Dad Bod Page 4

  “Yeah, well cry on someone else’s shoulder. I’m here for my daughter, not to argue with you.”

  This seems to startle Tyler. “Your daughter? How old is she?”

  I cross my arms. “Did you really not know?”

  “I tried not to pay attention to what happened at home once I’d left.”

  “Obviously.” I wave a hand. “Mila is almost seven years old.”

  “Seven?” He hesitates. I can see his brain calculating. “That would mean...”

  “She’s not yours,” I say shortly. “I’m positive. I...dated someone else after you, which is none of your business. Why are you here, anyway?”

  “My daughter.”

  His answer isn’t the one I expected, and though I’d prepared for a fight, this one shook me. “Excuse me?”

  “My daughter, Jessica. That’s why I’m here today.”

  “But last night...” I pause in confusion. “You didn’t—”

  “I didn’t have her with me because she stayed at my mom and dad’s. It’s the first time we’ve been home since she’s been born, and my mom insisted her granddaughter spend the night.”

  There’s a hole inside me, and it’s growing bigger. Memories I’d long since tried to erase come flooding back. “You left because I told you I wanted to settle down.”

  “No, Maggie—that’s not why. Please, don’t think that.”

  “We dated, we slept together, and then suddenly, you weren’t there anymore,” I tell him. “You left the day after I told you I loved you.”

  Tyler’s face contorts in pain, and I almost feel sorry for him. But I’m too preoccupied trying to understand the timeline of events. “You can’t imagine how many times I picked up the phone to call you.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” To be fair, I add to it before he accuses me of the same thing. “And neither did I.”

  “So...are you married?” he asks. “Mila’s father, is he...does he work at the inn?”

  “I’m unattached. Jax, the chef, is just a friend.”

  A throat clear interrupts us. This time, it’s coming from a wide-eyed man whose pinched forehead says he’s unamused by our too-loud arguing. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks pointedly. “The girls are waiting.”

  He backs into the office and leaves me in the lobby with Tyler. Our previous conversation is left dangling in the air as I work through what the principal just said—the girls.

  “Did you get a phone call about your daughter fighting?” I ask slowly, thumbing toward the office. “Was he talking to both of us?”

  “I did,” Tyler says, sounding puzzled. “But Jessica is an angel; seriously, I don’t know where she learned her manners because it’s not from me.”

  “No, Mila is an angel,” I correct. “She’d never pick a fight.”

  “It wasn’t Jessica,” he says, his eyes flashing as he steps forward. “I guarantee it.”

  “The Daniels family that I know tends to be stubborn,” I say. “Could she have inherited that part of your personality?”

  “The Marshall genes that I know are impossible to please. Could your daughter have that quality?”

  “Don’t talk about Mila like you know her!” I’m back to yelling at him, wondering why we keep yo-yo’ing between hot and cold. “You haven’t been around to meet her.”

  “There’s one way to settle this,” Tyler says, gesturing with mock politeness toward the door behind me. “After you, princess.”

  I give him the eyeroll to end all eyerolls, but I move forward. I’m worried my blood pressure has been through enough for one day, and with Mila having only one parent, I have to take care of myself. If I died, my mother would want custody of Mila, and I’m not subjecting my daughter to the same criticism I went through during my formative years.

  Plus, I don’t want to fight in front of my daughter—or the principal. I’m red-faced and feeling hot all over, wondering how much Principal McNeal heard.

  “Good morning, Principal McNeal.” I give a tight smile and offer my hand for a shake. “How are you?”

  “I’m, ah...fine.” Principal McNeal reaches out and tentatively grasps my hand.

  At this awkward greeting, I’m newly convinced that he heard everything. If I had any doubt, it’s obliterated by the curious stare he gives Tyler as he follows me into the room.

  “Please,” Principal McNeal says, addressing Tyler and I as if we’re the children here, while our daughters look on with large eyes—eyes that, I now see in Jessica, are mirror images of her father’s. “Take a seat.”

  Chapter 6

  TYLER

  The woman is beyond frustrating. I don’t know what it is about her, but from day one, from the first time I kissed Margaret Marshall, I’ve never been able to get her out of my mind. It’s as if she’s a part of my blood, the air I breathe, the world I live in—no matter how much time has passed.

  I can barely listen to Principal What’s-His-Face as he begins to explain the situation. My gaze is focused entirely on Maggie, halfway torn between how beautiful she looks when she’s razzed up—a hint of pink in her cheeks, the way her chest moves with each frustrated breath, the bright shine to her eyes that says she’s ready for a fight—and how hot she makes my blood boil.

  The principal clears his throat, and I snap to attention. I’m experiencing a moment of deja vu sitting here, remembering that one of the last times I’d been in this very office was the time I’d convinced Maggie to cut school and see a movie with me.

  It had been the first time she’d held my hand, and quite possibly, the very best day of my young life. It had made me antsy with desire just thinking about the way her skin had felt against mine, so soft and smooth, her touches gentle, yet desperate...experimental, as we explored what it meant to fall in love.

  And...I’m gone again. I missed half of what the principal said, and judging by the way he’s glaring at me, he knows it, too. On top of that, the girls are bickering, so I force myself out of the memories and into the present.

  “She called me a country bumpkin,” Mila snaps. “I don’t even know what that is, but it doesn’t sound nice.”

  “It’s because you are a country bumpkin,” Jessica says patiently. “You’re from the country.”

  “Jess—” I say, and my daughter gives me a glare worthy of a teenager. I’m already dreading the years ahead, since it appears Jessica has aged twelve years in the last two. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

  “She called me a know-it-all, first,” Jessica says. “Just because I answered the question right.”

  “You didn’t just answer one question right,” Mila says with a scowl. “You answered all of them right.”

  “Because I’m smart.” Jessica sounds proud of this, and I’m a bit uneasy with how aloof she sounds. I’ve tried so hard to make sure she didn’t inherit her mother’s mightier-than-thou attitude, but now and again, it still creeps in, and I’m painfully aware of Anastasia’s influence over her.

  “You didn’t leave any questions for the rest of us to answer,” Mila says, shaking her finger at Jessica. “And because of that, you got extra stars, and we all have to stay inside at recess to do worksheets.”

  Margaret turns to look at me, ever-so-slowly, a slight smirk to her lips. I can read what she’s thinking: how on earth did troublemaker Tyler Daniels end up with the goody two-shoes, uber-smart daughter? Good question, I want to tell her. I have no clue.

  “Mila,” Maggie says, “just because Jessica answered the questions correctly, doesn’t mean you should snap at her.”

  “Only snitches answer all the questions correctly,” Mila says. “Nobody likes a snitch.”

  “That’s not what snitch means.” Jessica rolls her eyes, unfazed. “A snitch is a tattle-tale.”

  “Snitches don’t have friends,” Mila blurts out. “You know, if you’re mean, people don’t want to be your friend.”

  “Mila!” Maggie’s mad now, and her daughter senses this. “Come over here, please.”


  Mila backs off, but the damage is already done.

  Jessica pauses at Mila’s words, her mouth open. Her eyes, bright and confident, flicker, and I hurt for my daughter. I lean forward to interfere, but before I can say a word, Jess bursts into tears.

  I’m on my feet in two seconds flat, my arms wrapped around her in half the time. “It’s okay, honey,” I tell her, running my hands through her hair. “She didn’t mean it.”

  Meanwhile, Maggie grabs Mila’s hand and drags her unceremoniously to the side of the room. I watch her eyes darken as she speaks firmly with her daughter. As I hold Jess to my chest, it’s impossible not to overhear their conversation.

  “I’m very disappointed you’d talk to anyone like that,” she says to Mila. “I thought you knew better. What’s the first thing we talk about at the inn?”

  “Be nice to every guest,” she says, sullen. “No matter what they say to you.”

  “School is no different,” Maggie continues. “You know that; I taught you better than this. What’s gotten into you?”

  “She keeps saying she wants to go back to the city because it’s more fun than here.” Mila looks over her shoulder at Jessica. “I like Harp’s Haven. If she doesn’t like it, why doesn’t she go back and leave us alone? She says it’s stupid and boring and nobody important lives here.”

  “Mila.” Maggie’s voice is incredibly sharp, and I sense this will not be the end of their conversation. “Please apologize. You know we welcome anyone who comes to our inn, as well as our town.”

  As Jessica’s sniffs slow, and her tears stop, I have to wonder if Maggie is thinking about me in this whole scenario. For a minute, I feel guilty about making her work life more difficult.

  “I don’t like it here,” Jessica says, drawing my attention back to her. “Anastasia said I wouldn’t.”

  My heart thuds a little louder at the name Anastasia. Jessica has always called her mother by her first name, as odd as I think that is; Anastasia insisted on it. Probably because Anastasia wants to be a now-and-again friend to Jess instead of her mother.

  Maggie hears the name, too, and her back stiffens. It rings a bell for her, as I knew it would.

  “Apologize,” Margaret instructs, urging her daughter forward. “That is not the way we act in Harp’s Haven.”

  “Sorry.” Mila shuffles toward us, still scowling. “You can stay here if you want.”

  “I don’t know why you want to stay here,” Jessica shoots back. “You don’t have any friends, either.”

  “Hey,” I snap, as Mila’s lip trembles. “What’s the problem here, girls? If you’re both looking for friends, why can’t you get along? Why don’t you be friends with each other?”

  “She’s a country bumpkin,” Jess says, as Mila frowns.

  “That is not nice, either,” I tell Jess. “Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?”

  “Anastasia.” Jessica sniffs. “She said I’d see a lot of country bumpkins where we were going, and that she didn’t know why you wanted to come back.”

  I want to throttle Anastasia in this moment. Give her a good shake until she wipes away the attitude that’s rubbing off on our daughter. It’s half the reason I moved us back home, even if it’s temporary.

  I had hoped with some time away from the city, Anastasia’s half-hearted visits every other month would lessen the impact on these sorts of lessons. Hopefully, in that time, Jessica could ease up and learn to enjoy life a little. To let her drive to succeed relax a bit while she’s just a kid. She’s growing up so fast, and I just want to stop her. To rewind a bit, and keep her young and playful and innocent.

  “Apologize,” I growl to Jess. “And if I hear you saying that again, you’re grounded.”

  “Sorry,” she fires to Mila.

  Principal McNeal is sitting with a stunned expression on his face, watching this unfold. As the moment finally fades to a quiet end to the conversation, he struggles to gather himself and leap back to attention.

  “Well,” he says, sounding gruff, as if he’d just woken from a nap. “It sounds like we’ve made some progress here today, but we can’t have the girls fighting like this in class.”

  “Of course not,” Maggie and I say together.

  “Whatever consequences you decide for the girls will be fair, I’m sure,” Maggie adds. “We’ll also continue this discussion at home.”

  “I believe that’s a good idea,” Principal McNeal says with a stern look at me and Maggie. “It seems like some of these issues are stemming from other things going on in your home lives.”

  “Jessica and I just moved here,” I tell him. “As you know. And, like Maggie and Mila, we’ll continue the discussion at home.”

  “I think the two of you should set up a playdate,” Principal McNeal suggests, looking as if he should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for the idea. “A few hours to allow the girls to get to know one another better.”

  There’s a long silence. The girls are in a glare-off, and Maggie opens and shuts her mouth a few times before she responds.

  “But—” she finally starts, and the second I sense her starting to argue, I turn toward the principal and grin.

  “I’m happy to do so if Margaret agrees,” I say, turning my grin to Maggie. “I think it’d be great for the girls.”

  Not to mention, it’d be great for Maggie and myself. Clearly, we have some unresolved issues, and I’m dying to get to the bottom of what makes Margaret Marshall tick.

  “Fine,” she says, clipped. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Great!” Principal McNeal clasps his hands together and smiles, as if he’s solved world hunger. “Now, let’s get the girls back to class. I think a homework session with the girls working together over lunch will be a great way to kickstart things.”

  I can feel Jessica bristling at the suggestion, and I squeeze her shoulder until she relaxes. I can sympathize with the way she’s feeling. How can we expect our kids to get along if we can’t? It’s not as if Margaret and I are big shiny examples of the way friendship works.

  “Excellent,” Margaret says, and then together, we say goodbye to the principal and walk the girls back to class.

  Once we’ve each had a private chat with our respective daughters, sending them away with stern warnings and chaste kisses to the forehead, I find myself alone with Maggie in the hallway.

  She looks awkwardly at her feet. I want to say something to lessen the discomfort, but I’m not sure what. I want to tell her I’d like to start all over again like it’s our first time, but I don’t. Margaret looks like she wants to die on the spot, and I don’t trust myself to not make things worse.

  “So,” I venture. “When should we plan on that playdate?”

  Maggie raises her eyes to meet mine, and I spy something wrong. There’s a hurt there, deeper than anything she’s exposed to me yet, and it sends an ache through my gut.

  “Anastasia?” she asks in a quiet voice. “Anastasia?”

  Then, she spins on her heel and, without a backwards glance, leaves me standing in the hallway alone.

  Chapter 7

  MAGGIE

  “I understand your feelings,” Emily says, preparing the warm, freshly-scented lavender towels that we distribute nightly to our guests. It’s a tiny little human touch, an unnecessary pampering that our customers rave over. “But let’s backtrack for a second.”

  I sullenly pull my mug of decaf coffee closer to me and finally dig into the piece of cake that’s been waiting for me all day long. I’m depressed to find, however, that the cake tastes like mush—and it’s not a problem with the chef. It’s a problem with my taste buds, and I’m pretty sure they’re downright depressed, too.

  “No cake?” Emily asks, pulling it toward her. “This is serious.”

  “Anastasia,” I repeat. “I can’t believe it.”

  I haven’t been able to get her name, or her perky cheerleader’s body, out of my head all day. The image of the upperclassman—the woman
who’d been a thorn in my side since the day Tyler Daniels first held my hand—who had apparently finally nabbed her man.

  She’d wanted Tyler since day one, and he’d chosen me. At least, he had, until they’d both ended up in New York, and Anastasia had apparently mothered Tyler’s child.

  “I never met Tyler back then,” Emily says. “But the way you explained it, he asked you to go with him to New York, and you said no.”

  “Are you saying this is my fault?” I swivel to face my friend. “This is not my fault.”

  “No, but it was your choice to stay, and it was his choice to leave. You’re both equally at fault.”

  “Fault for what?!”

  “You weren’t together!” Emily says. “It’s not as if he left you for her. You were both single. If I recall correctly, you ended up with someone else about the same time he did...judging by the nearly-identical age of your children.”

  “Yes, but mine was a rebound.”

  “And his?”

  “He didn’t need to rebound from me,” I say, bitter. “He didn’t love me.”

  At this, Emily groans.

  “What are you moaning about?!”

  “The man still loves you.” Emily looks over at my furious expression and waves a hand. “Don’t shoot the messenger. The man had it bad for you then, I’m sure—and he still does.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. Can you really crucify him for dating someone else? The guy was young and dumb. So were you. We all were at that age.”

  “Well, he hasn’t changed.”

  “Hasn’t he?” Emily shrugs. “I don’t know for sure, but it sounds like he’s raising a daughter as a single parent, just like you.”

  “How do you know for a fact he’s single?”

  Emily levels her gaze at me. “When I noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring, I asked around. Trust me—my sources are trustworthy.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Who knows? Maybe if the two of you could sit in a room long enough to talk without arguing, you might find you have something in common.”