Saved by the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 3)

by Whitley Cox

  “Well, if you want any furniture, you’re welcome to whatever is in your father’s study. Couch, chair, desk, whatever. Marie-Claude suggested I turn that room into my room.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “As in your bedroom?”

  She shook her head. “No, my room. A room just for me. For my hobbies, crafts or whatever else I might want to do.”

  Mitch’s eyes went wide. “Wow, go, Marie-Claude. We should have brought her over sooner.”

  She made an irritated face that said he needed to stop talking before she took her slipper off and smacked him upside the head. Mitch snickered at the memory of her doing just that on occasion. Never truly painful, but it got her point across that she was none too pleased with his behavior.

  “The room gets such great lighting, I might set up a canvas and easel and start painting again.”

  Mitch nearly spat out the water in his mouth. “You paint?”

  A small smile curled her mouth, then she pointed to the floral painting over the fireplace. “Who do you think painted that?”

  It was stunning, in deep burgundies and browns, mixed with vibrant turquoise and emerald greens. He’d never really bothered to get up close to the painting to see the signature of the artist. He’d always just assumed it was something his parents had bought or been given as a wedding gift. But his mother had painted it. His mother was an artist.

  “After I gave up on dancing, I tried my hand at painting. I’d always had a knack for doodles and drawing, but I’d never really pursued it. So one day, I bought some paints and a canvas and started. I did it for years.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “Yeah, Nana, why’d you stop?” Jayda had finished her puzzle and wandered over to where Mitch and his mother sat on the couch. Jayda climbed up into his mother’s lap.

  “Kids, sweetheart. I didn’t have time to paint and take care of my children. And then I just forgot about it. Didn’t have a good space for it. My life became a flurry of dance recitals and PTA meetings. I didn’t have time for painting. I didn’t have time for me.”

  Mitch’s mouth dipped into a frown. His heart hurt for his mother and all that she’d lost. Not only had she lost her husband but, so many years before that, she’d also lost her passion to paint.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’d do it all over again for the amazing life I had with your father and you kids. That’s just the way it is with mothers. We make sacrifices.” Her eyes turned gentle. “And fathers too. Though it makes me so happy that you were able to turn your passion, your artistic talent into a career.”

  Never without his camera bag around his shoulder, Mitch didn’t say anything, but instead pulled out his camera and quickly fixed on the lens. He adjusted the settings to account for all the light in the room. “Just hold that pose, you two.”

  Jayda and his mother both smiled. It was the same smile.

  “Perfect.”

  Jayda looked into his mother’s eyes and gently cupped her face, pressing her forehead to her grandmother’s, so they were now nose to nose. His daughter definitely knew the poses, knew how to work it for the camera.

  She had to. She’d had one in her face since birth.

  His mother closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of Jayda’s head.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  When the moment had passed, he tucked the camera away. “Ah, lady muse, you never know when’s she’s going to pop her head up,” he said with a chuckle. His phone chirped in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Violet had texted to say that Mira was being discharged and they were all heading back to Adam’s to have dinner. Mira had asked to see Jayda and asked for pizza. She also said that Mitch should invite their mother.

  Mitch lifted his head from his phone to find his mother and Jayda in a deep and private whisper. Then Jayda threw her head back and laughed as his mother tickled her in the ribs.

  Mitch’s heart hadn’t felt this light in a long time.

  “Who wants pizza?”

  8

  The next night was Wednesday night. Paige was done with dance class for the evening and feeling like a million bucks.

  Mira was okay. The berries, although not edible, were not fatally poisonous, and her daughter seemed to have recovered back to her old self in record time.

  Dance class had been invigorating and energizing, but most importantly, she no longer had the boss from hell.

  Once again, Marcy Thibodeaux no longer had any power over her, and it felt good.

  The sky was the limit for Paige, and she felt really good about it.

  Sure, she loved everyone at Narcissus and had come to know some of the regular patrons, but she hoped that once word got out she was on her own and starting something new, people would follow her.

  Now she just had to figure out what that something new was.

  She said goodnight to Violet and the other dancers, not ready to head home for the night but not sure where to go either. She was walking past the rows of empty and closed stores in the strip mall when she stopped in front of one with its lights on.

  Mitch was inside, and he was painting up a storm. Music played, and a box of barely touched pizza sat on the floor next to a water bottle.

  She could hear him singing to the Rolling Stones from the other side of the glass and fought to hide her smile.

  Before she knew what she was doing, her feet had taken her three doors down to the liquor store, where she bought a bottle of sparkling white wine and a sleeve of plastic cups. Then the next thing she knew, she was knocking on the door, shaking the bottle and smiling like she hadn’t smiled in ages as his paint-splotched face grinned back at her, his green eyes softening when he made his way to the door.

  “Good evening,” he said like Dracula, holding open the door for her. He used his phone to turn the music down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can’t celebrate getting a new studio space without a little bubbly.” She eyed up his pizza. “Plus, I’m starving.”

  Mitch chuckled. “Help yourself.”

  She handed him the bottle of wine and sank down to her butt on the floor. “You’d think a person would grow tired of pizza. But I could eat this shit every day.”

  She heard the cork pop, and within seconds he was settling down on the floor with her and handing her one of the red plastic cups.

  His chuckle was warm and carefree. “I’m inclined to agree. Pizza is just so damn awesome. All the food groups.”

  “Exactly.” They were about to drink when a thought crossed her mind. She lifted her cup into the air. “A toast.”

  His eyes twinkled as he lifted his cup to touch hers. “A toast. To what?”

  “To new beginnings. To new spaces. New people. New faces.”

  “You getting plastic surgery or something? New faces?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. I mean you. You’re a new person in my life, a new face I’m seeing practically every day it seems. You’ve got a new space, a new place of business and hopefully that means you’re going to be meeting lots of new people and new faces all the time. I thought it made sense. And the fact that it rhymes is just a bonus.”

  His very full, very kissable lips twisted as he fought back a laugh. “All right then. To new beginnings. New spaces, new people, new faces.”

  They tapped cups, then both took a sip. Their eyes remained glued to each other as they continued to drink the cool, bubbly wine.

  Pleasure splintered through her, stealing her breath.

  Finally, Mitch set his cup down and dove into the pizza. “What’s got you so happy? Not that I’m complaining. I like this side of Paige.”

  She lifted a shoulder before digging back into her own slice of pizza. “Just realized that getting fired yesterday was a blessing and not a curse. It was nice hanging out with everyone last night after Mira’s scare. Seeing the girls play together. And then dance class was great tonight. I slept well. I’m just in a really go
od head space right now. I’m feeling positive about things.”

  His hand came out, and he rested it on her shoulder. His eyes held the kind of genuine happiness for someone you rarely saw these days, at least from someone who wasn’t directly related to you. “That’s amazing, Paige. I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And let me guess, the first person you thought of, who you wanted to share your good mood with, was me, right?” His grin sent a shiver of something not altogether unpleasant coursing through her.

  She tossed her head back and laughed, only to hear the soft click of a camera. Paige opened her eyes and tilted her head back down to find Mitch holding his camera.

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “It’s a curse, really. I always have it with me. Almost always have it on. You never know when the moment is going to be there. The right shot. And you have one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen.”

  Paige wasn’t quite sure what was coming over her, but she knew that she wanted to get to know Mitch more. She wanted to explore this friendship, this whatever it was. She also knew he was one hell of a photographer. She had his shot of her dancing professionally framed and it sat on her nightstand. She said good night and good morning to it every day. He’d captured her in such a raw and vulnerable state, and yet the beauty of it, of her, was right there.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, finishing the last bite of her pizza. “You get this studio up and running, and I’ll be your first model.” His eyes went as wide as dinner plates, and she had to keep herself from laughing. “That is, if you still want me to?”

  “Want you to?” He stood up, grabbed a drop sheet, a folding chair and one of his big studio photography lights. “I’ll do it right now. We don’t need a portrait studio. We don’t need props.”

  She chuckled, enjoying his glee. “Let’s just wait.”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m serious. You look incredible right now with your hair up but coming out in wild tendrils all around your face. All in black. It’s stunning. Perfection. Just go sit on that chair right there against that white wall.”

  Rolling her eyes, she did what she was told. Within seconds, he had a makeshift background set up with a drop sheet and the photography light on and pointed at her.

  “Just do your thing,” he said, hunkering down into the crouch position and pointing the camera at her. It began to click. “Smile; don’t smile. Look at me; don’t look at me. Just be you. Just be Paige. Glorious, sexy Paige.”

  He moved from one side of her to the other, the snap of the camera echoing like a gong around the empty space.

  She had no idea what to do. How to act or move. What to do with her face, her hands. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting when she finally agreed to model for him. She thought he’d have props for her. Like a Schwinn bike and a summer dress with a bouquet of daffodils or something. Props. A theme.

  But instead he just wanted her to be Paige.

  How was that interesting?

  How was that photo-worthy?

  Slowly, she felt her happiness meter begin to dip.

  Her great mood from earlier that day was tanking, and fast.

  She wasn’t a model.

  This wasn’t her.

  He must have sensed her change, because he pulled the camera away from his face. “What’s wrong? What changed?”

  She shook her head and stood up, moving away from the chair and out from under the bright lamp. “This was a bad idea,” she said softly, standing next to a door that must have led to the adjacent business space next door. “I’m not a model. I don’t know how to pose.”

  She felt the heat from his body at her back. His hands landed on her shoulders, and she fought the urge to lean into his warmth, his strength, his protection. “I didn’t want you to pose. I wanted you to just be you.”

  She turned around to face him. “I don’t know how to do that anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Every day she struggled to pull herself from that darkness caused by losing Anthony. By losing all her babies. Some days it was so crippling, she wasn’t sure she would be able to get out of bed. Knowing that she’d failed. Knowing that she’d lost her children. Adam’s children. It had damn near destroyed her. Now, she didn’t know who she was anymore. With each miscarriage, with each death, a piece of her had died too.

  Some days were better than others, and since starting dance with Violet, more days were good than bad. But that still didn’t mean Paige recognized the woman who stared back at her in the mirror each morning. That she didn’t question every decision she made, every minute of every day.

  He took her hands in his. “You’re Paige. You’re one of the strongest, most courageous women I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot because I hardly know you. But I noticed your strength from the moment you stepped on to that dance stage and poured your heart out in front of hundreds of people, let them know your story, your heartache and all the things you’ve overcome to be who you are today.”

  “And who is that? Because I don’t feel strong at all. I feel weak. I feel like a failure.”

  How on earth did he know who she was when she didn’t even know?

  He shook his head. “Oh no, honey. You are a warrior. You’re still here. You’re still alive. You’re still fighting. You’re picking up the pieces of your life and charging forward.”

  She pushed down the urge to snort. How did he make her sound like this incredible warrior princess when inside, she felt like no more than an endless loser? A woman who failed to do what women were designed to do, and that was carry a baby. Keep a baby safe inside her body until it was ready to join the world. Time and time again, her body had proved to her she was flawed, she was a failure.

  “There are too many pieces to pick up now,” she whispered. “Too many pieces of me missing. I’ll never find them all again. Never get them back.”

  “You have a hell of a lot more pieces in your basket now than you did a month ago. Hell, I’m guessing than you did a week ago. Because a week ago you didn’t have the possibility of being your own boss and running your own restaurant at your fingertips. Now you do.”

  She shook her head. “One minute I think it’s a great idea. The next minute I think I made a colossal mistake.”

  He pulled her hand closer to the door linking the two storefronts. “Look in there.” She peered through the small window. “What do you see?”

  Paige’s eyes went wide as she took in the empty restaurant space. It had a full kitchen with a stainless-steel counter, a place for a fridge and stove. She couldn’t see everything, but from the layout, the place had probably enough seating for twenty people. Not a huge restaurant, but it was a start. The kitchen was big. Catering big.

  She turned back to face Mitch.

  “These two spaces used to be a yoga studio and smoothie and snack bar, hence the door between the two. It’s for rent just like this place was,” he said with a big grin. “We could be neighbors.”

  She blew out a breath. “Neighbors.”

  He was still all smiles. “That’s right. Though don’t bother popping over for a cup of sugar, because I won’t have any.” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down playfully. “Unless that’s not the kind of sugar you’re looking for.”

  Paige couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up inside her, and she swatted him on the chest.

  Click went the camera.

  She rolled her eyes as she shrugged innocently. He just had this way of pulling her out of the darkness and making her see the good, making her smile. She needed more of that.

  She needed more of Mitch.

  “Are you always this happy? This positive?” she asked, peering back into the empty restaurant space for half a second.

  He shook his head, his smile still wide. “No. At least I wasn’t before I met Melissa.”

  He left the mention of Melissa hang. Would Paige retreat? Would she shutter her eyes and pull away? She was in a vulnerable state right no
w, down on herself, down on life. He needed to pull her back to where she was just moments ago, when she’d knocked on the door all smiles, waving a bottle of bubbly in front of him. That Paige was in there. He just needed to sift through the self-doubt, take her hand and pull her back out to the top of the rubble pile. She needed to stand on top of her mountain of flaws and failures—though he didn’t think she had nearly as many as she thought she did—and instead embrace all that life had to offer her, all that was at her fingertips.

  She didn’t seem to be put off or upset by his mention of Melissa, thankfully. Instead, she simply nodded in encouragement before moving away from the door and wandering back into the middle of the studio. She picked up a paint roller, so Mitch followed suit, and before he knew it, they were painting.

  He went on. “She had what her mother called ‘Pollyanna Syndrome.’ She was just always happy, always positive and upbeat. I mean the woman could find the silver lining in just about anything. The plague? She’d probably say, ‘Well, it could be worse. At least it’s not raining.’”

  Paige chuckled. “I know a few people like that too. My mother is one. Always looks on the bright side.”

  “It’s refreshing as much as it is annoying,” he confirmed.

  She bobbed her head and snickered. “That it is.”

  “I see so much of Melissa in Jayda though. Her love of life, of nature. Both loved animals, made friends easily and wouldn’t hurt a fly if you offered them a million dollars to pull off his wings. She also looks just like her mother.”

  Paige smiled. “Jayda’s beautiful. And Mira absolutely adores her. She’s all I hear about when we’re together.”

  “Thank you. You’ve done a pretty remarkable job with Mira as well.”

  Paige’s face fell, and she turned away. “That was Adam’s doing.”

  Mitch put the paint roller down, moved into Paige’s space, grabbed her roller and set it down too before making her look him square in the eyes. The sadness that lingered behind those soft brown orbs made his heart clench inside his chest. “Listen to me. No, it wasn’t just Adam. It was you too. She’s half you. You were the best mom you could possibly be, and then”—he cupped her face, his pinky resting against the pulsing vein in her slender neck—“you did what you thought was best for her again. You stepped back. You knew you weren’t well. You knew you couldn’t be who she needed to be, so you sought help. How can the child be well, be happy, feel loved, if the mother or father isn’t those things as well?”