Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Let me guess,” I deep voice says behind me. “He doesn’t like that you live with some guy he doesn’t know.”

  I push off the door and head back to the table and my second serving. Fighting with Derrick makes me hungry. Or maybe I’m emotional-eating. Or maybe it’s just that good. Regardless, I have no issue stomaching more soup.

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t help that you did the whole male challenge thingy and led him to believe there is something beyond a living arrangement here.”

  Abel shrugs but there is no remorse in his body language or facial expressions. “He was going to be pissy about it either way. I wanted to make sure he knew he wasn’t going to come into my house and act like an ass. And if he did, he’d know who he’d be up against.”

  “Fair point,” I say around my bite. “But I’m going to hear about this for weeks.”

  “Be glad you don’t have to deal with May. The second she finds out I’m living with a woman, I guarantee she’ll start sending me nude texts.”

  I crinkle my nose in disgust. “If she wants you back, she needs to get back here. Not do stuff like that.”

  “She doesn’t want us back. She just doesn’t want anyone else to have us either.”

  “They never do, do they?”

  He shakes his head with a “Nope.”

  Gesturing to the bowl next to his, I ask, “Is Mabel coming to eat?”

  “She will. She asked for two minutes to finish her match. She’s never beaten the opponent before, so I didn’t have the heart to tell her to quit now.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Hey.” He puts his spoon down and steeples his fingers together. “How did it go this morning anyway? With Mabel?”

  I bob my head back and forth like it was so-so, to buy me some time to sort out how to explain it to him. It was actually worse than so-so. Way worse, but I don’t want Abel to worry. Little girls can be difficult. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

  Still, he deserves to know the truth. “It was a little rough at first,” I confess. “I think it threw her off that you left without telling her, but once she realized Ainsley was here, she hopped out of bed quickly.”

  That’s downplaying it. Truth be told, Mabel pitched a huge fit about me not being her mom and not making her do things. I was on the verge of calling Abel when Ainsley came in and started jumping up and down on the bed. That made Mabel laugh and change her mood. From that point forward, the excitement of going to school together trumped the trauma of my rules. If it weren’t for Ainsley, though, I’m not sure she ever would have gotten up.

  “Oh yeah. She hates mornings.”

  I don’t bother correcting him, but Abel only seems to realize the half of it. Mabel doesn’t only hate mornings. She seems to hate rules and anyone in authority. When she declined the scrambled eggs I’d offered her, since that’s what we were having for breakfast, she got mad that I wouldn’t make her anything else. Instead, she slammed her cup of milk down on the table, spilling it everywhere. Then she told me this is her house and if she wants something else, she gets it. Sure enough, Ainsley and I ate eggs. Mabel poured herself a giant bowl of cereal, ate half of it, and didn’t bother cleaning up her dishes.

  Frankly, it was way more stressful than I anticipated.

  “I’m sure we’ll find a groove. Transition is hard for everyone.” I opt to leave it at that. There could be any number of reasons why Mabel was difficult this morning, so I need to give her a little bit of grace. I’m sure tomorrow will be easier.

  “I’ll make sure she knows what to expect for tomorrow.”

  “I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

  A few minutes later, Mabel slinks up to the table, quiet as a mouse. It’s odd coming from a child like her, who was just trying to win a heavyweight belt two minutes ago.

  “What’s wrong?” Abel asks her before I can.

  “Nothing.” Her sullen face and the fact that she’s spinning her spoon around in her dinner indicates there is actually something wrong.

  Abel puts his arm around her. “I made your favorite. It’s chicken and quinoa.”

  “I know.”

  She still doesn’t look up.

  “Then why aren’t you eating?” Abel asks, concern written on his face. “Are you sick?” He immediately puts his hand to her forehead which she bats away.

  “No, Dad. I just don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to eat at home with you. I want to eat at a restaurant with my mommy, like Ainsley is right now.”

  I close my eyes, guilt setting in for my thoughts about this little girl and her lack of respect for authority. Of course, she’s bucking me. She’s still grieving over the loss of her mother and here I come with my kiddo, into her house and shoving it in her face that Ainsley has a mom and she doesn’t.

  I wish there was a way I could fix this, but there’s not. And if I tried to, it would only make it worse because Mabel doesn’t know me that well yet.

  Abel puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. “I know, baby. But if you want, we can try video messaging her right now. Maybe she’s eating dinner too.”

  Mabel’s face lights up at the prospect and she nods her head vigorously. That’s all the response Abel needs to take his phone out, press a few buttons, and get the call started.

  It rings four times and as Mabel’s face starts to fall again, a voice comes through the phone.

  “Hi, baby! What are you up to?”

  The phone is faced away from me, thank goodness. Not that I would be included on this call. It’s really none of my business. But I also can’t guarantee if I saw her face I would stay as in-control as Abel did when Derrick was here. Nothing angers me more than a parent who has no regard for hurting their child. Nothing.

  Mabel begins bouncing in her chair, face lit up with excitement. “Guess what, Mom? I beat Crazy Craigen on level four! He didn’t stand a chance!” She stands up and begins throwing jabs in the air. “It was awesome. And now I get to start level five tomorrow.”

  “Wow,” the voice says, not sounding enthusiastic at all. “Did you try that nail polish kit I sent you? Ombre nails are the latest thing.”

  Mabel stops bouncing, looking a little dejected. I glance up over my bowl at Abel, who is holding eye contact with me. By how tight his jaw is, I know he’s concentrating on me so he doesn’t say something inappropriate—regardless of how truthful it might be.

  “I didn’t know how to do it,” Mabel finally says quietly.

  “Mabel, we talked about this,” the voice chides. “If you can’t figure out the instructions, YouTube is your friend.”

  Abel squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

  “See how pretty Mommy is?” she continues. “It took lots of practice to be this beautiful. You can do it, too. You just have to try.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  I watch as Mabel’s face falls and my heart aches for her. I know Mabel loves her mother, and I would never fault her for that. But the more I listen, the more I understand the depth of selfishness this child had to deal with, and still does.

  “Anyway, I have to run. I’m going to a gala tonight with a lot of potential networking connections. But we’ll talk again soon, okay?”

  Mabel nods, tears clearly welling up in her eyes.

  “I love you, Mabel. Big kisses!” The sound of a big smooch comes through the speakers and then it goes silent, not just over the phone but in the room too.

  After a few seconds, Abel sighs. “Mabel, why don’t you sit down and finish your dinner? When we’re done with your bath, we can play some Uno. What do you say?”

  She shrugs but sits, not picking up her spoon. I can’t imagine how she must feel right now but my own maternal instinct kicks in, wanting to do something to make things better.

  “Mabel, if you’d like, I know a thing or two about doing nail polish. Maybe we could work on the ombre look together.”

  She look
s up through her eyelashes, tears all dried up. “You are not my mother.” Then she pushes her chair from the table, stomps up the stairs, and slams the door to her bedroom.

  Well, that didn’t go well. And I can only hope it isn’t foreshadowing for our future as housemates.

  Chapter Eleven

  ABEL

  I rarely work Saturdays. It’s one of the perks of having seniority. It probably has more to do with my willingness to be at the gym at five in the morning during the week, but I like to pretend I have some sort of clout.

  Regardless, around the holidays, it all goes out the window. One would think all that is needed to keep customers happy at a gym is maintained equipment, fun classes, and good customer service. Tabitha’s smoothie bar is a giant perk with all the therapy she doles out along with the drinks.

  But no. Management believes we need to cater to families more. I don’t disagree, necessarily. I just don’t care to spend my off day back at work being a bouncer to pint-sized patrons when Jolly Old St. Nick shows up today.

  “Are you girls excited to see Santa?” I ask, as I stir the oatmeal on the stovetop. It’s going to taste great with the local honey I’ve been saving since summer.

  “Oh yeah, Daddy!” Mabel calls from the table. “I can’t wait to tell him what I want for Christmas.” Ainsley breaks out into a fit of giggles, and Mabel whispers loudly, “I have to say that. He still believes in Santa. I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

  I shake my head in amusement and then my face falls almost immediately. Oh shit. I hope Mabel didn’t ruin it for Ainsley.

  Fortunately, Ainsley whisper-yells back. “My mom still does too. I have to hide her present until Christmas Eve.”

  I fight back a chuckle at these two. I’m not sure who they think is bringing their presents if their parents are snuggled in their beds dreaming of Kris Kringle’s arrival, but I’m too entertained to ask. Besides, who am I to ruin the fun they’re having by keeping this secret from us?

  As they continue giggling and being less-than-quiet with their discussion, I finish breakfast and dish it out.

  Serving the girls, I look up from where they’re sitting to see Elliott making her way toward the kitchen with pigtails in her hair and wearing a tight red sweater dress with white trim hugging tightly to her body. The green stockings are a nice touch, and they match quite well with the scowl on her face.

  “Well, good morning. Don’t you look precious,” I chide to see if I can get a rise out of her.

  She doesn’t slow her steps as she complains, “I was tricked.”

  “What?” I laugh out the word, knowing full well what’s she’s mad about.

  “This wasn’t part of my job description.”

  “But you look so cute with the pigtails, and the red outfit, and the painted on… what are those? Freckles?”

  She bats my hand away when I gently swipe at her hair. “There’s nothing cute about a forty-something wearing pigtails to work so she can dress like an elf.”

  That stops me in my tracks. “Wait. You’re how old?”

  “Forty-two.” Holy shit. I had no idea she was that old. I thought late thirties at the absolute most. Not that her age matters. She just seems so much more youthful than I would have expected of a forty-something. “What’s it to you, Beast?” she challenges, hands on her hips.

  Crinkling my nose, I grimace at the nickname. “You heard about that, huh?”

  “Now that my home away from home isn’t a mecca of mass hysteria, you’d be surprised what kinds of shouts I can hear. I can even hear… ”Her eyes go wide as if she’s telling me something amazing. “Actual conversations!”

  “No!” I joke, throwing my hand over my heart.

  “Yes! It’s amazing.”

  “I bet. Since being able to hear is no longer a problem, are you gonna sit on Santa’s lap today and whisper all your secrets in his ear?”

  She turns and grabs a bowl, dishing out her own serving of oatmeal. “That depends on who is playing Santa, I suppose. If he’s the smelly guy that used to do it at the mall, I’m out.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. Turns out the suit fits me!”

  Elliott stops what she’s doing to look me up and down. Not sure if she’s being flirty or getting ready to lob a verbal zinger my direction. “Oh, well then, I’m for sure not sitting on his lap. You may not smell like booze and cigarettes, but that protein shake with double greens is no picnic.”

  Verbal zinger it is.

  Wait. Was that a zinger or did she take advantage of the moment to tell me the truth?

  I go for discretion as I cup my hand over my mouth and blow, trying to smell my breath. By the look on her face when she catches me, I’d say I’m not very stealth.

  Eh. May as well get down to the bottom of it, then. “Seriously?”

  She finishes her bite, shaking her head as she does. “No. You’re minty fresh.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Really? You aren’t backpedaling, are you?”

  Her only answer is to roll her eyes and breeze past me to sit with the girls who are no longer giggling but shoveling food in their mouths as fast as possible.

  “Good morning, girls,” Elliott greets, as she gets comfortable with a single foot wedged underneath her.

  “Mmmnnnnn”, they mumble around their food. I knew my oatmeal was good, but I didn’t realize it was that good.

  Dropping her spoon in her bowl, Ainsley licks her lips and says, “Done. Is it time to go yet?”

  Quirking an eyebrow, I pretend to not know the magic is already gone for these two. “Are you girls excited about meeting Santa or something?”

  They flash each other a conspiratorial look before Mabel answers.

  “Dad. You know it’s not the real Santa coming to the gym, right?”

  “Do you know it’s not the real Santa?” Elliott asks, having missed the entire whisper-yell conversation a few minutes ago. I’ll have to enlighten her later.

  The girls look at each other again. This time Ainsley is the bearer of the bad news. “Yes, Mom. We know. The real Santa would never show his face in public. So, you don’t have to be nervous about talking to him today.”

  Elliott blinks a couple of times and looks up at me. I can only smirk and shrug as I wait for her response. “Oh. Well then, I guess the pressure is off. What’s the rush?”

  “Dad is dressing up in the Santa suit,” Mabel replies quickly, dropping her own spoon in her now empty bowl. “He’s gonna look so funny.”

  “Hold on.” I raise my hand, as if I have something hugely important to say and need their undivided attention. It works. “You’re only excited to go so you can make fun of me for wearing a smelly suit and an itchy beard?”

  I would hope my daughter would have a least a little bit of guilt over her own intentions. But apparently, I’m expecting too much. The only response I get is a shrug of her little shoulders and a “Well, yeah.”

  Awesome. My child has turned against me. So, I do the only thing I can—try to deflect.

  “How come you aren’t making fun of Elliott, then?”

  “Hey!” the woman in question says around her food. “What did I do to you?”

  “Tell me I have protein-shake breath.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. “Point made.”

  I nod once and turn back to the girls. “Seriously. She’s a forty-two-year-old woman in pigtails. Surely there is a joke in there.”

  Ainsley rolls her eyes at me. How in the hell did I end up outnumbered here? Oh yeah. I let two more women move in. “My mom is thirty-five, Abel.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am,” Elliott responds quickly. “Why don’t you girls take your bowls to the sink and put on your Christmas shirts while you wait for us slowpokes.”

  The girls race off as commanded, chanting, “Slowpokes! Slowpokes!” as they go. I, on the other hand, don’t take my eyes off Elliott, one eyebrow quirked in question.

  Catching my gaze, she looks around like there’s no wa
y I could be staring at her. Finally, she asks, “What?”

  “Thirty-five, huh?”

  She drops her spoon and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t feel as old as my birthdate says I am.”

  “You lied to your daughter?” I say with a snicker.

  “I let her do the math. Who am I to say she’s wrong? It would break her heart to know she subtracted wrong.” Elliott jumps up from the table, grabbing my breakfast dish on her way past me. “Girrrrls! Are you almost ready to go?”

  A small chorus of cheers and squeals come wafting down the stairs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a group of young girls upstairs, not just two of them. Who knew girls were so loud?

  Between hats and coats and boots and gloves, it takes a few minutes to get everyone out the door. Fortunately for us, its late enough in the day that while cold, the sun keeps the chill from being bone deep. Or maybe it’s my distraction at Elliott’s figure in that elf dress. Who knows?

  Soon enough, the girls have skipped the entire way to Weight Expectations, and we’re all headed through the door, girls still squealing. For kids who claim to not believe in Santa, they’re awfully excited to tell him what they want. Then again, if they know it’s me, they also know it’s a guaranteed way to give me their lists.

  “Thank God you’re here.” Dinah races towards us before we’re all the way in the childcare center and de-winterized. “We’ve had more RSVPs than expected, so we need to get you suited up and ready to go.”

  “I thought I was going to bouncer first and Joey was going to Santa.” I grab a hanger, so my coat doesn’t end up on the floor with the melting slush.

  “Joey bailed.”

  I drop my coat. Forget the slush. There are worse things. Like getting stuck in fifteen pounds of padding for two shifts instead of one.

  “What do you mean he bailed?”

  “Claims he got sick. Keely is pissed.” That tidbit is not only not surprising, it makes me feel a teensy bit better. “Not that any of us have time to do anything about it,” Dinah continues. “People are going to start lining up any minute, and we’ve got to get you dressed. Ooh, Elliott you look amazing. Like a sexy elf.”