Chapter 4 #3
“I love it,” Baron said, his voice warm and full of reverence. He opened the corsage box and carefully slipped the elastic band over her wrist, tying the bow with surprising grace. “Best date I’ve ever had.”
Esther’s camera shutter clicked again and again. “Oh, honey,” she whispered. “This one’s going straight in the family slideshow.”
Baron stood, his gaze catching Penny’s like a lifeline. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Her eyes were wide, vulnerable. Hopeful.
Without saying a word, he stepped forward and offered her the bouquet.
“These are for you.”
“You already brought her flowers,” Penny whispered, blinking fast.
“And you’re still the queen of this house,” he said softly. “Princesses shouldn’t go without. But queens? Never.”
Her throat tightened. She took the bouquet slowly, fingers brushing his as their touch lingered longer than necessary.
“You’re dangerous,” she said quietly.
“I’m devoted,” he corrected.
Esther sniffled. “Y’all better kiss or I’m staging it myself.”
“MA!” Penny and Matilda said at the same time.
Baron chuckled, then turned back to Matilda. “Ready to dance, Tiny Boss?”
Matilda nodded so hard her tiara clip nearly slipped. She took his hand with absolute trust, and together, they walked to the door. But before they stepped outside,
Baron turned and then—he kissed her. Slow. Certain. Right there in the doorway, with Esther holding the camera like a trophy and Matilda covering her eyes but peeking through her fingers anyway.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ll never take a moment like this for granted,” he whispered.
Penny didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight, her heart too full.
She watched as he opened the truck door for Matilda, who climbed in like the belle of the ball and waved like royalty. He buckled her in, jogged around to the driver’s side, and cast one more look at Penny before sliding behind the wheel.
Esther sidled up beside her with a tissue in one hand and a smug smile tugging at her lips.
“I told you,” she murmured.
Penny didn’t argue. Didn’t tease.
She just clutched the bouquet to her chest, blinking back the tears she’d promised not to cry, and whispered—more to herself than anyone else—
“I think I love him.”
Esther slipped her hand into hers and squeezed. “Oh, baby. I think you’ve been loving him.”
They stood there in the soft wash of the porch light, mother and daughter, watching the truck disappear down the drive like something holy had just passed through.
And maybe it had.
* * *
The community center had been transformed into a little girl’s dreamscape—twinkling string lights crisscrossed the ceiling like a web of stars, casting glimmers on the walls like magic.
Tables were decked out in layers of pink tulle, scattered with glitter and heart-shaped confetti.
Balloons floated from every surface in shimmering shades of fuchsia, silver, and white.
The DJ stood behind a booth flanked with pastel streamers, alternating between bubblegum pop hits and nostalgic slow-dance classics that had all the dads nervously adjusting their ties.
Baron stepped through the doors holding Matilda’s hand, and for the first time in years, he felt the weight of a hundred eyes on him—and didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t that he didn’t notice the curious glances, the surprised expressions, the whispered, “Isn’t that Dr. Jones?” moments. He did.
But the only thing he was focused on was the glittery tiara on the head of the little girl beside him.
Every other dad in the room wore some mix of confusion and mild panic—clumsily dancing around spilled juice and paper crowns, trying to keep their toddlers from knocking over centerpieces or falling off chairs.
But Baron?
He was at peace.
He was home.
Matilda tugged him eagerly toward the refreshment table, her curls bouncing. “You have to try the pink punch. It’s really just juice but they call it punch to make it sound fancy,” she explained in a rush, already reaching for a tiny ladle.
Baron crouched beside her, watching with fascination as she poured the sugary concoction like she was handling champagne at a gala. “Noted,” he said solemnly. “Any rules I should know before we hit the dance floor?”
Matilda nodded with gravitas. “No stepping on my dress. And when they play Beyoncé, we go hard.”
Baron’s lips twitched into a grin. “Deal.”
As if on cue, the next song blasted through the speakers—something with a deep bass and a sugary-sweet hook—and Matilda’s eyes went wide.
“Okay, okay, this one’s mine!” she shouted, already dragging him by the hand.
Baron let himself be pulled into the flurry of glitter and joy. All around him were spinning little girls and nervous dads doing their best to keep rhythm, but he didn’t just shuffle awkwardly and smile.
He danced.
He moved with her, let her lead, matched her energy step for step. He threw in a spin that made her squeal and dissolve into laughter. He dipped her—gently—and she giggled so hard she almost dropped her tiara.
“You’re good at this!” she shouted over the music.
Baron leaned in close, voice warm. “Only because you’re leading.”
For nearly an hour, they twirled, jumped, and fist-pumped their way through every pop anthem on the playlist. Baron let go of his usual restraint, letting her joy anchor him in a way nothing else ever had. She was sunshine in motion, wild and bright and entirely his in that moment.
And then, the tempo slowed. The lights dimmed to a soft golden hue. A cover of a classic love song floated through the air, wrapping around the room like a lullaby.
Matilda let out a breathless sigh and stepped close, wrapping her arms around Baron’s waist. She rested her cheek against his stomach, and he instinctively placed a steady hand on her back, swaying gently with her in time to the music.
“You having fun?” he asked, his voice low, reverent.
She nodded against him. “Best night ever.”
And maybe it was the song. Or maybe it was her small hand gripping the fabric of his shirt. But something tight and overwhelming cracked open in Baron’s chest.
“I’m really glad you asked me,” he whispered, brushing a hand down her back.
Matilda looked up at him with eyes too wise for her years. “You’re really good at being my dance partner.”
He knelt then, one knee to the floor, meeting her gaze head-on. The rest of the room melted away—just soft lights, quiet music, and the girl who had changed everything.
“Hey, Matty?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“If it’s okay with you… I’d like to keep showing up. Not just tonight. But for all of it. You and your mom—you’re kind of everything to me.”
Her eyes widened. “You want to stay?”
He nodded. “If you’ll have me.”
Matilda didn’t hesitate. She launched herself at him, arms tight around his neck, and hugged him with all the strength of her little body.
“I already do,” she whispered against his ear.
* * *
Later That Night
Penny stood at the kitchen window, arms crossed over her chest, her fingers still dusted in flour from the batch of muffins she’d started half out of nerves and half because she needed something to do while they were gone.
The headlights rolled up the driveway and washed across the front porch. Her heart skipped, like it always did when she saw that truck.
The door opened quietly.
Baron stepped inside, holding Matilda against his chest. She was out cold, tiara askew, one shoe dangling from her foot, her cheeks pink and lips parted in a soft snore.
“She danced ‘til she dropped,” he whispered, smiling as he walked past.
“She does that,” Penny replied, her voice catching a little.
He carried Matilda to her room without another word—surefooted, quiet, the way he always moved when it mattered most. When he returned, his eyes went straight to Penny, and for a moment they simply stood there in the soft kitchen light, breathing the same air.
He stepped closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured.
Penny hesitated. “You sure you don’t want to stay?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant for it to be.
Baron’s eyes flicked to her mouth, and something shifted in his expression. “You’ll have to stop looking at me like that if you want me to say no.”
She smiled, heart thudding. “Drive safe.”
But before he could step back, she reached for his hand. Not to pull him closer. Not to convince him.
Just to let him know… she didn’t want to let go.
And he stayed right there, hand curled around hers like maybe he didn’t want to leave either.
* * *
The early evening sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of Betsy’s bedroom, painting everything in soft, liquid gold.
The shadows stretched long across the hardwood floors, the breeze drifting lazily through the open window carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass.
The rhythmic creak of the old rocking chair beside the bed, the distant sound of wind chimes on the porch, and the occasional hum of cicadas created a peaceful symphony that wrapped around the room like a lullaby.