Chapter Ten
Anthony
Five days. My client claims it took her five days to write the dissertation I’m dissecting on the screen of my laptop. I am not impressed. But that’s why they pay me the big bucks.
Five days are also how long it’s been since my fake date with Lottie. Five days since she’s done more than offer me a forced smile in passing. She’s keeping her distance. As much as I miss the old Lottie, that daily dose of sunshine, I force myself not to give chase. I can’t. Not with the former Iowa State Fair Pork Queen.
Yep, I searched for it online. It’s a real thing. I even found a picture of Lottie when she was crowned. She was younger then, with longer hair. Same smile, though. Just as beautiful.
With a puff of air, I try to focus on Sherry’s sorry excuse for a declaration. It might be time to send this to one of the paralegals at the office. I don’t have the energy for such an extensive rewrite.
“Hi.” Felicity steps onto the porch behind me, Aunt Doris’s screen door slapping shut behind her. “Mom told me to take care of you. Here.”
A glass of dark, fizzy liquid appears beside my laptop on the wicker coffee table that has become my low-riding, back-breaking work desk. Nice to know Lottie cares enough to look after me from afar. Our distance isn’t for lack of feelings on either part.
“Thanks.” I take a big swig, grateful for the cold Pepsi. It’s pushing ninety degrees today. “Is it usually this warm in June?”
Her ginger head wobbles back and forth. “Sometimes. July’s hotter.”
Any chance I can escape…before July? It’s week two. My mom started talking yesterday. Her first word was “Lottie.” I swear I almost flew off my seat. What is it with the meddling, matchmaking mothers in this town? Not to mention the pesky aunts.
“Why not get yourself some soda?” I say, tipping my head toward the door. I’m not trying to get rid of her. I’ve gotten used to Felicity being around. She’s a sweet kid. Her interruptions are welcome in a strange way. I can’t explain it. I’ve never found myself glad for distractions before.
It’s definitely time to make plans that involve a return to civilization.
But Lottie… I ignore the painful thought and nudge Felicity on the shoulder. “Go on, help yourself.”
“Mom says no pop with caffeine.”
Pop. Right. I’ve heard Aunt Doris use this term. I didn’t even know what she meant the first time.
I smile, and I can’t help how genuinely fond it is. “You’re a good girl. You must make your mom proud.”
She fidgets shyly, dragging the toe of her floral-printed canvas sneakers across the wooden porch floorboards. Lottie’s ex is the biggest fool I’ve heard of, to leave these two amazing females behind. He’ll regret it one day if he has an ounce of a brain.
“Mr. Anthony?”
“How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?”
Her eyes brighten. “Can I call you Suits?”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “No way. Only your mom can get away with that.”
The way she quirks her eyebrow renders her instantly much older and wiser than the eight years to her name. “About my mom…”
I am not discussing my relationship with Lottie—or lack thereof—with this little girl. “Not up for discussion.”
“Ugh,” she sighs out her disgust. “Grownups are so-o boring.”
I look over the rim of my glasses at her. “Watch the tone, Miss Thing, or I’ll assume you’re insulting me.”
A grin takes over her face, so similar to Lottie’s I feel it in my gut. “I was.”
“And here I was praising your behavior. As a lawyer, I should know better than to make assumptions.”
She giggles, and right when I think she’ll leave me to my poorly-worded disaster, she plops onto the matching wicker chair beside me. “My mom’s birthday is on the Fourth of July. Isn’t that cool?”
I murmur a sound that could be agreement. It could be anything. Or nothing.
“Miss Camila threw her a surprise party last year.”
One of my cheeks lifts. Sounds like something my mom would do.
“Will you help me do that this year since your mom can’t?”
My world tilts, and I feel like my laptop is sliding from my grip. Plan a surprise party for Lottie? In what world do I look like a surprise party kind of guy? In what life do I have time for that? And for Lottie?
“I don’t think so, kid.”
“But Mr. Anthony—” Her voice squeaks, and when she peers at me, her blue eyes, mirrors of her mom’s, are pooling with unshed tears. “I need you.”
How does a girl that young know the way to a man’s heart?
“You don’t need me,” I say gruffly, hugging my laptop closer. This declaration re-writing business is looking better and better.
“I do, I do!” She clutches my arm, tearing my hand away from the laptop where I’m trying to start writing again. “If I ask my grandma, she won’t keep it a secret. And if my mom finds out, she’ll make us cancel!”
I bite down on the smile that wants to escape. I can imagine this scenario with no trouble whatsoever.
I close my laptop, set it on the table, and face Felicity. “Why is this so important to you?”
“Because my mom is the best!” Those eyes looking at me full of trust, imploring me to make grand things happen, are hard to resist. I’ve never really considered what it would be like to have a family. Children. A daughter. Someday, sure. When I make more money. When I land that promotion. When I make a down payment on an Atlanta mansion.
Felicity makes me wonder. Are my priorities what they should be? What would it be like to stop chasing success and simply be?
I’m thirty-two. I could have—should have—become a father long ago. A husband.
Heat washes over me at the thought, nearly swamping me, and I shake off these ridiculous thoughts. My life is exactly what I want it to be right now in order to get what I want later. And that’s final.
Doesn’t mean I can’t help out a sweet little girl and her even-sweeter mother. So long as I don’t examine my motives too deeply.
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
I’m not ready for the volley of emotions as Felicity launches to her feet and throws herself at me, looping little-girl arms around my neck and hugging me so fiercely I feel winded. Awkwardly, I pat her back and shift to get her off of me.
“Don’t be too excited. I’ve never planned a party before.” I’ve represented billionaires and stood in front of judges that could intimidate a statue of iron and not felt this woefully unprepared. “I have no idea where to start.”
Her eyes dance with anticipation. “I do! My mom likes purple, pink, and red, tenderloin, pineapple pizza, pineapple upside down cake, donuts, cute kittens so long as she doesn’t own them, flowers that smell nice…” She rattles on, providing a never-ending list of things her mom likes. Ask me, and you’d get a list five items long. But Lottie Alden is blessedly easy to please.
I never thought I’d find a simple woman attractive. But there’s something almost intrinsically beautiful about a woman who doesn’t put value in material things but rather the sentiment behind those things.
“How about you go write this all down on a list so I have it handy,” I interrupt Felicity’s ruminations. “I need to finish up what I’m working on, but tomorrow—” I hold up my finger, stretching out the moment for impact. “The real planning begins.”
A happy half-giggle leaps from her mouth, and she’s hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s going to be epic!”
It’s going to be something. But I highly doubt epic will be the word of choice on July fourth. I’ll put in my best effort, though.
“Promise you won’t tell your mom I’m involved.”
“I promise.” Her wide eyes tell me she means it, but I need a little security.
I extend my pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”
Her tongue comes through a slit in her teeth with a silly grin as she wraps her baby finger around mine. Something inside me goes soft. Downright mushy. “Pinky promise.”
She leaves me on the porch then. I’m alone. I can finally focus.
Only, I can’t.
I’m supposed to be keeping my distance from Lottie. I finally have my aunt off my back. She looked truly depressed when I told her Lottie and I weren’t interested in a second date. I didn’t lie. I’m not interested in a second date. I’m desperate for a second date.
Instead, I’m planning a birthday party.