evidence. Then I got outside.

  The fresh air helped. Thank fuck. That cleared my head a bit. Okay, okay, okay, think for fuck’s sake, Stevie, think!

  I wasn’t an idiot. Okay, so maybe I was, seeing as I was currently pregnant. I could’ve gotten rid of it but… I had always wanted to be a mother. So what if it was happening earlier than planned? I still wanted it. I would have the baby.

  All right, so, first decision made. Keeping the baby.

  Second decision: Should I tell Michael?

  Almost as soon as I thought it, I dismissed it.

  No. Michael had already been a father once and had raised a child to adulthood. He didn’t want to really go through that again, did he? I had assumed that, once I won him over and we started dating officially, that I would bring up the subject of kids and let him know that was a dream of mine. I had even been willing to discuss adopting an older child, since older children so rarely got adopted. It wasn’t the same as having a baby of my own but it would give a child in need of a loving home the care and family that they deserved.

  But that had all been for the future. Right now, Michael and I weren’t even in a relationship. He had said that he didn’t want a relationship. I’d hoped to change his mind, but telling him I was pregnant wasn’t going to do that.

  Instead, what it would do would give him a sense of obligation.

  Michael was a good man. He would insist on helping out with the baby, I just knew it. He was that kind of person. And with the restaurant failing, how could I possibly ask that of him? He didn’t need a distraction or another financial burden.

  And you know what? I didn’t want to have my baby be raised with a father who didn’t really want them or want a relationship with the mother. A parent who was a parent out of guilt or obligation couldn’t really be a proper parent to the child, how could they?

  Even if Michael did want a child, a relationship…

  Well.

  The sad truth was that he surely didn’t want one with the chef he was probably about to fire. I had destroyed his company, I had sent it plummeting over the cliff, and I wasn’t going to now pour salt into the wound. He would be better off without me. I would make my way.

  God even knew what the fuck I would tell my parents but, one problem at a time.

  I was no good for Michael or the restaurant. I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I was Icarus, and now the wax wings were melting.

  So first things first: get out of there.

  I finished up my walk, looping back around to the apartment. I was glad that Andy wouldn’t be there. It meant that I could deal with all of this in peace, without a bunch of questions.

  Once I was back in my apartment, I took stock. What were my options?

  Well, I had to get out of this town. If I was around then Michael would be sure to see me as my stomach grew out and then I had a kid. He’d ask questions, and I’d be shit at lying to his face. Getting away would be good, but not too far. My mother would literally kill me if I took her first grandchild across the country.

  Besides, I couldn’t bear to be in the same place as Michael. Not when I still loved him so desperately and he didn’t feel the same, and especially not when I was carrying his child. I couldn’t do that to myself. I had to cut myself off, cold turkey. A new slate, a fresh start, that would be good. What I needed.

  But where would I go? Hmm.

  When I’d first graduated culinary school, a friend of mine from there had said I should come and work with them at this prestigious restaurant up in Sacramento. I had turned it down because I wanted to work with Michael, but now… it was the perfect opportunity. Sacramento wasn’t too far away from my family, but far away enough that it would be a new beginning for me and for my child, and away from Michael, away from all the things I’d fucked up and failed.

  I called my friend as I started to pack my bags. Dora was ecstatic that I’d chosen to take the job. “I knew you would change your mind!” she told me. “You can totally move in with me until you get yourself a place.”

  I had some money saved up, so I was sure I could find a small studio apartment quickly, but I thanked her. A couple of weeks with a friend while I searched for a new apartment - my first solo apartment, wow - would be good.

  Then I started packing. My job was waiting for me, and I wasn’t going to delay. While I was packing I called my parents and explained the change in plans, then texted Andy. He wouldn’t see it for a bit, but that was fine by me.

  My parents were supportive, as they always were, and I didn’t mention the pregnancy. “It just wasn’t working out at Michael’s,” I told them. “So I’m pursuing another opportunity now that the one-month trial period with him is up.”

  They didn’t argue with me. They’d thought I should’ve gone somewhere else in the first place, so, no surprises there.

  Packing my stuff took up the rest of the day, but at least there wasn’t much. I hadn’t wanted to have a lot of things while living with Andy since my eventual goal was to find a place of my own, and I didn’t have a lot of stuff to begin because y’know broke culinary school student. Once it was all in boxes, I ordered a U-Haul and picked it up, loaded everything, and got ready.

  Andy would be glad for the empty apartment, I was sure. I left a check for next month’s rent on the table so that he would have time to find a new roommate if he wanted one. Probably a buddy, he’d like that instead of his sister. He could actually bring girls back to the place now instead of just waiting for when I was out at the restaurant.

  That just left one thing to do.

  I knew I was making a quick decision. A split second one, you might say. But I also knew that this was the right thing to do. If I saw Michael again, I would cave and I’d lose my courage. I’d cry to him and beg for him to take me back and to be in a proper relationship with me, even though I knew that wasn’t what he wanted.

  What I was doing was best for both of our sakes.

  This did mean that I was going to have to say goodbye in a way that I normally wouldn’t condone but… what other choice did I have?

  I needed to stay strong and not be dramatic and not force myself into his life when all I’d done so far was ruin it and he didn’t even want me that way.

  So I wrote him a letter.

  Normally I would write a letter of resignation and hand it to my boss in person, and say something in person as well, something personal and heartfelt. Unless my boss was an asshole in which case I would just be professional, to hell with the heartfelt.

  But not this time.

&
nbsp; God, it hurt to write that letter. It hurt so fucking much. It was like drawing blood from my heart, from my chest, right in the center of me. But I needed to do it. He needed to know everything. Well, not quite everything. But he needed to know enough.

  And then I would walk away.

  19

  Michael

  I was dealing with the host stand, as I usually was, so I didn’t see it happen. She planned it that way, of course. She was always clever like that.

  But when I walked back into my office, there was a letter on my desk that hadn’t been there before, addressed simply with my name on the envelope.

  I opened it, wondering what the hell it could be.

  It was a letter addressed to me, from Stevie.

  The moment that I saw that, my heart plummeted. I knew, somehow, before I even read the rest of it, that this was a Dear John letter.

  Of course, I mean, yeah, fucking hell a Dear John letter implied a relationship and we weren’t in one, not officially, but still—that was what it felt like. She was saying goodbye and handing in her resignation.

  Dear Michael,

  Please accept this as my letter of resignation. I apologize for the lack of professionalism in giving it to you without a two weeks’ notice, but I knew that if I gave you any time you would feel badly and want to keep me on. I know that we have worked well together and we’ve known each other for so long. You’d probably feel like you had to give me a second chance and I wouldn’t want to force that on you.

  I wish you the best. I want to apologize for screwing up things so badly here for you. That bad review is all my fault, not yours. And while some of the things that I said in our argument were true, I was too harsh in how I said them. I respect you deeply and always have. I hope that things turn around at the restaurant. You deserve to catch a break.

  It’s clear to me that I can’t give your restaurant what it needs. I promised you that I would turn things around and I haven’t. So I’m moving on professionally. I should have followed your advice before, but I was too caught up in my dreams of making the restaurant a success. I’m sorry about that.

  And I know - this probably isn’t my place. But even though I know that you said you don’t want a relationship with anyone, I hope that you’ll reconsider that, and will find someone. You have a lot of love to give and you deserve a lot of love in return. Maybe once things calm down in the restaurant, and I know they will. You’ll figure it out.

  I’m sorry that I made things worse and I hope that you can forgive me. Both for screwing up with the restaurant, I know how much it means to you, and for just leaving without a proper notice.

  Sincerely,

  Stevie

  It was very professional of her, I had to say. Even if it was without the two weeks’ notice. But I didn’t care about that.

  What I cared about was Stevie being gone.

  I hadn’t expected that last bit, about opening myself up to the possibility of… of relationships. Of love. It seemed that Stevie knew me… better than I knew myself.

  The whole letter was like a punch to the gut. I would actually rather be punched in the gut, actually. I sat down heavily in my desk chair, the floor tilting.

  I felt like an absolute asshole. Had the things I said in my argument with her really convinced her so deeply that she was a failure? Even as I’d been convinced earlier that neither of us knew what we were doing with the restaurant, the moment I read it in Stevie’s words it sounded so ridiculous.

  She had done so much in so short of a time. She was an amazing chef. I knew that she would go far. It was probably my fault that the restaurant had failed. Or was failing. It wasn’t on her. She’d proven herself to be more than capable.

  And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck the critic, fuck Theo and his menu, fuck all of it. I wanted Stevie on my team. We could work through the rest.

  I got up, letter crushed in my hand, and rushed out the door. I told the cooks to handle the close down and went straight to Stevie’s house. The restaurant would be fine with just the floor manager for one damn night. This was more important.

  I drove like a fucking maniac to get to her apartment, rushing up the stairs and banging on the door. “Hello? Stevie? You there?”

  Fuck, I should have called ahead of time, or sent a text. I wasn’t thinking straight, not at all. She did this to me, more than any other person, she just sent me for a loop.

  The door opened as I banged, revealing not Stevie, but Andy. He looked a little confused, and exhausted. “Michael, hey.”

  “Hey, is Stevie in?” She probably didn’t want to see me but I had to talk to her.

  Andy winced and opened the door further. “You should come in.”

  “That bad, huh?” I asked, walking in. “I know that she’s upset about the restaurant but we’re going to make it wor—”

  I stopped.

  The living room was slightly rearranged from when I’d last been here. And the door to Stevie’s bedroom was open, revealing a completely empty room.

  Holy shit.

  “She’s gone,” Andy said. “She moved out this afternoon.”

  “Afternoon? But she was working in the restaurant yesterday. She just let me her letter of resignation.” I held it up to show him.

  Andy shook his head. “It was a quick decision but she said it was the right one. She’s gone up to Sacramento to work at a restaurant there. Apparently she had the offer when she first graduated but she wanted to give your place a shot first.”

  He didn’t sound accusatory or angry at me. I was surprised. Andy cared a lot about his sister. They were close and I assumed that if she was upset and moving out on short notice that he’d have quite a few feelings about it.

  She must not have told him much.

  I shoved the letter into my back pocket. “So she really just up and left in an afternoon?”

  Andy nodded. “Yeah. I hate to say it but, she’s gone.”

  She’s gone.

  That was the mantra that kept running through my head over the next few days. I kept expecting Stevie to be in my office, or in the kitchen, or even at the host stand checking the reservations. But each time I would have to remind myself - she’s gone.

  Every day I missed her more. I missed her foul mouth, her flirting with me, how she would sit on my desk and not in the chair, her presence in the kitchen. She steadied everyone around her and just grounded us, brought the whole atmosphere up.

  I felt like I hadn’t appreciated her enough while she was here. Not just professionally, but personally. I felt like an asshole for telling her that I didn’t want a relationship. I should’ve seen the good that was in front of me and seized it. Sure I didn’t want a relationship in general, but from the first, Stevie had been an exception.

  I’d welcomed her right into my life like she’d always been there. And all right so she’d been there before but it was different now. She was an adult, and fitting into the missing part of me like she’d been made for it. She was sexy as hell, she made me laugh, she was determined and educated and whip smart.

  If I had described my perfect woman to someone… Stevie would’ve checked all the boxes. And that included her ability to stand up to me and argue with me on points where I was wrong.

  Clearly my feelings for her were deeper than I’d thought. Or planned. Having her gone physically hurt, like an itch that I couldn’t scratch, an ache that refused to go away. I had miscalculated, and badly. Over the next few days I had to stop myself from driving up to Sacramento to find her.

  I couldn’t do that, of course. I couldn’t intrude on her life. She was going off to greener pastures and good for her. It was what she deserved, to be out there, at a proper restaurant that would give her the experience and recommendations to start up her own place someday. She’d want to start up her own place, I was sure, and she deserved to. Her menu was inspired, to hell with what the critic had said.

  Yeah, I couldn’t stand in her way. Hell no.

  N
ot to mention that I would probably kill someone if I walked into another restaurant and saw her working in someone else’s kitchen. It made something possessive and primal well up in me, made me see red just at the thought.

  All of that aside, though…why the hell would I bring her back to a restaurant that was failing? She would lose her job right along with me. I couldn’t hitch her to a sinking ship. What kind of selfish asshole would I be then?

  No, it was better this way, or so I kept telling myself.

  I brought a new chef in, but I told him to keep everything the way that Stevie had done it. The other line cooks and such were glad to keep doing things Stevie’s way—I could tell that they missed her. I couldn’t blame them.

  I didn’t have the heart to change Stevie’s menu. The food was good, she was right, and I thought it was better than Theo’s. I went to the farmer’s market every week with the other cooks and we worked out deals with suppliers so that we knew we would have enough to get us through each week. People were happy to deal with us, since they’d seen me with Stevie. They kept telling me to say hi to her for them.

  That was Stevie all over, getting people to be her friends so easily.

  And then, as the days kept going by—business started picking up.

  Of fucking course it did.

  People loved the food, and were complimenting me all the time for it. We had full bookings, we had a full restaurant, we were working our way steadily back into the green. I couldn’t believe it. Well, not at first.

  But then I started to wonder, as the compliments and the customers kept rolling in… had that review really been full of shit?

  It was hard, when all chefs took such pride in their work, to know who was right and who was just nursing a wounded ego. But as people consistently praised my food, I couldn’t help but feel that Stevie hadn’t been nursing her ego at all. She’d just been right. That reviewer had an issue and that review was indeed full of shit.

  One night, three weeks after Stevie had left, I stared out over the full dining room. Everyone was chatting, laughing, having a good time, enjoying the food. The restaurant looked the way it had back in the heyday, back in the beginning before Theo and Virginia hurt me. But now it was even better because Stevie had been right. She wasn’t here, running things, and yet the food was still good. The cooks could make it easily and keep up a consistent level of taste and standard.