Hot Daddy_A Romantic Comedy

by Lila Monroe

  “Are you kidding?” I break in. “I loved being dumped in the middle of it.”

  Cal raises his eyebrows. “You did?”

  “Not right away, maybe,” I admit with a smile. “But after a while?” I shrug. “Do you have any idea how special those kids were to me? How special all of you were to me? Cal, those nine days were the most incredible ride I’ve been on in a long, long time.”

  Cal looks at me for a long moment, his face inscrutable. “I didn’t realize,” is all he says.

  “Well.” All at once I realize I’m still holding onto his arm, his bicep warm and solid and familiar underneath my hands.

  I let go, embarrassed, taking a step back and clearing my throat. I’m just about to suggest we head back to the house, when my phone rings in the back pocket of my jeans. I gasp when I see the name on the caller ID: it’s Alan, the investigator I know from Harper Wells.

  “Jules,” he says, when I answer. “I’ve got a lead.”

  I grab Cal’s arm again as I listen to what Alan tells me. “You’re a gem, Alan,” I squeal when he’s finished. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you for getting me out of that jam with Homeland Security,” he says cheerfully, then hangs up before I can tell him goodbye.

  I look at Cal, who’s staring at me anxiously. “Somebody saw them at the Tasty Burger in Back Bay Station,” I report. “Five minutes ago—maybe ten, tops.”

  Cal’s eyes widen. “What the hell are they doing there?”

  I shrug. “Catching a train?”

  “Jesus Christ.” Cal holds up his car keys. “Let’s go.”

  I shake my head. “It’s rush hour,” I point out, nodding at the crush of cars on the street. “The orange line is only like a block that way. It’s faster if we take the subway.”

  We run the whole way, racing down the steps into the subway station and through the crush of commuters on the platform. We pack into the car so tightly we’re literally nose to nose. A teenager with a backpack jostles past me, and a woman with an armful of shopping bags digs an elbow into my side. I look around frantically as the train jerks into motion, trying to find someplace to hold on for balance, but Cal makes a face at me like don’t be ridiculous before bracing himself against the door and sliding an arm around my waist. I want to bury my face in his shoulder.

  I want to never let him go.

  Focus, Robinson, I remind myself firmly. That’s over, remember? That is good and done.

  Cal glances down as we speed through the tunnel, the train rumbling under my feet. “Distract me,” he says quietly.

  The surprise must register on my face, because he smirks. “Not like that,” he adds, grinning. “I just mean talk to me. About anything.” He pauses, thinks a minute. I can see those maddening flecks of amber in his eyes. “Tell me one true thing.”

  My heart turns over, thinking of the very first night we met back in Vegas—how nervous I was and the easy way he calmed me, how suddenly it felt like we’d known each other for years. I take a deep breath. “I’m thinking about going back to Harper Wells,” I confess.

  Cal raises his eyebrows. “Harper Wells, home of the dick-swinging copier guy?” he asks.

  “Former home of the dick swinging copier guy,” I clarify. “And they’re the only company that’s willing to have me.”

  “Not the only company,” he says.

  I have no idea what that means, but now doesn’t feel like the time to remind him that he told me he never wanted to see me again. “It looks like your mom made some calls for me, actually.”

  “She did?” Cal asks, sounding curious. “Really?”

  I nod, disappointed. So he didn’t know about it. There was a part of me that thought maybe it was some kind of gesture from him, a way of saying he forgave me. “She wants me to represent her in some negotiations she’s got coming up, but I’m not totally sure what they’re about.”

  “Max convinced her to do that book,” he explains. “About the company, being a female entrepreneur.” He frowns. “I don’t think you should take it.”

  That stings.

  “I mean, okay.” I shrug a little inside his grip, trying to seem nonchalant. “If you don’t want me working in such close proximity to your family, then—”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” Cal says quickly. “You can come work in the office right next door to me, if that’s what you want to do. I just don’t think you should go back to your old firm. In all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never heard you say one positive thing about that place.”

  “They paid me a salary,” I point out. “That’s pretty positive.”

  “You hated that job,” Cal says. “You described it, more than once, as soul-sucking. I’ve seen you get excited about stuff—I’ve seen you get excited about the law, even. But never when you were talking about Harper Wells.”

  I sigh. He’s right, dammit. “You don’t have to be passionate about what you do for a living, Cal. That’s why it’s called work.”

  “Can’t it be both?” He gives me a smile. “I know, I can talk. But I care about you. I want you to be happy, and I can say for a fact you won’t be if you go back there.”

  I care.

  I smile at that, I can’t help it, some dumb flicker of hope sparking deep inside my chest. “You do?”

  Cal sighs. “Jules,” he murmurs. “Come on. Of course I do.”

  I care about you too, I want to tell him. I more than care about you, even. But I don’t say any of that, because just then the train screeches into Back Bay Station and I spy a familiar flash of red hair through the window of the car.

  “Oh my God,” I say, shoving shopping bag lady aside to get a better look. She swears at me, and loudly, but I barely even hear. “That’s them.”

  Sure enough, the pair of them are standing on the platform in their backpacks like they’re headed off to summer camp, Howard zipped safely into Ezra’s jacket.

  “Holy shit,” Cal says, grabbing my hand and squeezing. “You’re right.”

  22

  Cal

  I’m so angry at you guys,” I tell them five minutes later, one hand wrapped around the back of each of their necks. We fought our way through the crush of rush-hour commuters to get to them, scooping them up like twin sacks of groceries and depositing them on a nearby bench while we checked them over for grievous bodily harm.

  “I’m so angry at you guys, and I know that I’m smiling right now, but I don’t under any circumstances want you to take that as meaning anything other than I’m glad you’re not hurt. Because I am really, really glad you’re not hurt.” I hook my arms around both of them then, squeezing so hard they squeal in protest. “How could you do something so dumb?” I demand, shaking them a little. “Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

  “We wanted to see you!” Ezra protests, wriggling out of my grip.

  I shake my head. “So then what were you doing lurking around the train station like a couple of hobos?”

  “We were trying to take the T back to your house,” Lottie explains with big-sister authority. “Like I did with Jules the day we went to the arcade. But I forgot my phone and we got confused about which train went where and we wound up just riding around all day.”

  “We also got French fries two times,” Ezra explains helpfully, stroking Howard’s matted fur. “And saw someone peeing in a corner.”

  I laugh, flooded with relief. “That sounds like quite the adventure,”

  “We’re sorry,” Lottie says seriously. “Don’t be mad at Ezra, okay? If anybody’s going to get punished it should be me.”

  I exhale, looking back and forth between them. God, I’m just so glad they’re safe.

  “Come on,” I say finally, slinging an arm around each of them and steering them up the escalator towards the exit, Jules bringing up the rear. She’s on the phone with Vivian to let her know we found the kids, surreptitiously wiping her face with the back of one hand. I don’t blame her; there’s an unfamilia
r lump in my own throat, too. “Let’s call off the search.”

  Back at Vivian’s, the cops are waiting to take everyone’s statement. Jules clutches a wine glass like a life preserver while Vivian’s new boyfriend, a gray-haired Frenchman named Roger who looks old enough to be my fucking dad, sets out a plate of cheese and crackers like we’re at the world’s most awkward cocktail party. “Are zey always like zis?” he asks me, wrinkling his nose at Lottie and Ezra with obvious distaste. “Zee children, I mean?”

  “Nope,” I say, looking at him evenly. “Sometimes they’re real trouble.”

  Finally the police finish asking their questions, and I walk them to Vivian’s front door. “Thanks again for all your hard work today,” I tell them, holding a hand out to shake each of theirs. “I promise we’ll sort out the rest of our family drama so that it doesn’t continue to become the problem of the BPD.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” one of the officers says. “You all have a good night, now.”

  I head down the hallway and peek into the living room, where the kids are curled under a blanket on the sofa, fast asleep: they’re piled together like kittens, Howard tucked safely under Ezra’s arm.

  I lean against the doorway and let myself stare at them for a minute: at Lottie’s freckles and Ezra’s unruly cowlick, the exact same one Rob used to have.

  “You really care about them, don’t you?”

  I whirl around. Vivian is standing behind me in the hallway, arms crossed and eyebrows arched. Now that she’s won custody she’s abandoned her frumpy Suzy Homemaker costumes, I can’t help but notice, and is dressed in leather leggings that remind me of Catwoman and heels you could use to take someone’s eye out.

  “Of course I do,” I tell her angrily. “More than my fucking life.”

  Vivian gazes at me for a moment. “You know, I have to say, I thought it would feel better, beating you.”

  Is she for real? I ball my hands into fists at my sides, fighting to keep my voice down so I don’t wake the kids. “Is that what this was about for you?” I demand. “Some kind of freaking competition?”

  “Partly.” She gives a cool shrug. “I know you think I’m some money-hungry monster, Cal. But Melissa was my little sister. Believe it or not, we were close as kids—at least, before she met you and Rob and the three of you set up your own little club that no one else could join.” Vivian gives me a look. “For the record,” she tells me, “I did think it was ridiculous that they chose you to be the kids’ guardian. I still think that. But also . . .” She trails off. “I suppose it’s possible my own pride was a factor here, too.”

  Oh.

  I hadn’t thought about it like that: how it must feel to have your own sister decide you weren’t good enough to be a parent.

  And sure, Mel was clearly right, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt Vivian, in her own twisted way.

  “She loved you,” I venture. I don’t know why I’m trying to make her feel better, but what the hell. She’s technically family. “Mel, I mean. I know you guys had grown apart. But she was your sister, like you said. She loved you.”

  For a moment, I think Vivian might drop the bitch act and be a decent human, but then she gives a sniff. “Oh, Cal, don’t be corny,” she snaps. “This is ridiculous. You should take them.”

  I stop dead. “What?”

  “You heard me. You want them. And they want you—Lord knows the two of them have been crystal clear on that point.” She shrugs. “You can take them home tonight.”

  “Are you serious right now?” I demand. “Don’t fuck with me about this, Viv, I swear to God.”

  “I’m not,” she assures me, holding her hands up. “It’s not worth it. Have your lawyer draw up the papers and I’ll sign them, no questions asked.” She sighs. “Roger hates kids anyway,” she confesses. “And he wants us to move to Paris, which I can’t very well do with the two of them hanging around.”

  “You guys are a match made in heaven,” I can’t keep myself from muttering.

  Vivian rolls her eyes. “Do you want to be snotty to me, Cal, or do you want to take the kids?”

  I want both, actually, but if I have to choose: “No contest,” I tell her quickly. “We’ll pack up their stuff right now and get out of your hair.” I take a deep breath. “Vivian,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Get out of my house.”

  Vivian heads upstairs to pack up the kids’ stuff while I step into the living room and shake them gently awake. “So here’s the thing,” I begin once they’re upright. “I’m pretty sure you’ve lost your television privileges for the foreseeable future.” I tilt my head to the side, counting on my fingers. “And your computer privileges, and most of your other privileges.”

  Ez and Lottie groan, flopping backwards onto the sofa. “For how long?” Ezra asks.

  “Well, I’m not sure, really,” I tell them seriously. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, I smile. “I guess we’ll have to negotiate when we get home.”

  The penny drops for Lottie first. “Home . . . like your house?” she asks cautiously.

  “Home like our house,” I promise. “You guys are coming with me.”

  Ezra lets out a joyful hoot, tossing Howard into the air in celebration, but Lottie looks at me suspiciously. “For real this time?” she asks.

  My heart breaks a little at the trepidation in her voice: I’ve fucked with their trust, no question, and I know it’s going to take me a long time to win it back. Lucky for me, I think we’ve got it now. “For real,” I promise, opening my arms to them. Ezra basically pile-drives me onto the carpet. After a moment, Lottie comes too.

  I scoop up one of their backpacks in either hand and we head back into the kitchen, where Roger is going to town on his cheese plate. “Where’d Jules go?” I ask, looking around curiously.

  Roger shakes his head, an expression on his face that clearly indicates he can’t possibly be expected to keep track of the whereabouts of any more filthy Americans today. “Ah,” he tells me. “She seems to have left.”

  “What?” I say, heart dropping. “When? Why?”

  “I do not know.” He shrugs, popping a piece of brie into his mouth and stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “She said to tell you au revoir.”

  Oh, fuck me. I can’t keep track of any of the important things. I look down at the kids. “Wait here a sec, okay?” I tell them. “I mean it. Not one muscle. I’ll be right back, and then we’re leaving. In the meantime, eat some cheese!”

  I find Jules waiting in the darkness on the curb outside Vivian’s house. For the first time, I let myself notice all the shit I told myself not to pay attention to earlier today—her mouth and her hands and her ass inside her blue jeans, her soft blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders. How much I want to sink my hands into it and pull her close.

  “Jules!” I call, catching up with her on the sidewalk. She turns to face me, looking surprised. “What the hell?” I say, shaking my head in confusion. “Why’d you leave?”

  Jules looks away. “I’m so glad the kids are safe,” she says, her voice oddly stilted, “but I didn’t want to intrude back there. I called an Uber. I’m just going to go back to my car and head home.”

  “Wait, to New York?” I demand. “Don’t,” I tell her. “Cancel it. You weren’t intruding. You could never be intruding.”

  For a second, I see something like hope in her eyes, then, just as quickly, she looks away. “You’re just relieved to have the kids back, you’re not thinking straight,” she says. “My ride’s here.”

  “Wait a second.” I hesitate, trying to figure out how the hell to say this. The idea of her disappearing again is just plain wrong. “Listen to me. Today with the kids . . . you were the only person I could even imagine being around without wanting to drive the car right off the road into the Charles River.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She looks at me. “No,
I don’t.”

  “You’re the person I want next to me when shit is hitting the fan,” I try, “but you’re also the person I want around when things are good.” I take her hands. “What I’m trying to say is that I want you around, all the fucking time.”

  Jules blinks at me. “You really mean it,” she says slowly, then smiles. “You’re the person I want to be around all the time, too.”

  My heart does something dangerous deep inside my chest. “Really?”

  Jules looks at me like I’m insane. “Are you kidding? Nothing changed for me, Cal. You’re the one who said you never—” She breaks off. “You never—”

  “I know.” I grimace. “I was being an idiot. And I’m so sorry—”

  The Uber beeps its horn, impatient. “One second!” Jules calls. She looks back at me. “Cal . . .”

  “I’ve been miserable since you went back to New York,” I confess. “Like, really embarrassing, getting drunk all the time, listening to Sam Smith albums miserable.”

  Her lips twitch. “You’ve been listening to Sam Smith?”

  “Metaphorically,” I tell her. “And, okay, literally too. It’s very cathartic.”

  That makes her laugh, but then she pauses. “I’m so sorry for what I wrote in those texts,” she says again. “I was being an asshole. I wrote a letter to the judge and told her that, but I guess it didn’t make any difference.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, grinning now. “Vivian just agreed to hand over custody.”

  “She—what?” Jules’s mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

  “Just now. Turns out Roger doesn’t like kids.”

  “Oh my God, thanks for being the worst, Roger!” Jules throws her arms around me. “Cal, that’s amazing. I’m so, so happy for you guys.”

  I hug her back as hard as I can without crushing her, closing my eyes and breathing in her familiar gardenia smell. I can feel her heart beating away next to mine.

  Fuck it.