Susan Mallery: Full-Time Father

“I wish she hadn’t bothered,” Erin said. “Christie isn’t a fussy eater. Anything that remotely resembles dessert is fine with her.”

He took the seat opposite and leaned forward. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a deprecating half smile. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“I know this is very sudden,” she said. “Why don’t you let me tell you about the two of us, and when you think of a question, you can ask?”

“Sounds great.”

His dark eyes mesmerized her and she couldn’t look away. You’re acting like a fool, she told herself firmly, mentally using the same tone she used when her daughter was misbehaving. Unfortunately it didn’t work nearly as well.

With a conscious act of will, she shifted her gaze to the view beyond the terrace. The sky was a typical brilliant shade of California blue. The Pacific Ocean twinkled, the swaying waves sparkling with light.

“We live in Palmdale,” she said. “You couldn’t find a place more different from this and still stay in the same state.”

“Where is Palmdale? I’m not familiar with the name.”

“Most people aren’t. It’s in the high desert, about ninety miles north of Los Angeles. Remember where they used to land the space shuttle?”

He nodded.

“That’s by us. It’s cold and windy in the winter and hot and windy in the summer. You know, a hundred and ten, with zero humidity.”

He frowned. Well-shaped dark eyebrows drew together. “I think Stacey might have mentioned something about it. I can’t remember. But she didn’t go to a university there. I recruited most of my interns from Stanford.”

“Stacey was at Stanford.” Erin bit back a sigh. There hadn’t been enough money for both of them to go to an expensive university, so they’d compromised. Stacey had gone to Stanford, while Erin had attended a local state college. When they both graduated, Erin was to have applied for a graduate degree. But that had never happened. Stacey had died and Erin had been responsible for a newborn. There hadn’t been time for graduate school.

“She calls you ‘Mommy,’” he said.

“Christie knows that Stacey is her birth mother. As much as she can, after all she’s only four and the concept of death is difficult to comprehend. She knows that we’re twins and look alike. She’s seen the photos. But I’ve raised her from the day she was born. Make no mistake, Christie is my daughter.”

She made the statement quietly but firmly. She’d wrestled with this for a long time, wondering if she was doing the right thing by letting Christie think of her as her mother. Then she’d realized she didn’t have a choice. Stacey was gone forever and Erin was the only mother Christie would ever know.

“I’m not judging you,” he said. “I think you made the right decision. I’m still having a hell of a time with this.”

There was a noise by the far door. It opened and Christie stepped out, proudly carrying a tray covered with cookies.

Parker stared at her. “Five hours ago I didn’t know she existed and now she’s here.”

Erin glanced at his strong profile and the obvious pride in his expression. She’d wondered what the reclusive man would think and say when he found out about his child. She hadn’t expected him to be quite this pleased. Not that his feelings changed anything. She was still going to stick to her original plan. Christie deserved to know her father and Parker had the right to get to know his daughter. As long as a few simple rules were followed, everything should be fine.

Christie made it all the way across the terrace without spilling a single cookie. Kiki followed behind with a pitcher of lemonade.

“I tasted the chocolate chips cookies,” Christie said as she handed her mother the tray. “They’re ‘licious.”

“I can tell.” Erin set the tray on the table, then leaned forward and wiped a few remaining crumbs from the corner of her daughter’s mouth. “How many did you taste?”

“Just one,” Kiki said as she poured lemonade into three glasses. She gave Erin a quick wink. “She tried to convince me she was starving.”

“We just had lunch,” Erin said.

“I was starving. For cookies.” Christie grinned.

Parker grabbed a handful. “I’m hungry enough to eat anything. Someone here forgot about my lunch.”

Kiki turned to him and covered her mouth with her fingers. She shook her head. “Parker, I’m sorry. I was so busy making the cookies and lemonade.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Maybe you could make me a sandwich or something.”

“Sure.” She took two steps, then paused. “Erin, can I get you a sandwich, too?”

“I’m fine.”

Kiki returned to the kitchen. Christie scrambled into the seat between Parker and Erin. She picked up her glass of lemonade with both hands and took a drink. Some of the liquid ran down her chin and onto her shirtfront. Erin wiped it away with a napkin.

Christie set the glass down and grinned. “I’ve never had a mommy and a daddy before.”

Erin brushed the girl’s bangs off her forehead. “You’re going to milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“It’s not milk, it’s lemonade,” Christie said, pointing to the pitcher. “Can I have some more, please?”

“I’ll get it.” Parker reached for the pitcher and filled her glass.

“And cookies.”

“Just one,” Erin told her.

Parker handed the child the plate. Christie took one, then reached for a second. “I’d like two.”

Parker stared at the girl, then looked at Erin. “I-”

“I warned you about her,” she said, and took the plate from him. “One,” she repeated.

Christie stuck out her lower lip, but didn’t say anything. She’d learned that whining usually resulted in her losing the treat she already had.

“I was telling your father about where we live,” Erin said. “Why don’t you tell him about your preschool?”

Parker broke one of his cookies in half. “You go to school?”

“Every day. I’m very smart. When I grow up I’m going to be smarter than everyone. Except Mommy.” She paused and studied him. “Are you smarter than Mommy?”

Parker had popped half the cookie into his mouth and started to chew. He tried to swallow it quickly and only succeeded in choking. As he coughed, Erin handed him his lemonade. He took a sip, coughed again, then said weakly, “What was the question?”

“Are you smarter than Mommy?”

“Think before you answer that,” Erin said, then took a small bite of her cookie. It was still warm and the chocolate chips were soft and sweet.

“I probably know more about computers than she does,” he said carefully. “But she knows more about other things.”

“Nice save,” Erin said.

He flashed her a grin.

The cookie turned to tasteless crumbs in her mouth as a bolt of awareness slammed into her chest and roared down to her toes. She blinked, waiting for it to go away, or at least fade. It did neither. Instead she was acutely aware of Parker and a sensation in her chest that felt suspiciously like heat.

So the man was vaguely attractive. So he was nice to Christie. So he had a sense of humor. It was the salt air, or the cookies, or the sunshine. It was the fact that she’d spent the past four years getting her teaching credential, finding a job and being a single mom. She hadn’t had the time nor energy to think about having a man in her life. Something long dead was finally coming to life. Nothing more. Really.

Christie munched on her cookie. “Do you have a dog?” she asked, giving her mother a sideways glance.

Christie had been angling for a puppy of her own for nearly a year. Erin understood the girl wanting one, but life was hectic enough without adding more responsibility.