“Hi,” he says, and I don’t know what it is about him, but I can almost guarantee this guy plays for my dad. He’s somewhat tall, athletic build, and looks freshly fucked.
My dad’s roster tends to be equally as invested in the women they take home from the field as they are in the game itself.
“Get off the elevator, Isaiah,” the man to my right says, and while yes, they’re both objectively good-looking, this one is offensively attractive.
He’s got a backwards hat on, dark-rimmed glasses, and a toddler in his arms with a matching cap for goodness’ sake. I try my hardest not to look too closely, but I can see the dark hair spilling out around the edges, ice-blue eyes framed by those glasses. Scruff slopes over his jawline, screaming “older man,” and that alone is my kryptonite.
Then you add the cute-ass kid he’s got slung on his hip and he’s almost begging to be drooled over.
“Bye,” the man to my left says as he gets off the elevator, leaving me to ride with the two cute boys to my right.
“Floor,” I ask, taking a swig of my beer as I press the number for my dad’s room.
There’s not a chance in hell he didn’t hear me, but still, Baby Daddy doesn’t respond.
“Should I just guess?” I ask. “I can press them all if you’d like and we could take a nice long elevator ride together?”
He doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile which is a red flag if you ask me.
His little boy reaches for me, and I’ve never been one to fawn over kids, but this one is especially cute. He’s happy, and after the morning I’ve had, a toddler smiling at me like I’m the greatest thing to ever exist is surprisingly what I need.
His cheeks are so chubby that his eyes almost disappear from his beaming grin as his dad continues to ignore me, pressing his floor number himself.
Well, okay then. This should be fun.
The longest elevator ride of my life has me concluding that the gorgeous man I rode with has a giant stick up his ass. And when I make it to my dad’s room and knock, I couldn’t be more thankful that our brief encounter is over.
“What are you doing here?” my dad asks, his face lighting up. “I thought I wasn’t going to get to see you again this trip?”
I hold up both beer bottles in faux excitement, one empty, one still full. “I quit my job!”
He eyes me with concern, widening the opening into his room. “Why don’t you come in and tell me why you’re drinking at 9 a.m.”
“We’re drinking,” I correct.
He chuckles. “You seem like you might need that second one more than me, Millie.”
Crossing the room, I take a seat on the couch.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“I suck at my job. I don’t even enjoy baking right now because I’m so bad at it. When have you ever heard me say I don’t enjoy baking?”
He holds his hands up. “You don’t have to justify it to me. I want you to be happy and if that job wasn’t making you happy, then I’m glad you quit.”
I knew he’d say that. And I know when I tell him that my new summer plans consist of driving around the country and living out of my van to get some fresh air and a fresh perspective, he’ll say he’s happy for me even though there will be concern laced in his tone. But I’m not fazed by his concern. What I’m worried about seeing is disappointment.
In the twenty years he’s been my dad, he’s never once shown it so I’m not sure why I constantly look for it. But I’d work my ass off and stay in every miserable kitchen for the rest of my life if it meant I could avoid disappointing him.
I’m self-aware enough to know that I have an innate need to be the best at whatever checkmark or goal I’m chasing. Right now, I’m not the best and I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to watch me fail. Especially him. He’s why I strive for perfection in my career, which is a stark contrast to the wild, unattached, and go-with-the-flow attitude I have towards my personal life.
“Are you done for good?” he asks.
“Oh, God no. I’m taking the summer to get my groove back. I’ll be back and better than before. I just need space without prying eyes to get it together, and to give myself a little break.”
His eyes lighten with excitement. “So, where are you spending this summer break?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got two months and my next job is in LA. Maybe I’ll take my time driving to the West Coast and see some sights along the way. Practice in my kitchen on wheels.”
“Live out of your van.”
“Yes, Dad,” I chuckle. “Live out of my van and try to figure out why every dessert I attempt to create since I won that fucking award has been a complete and utter disaster.”
“Every dessert is not a disaster. Everything you’ve made me is phenomenal. You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“Basic cookies and cakes are different. It’s the creative stuff that’s giving me a hard time.”
“Well, maybe it’s the creative stuff that’s the problem. Maybe you need to go back to the basics.”
He’s not in the food world the way I am so he doesn’t understand that a chocolate chip cookie isn’t going to cut it.
“You know,” he starts. “You could come spend the summer in Chicago with me.”
“Why? You’ll be on the road half of the time for work, and when you’re home, you’ll be at the field.”
“Come on the road with me. We haven’t been in the same place for more than a few days since you were eighteen and I miss my girl.”
I haven’t had a holiday, weekend, or more than a single evening free in seven years. I’ve been endlessly working, killing myself in the kitchen, and even tonight, my dad’s team has a game in town. It never dawned on me to take the night off to go watch.
“Dad—”
“I’m not above begging, Miller. Your old man needs some quality time.”
“I just spent three weeks in a kitchen full of dudes, one of whom was practically begging me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR. The last thing I want is to spend my summer around another team full of men.”
He leans forward, tatted arms propped on his knees, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
“I handled it.”
“Handled it how, exactly?”
“With a swift knee to the balls.” I take a casual sip of my beer. “Just how you taught me.”
He shakes his head with a small laugh. “I never taught you that, you little psycho, but I wish I had. And now I’m even more adamant about you coming on the road with me. You know my guys aren’t like that.”
“Dad, I was planning . . .” My words die on my tongue when I look up at him across the couch. Sad and pleading eyes, tired even. “Are you lonely in Chicago?”
“I’m not going to answer that. Of course, I miss you, but I want you to come hang out with me for a couple of months because you miss me too. Not because you feel obligated to.”
I don’t feel obligated. Not in that regard, at least. But everything I do, in some way, is an attempt to erase the guilt I have towards our situation. To repay a debt he paid by giving up his entire life for me when he was only twenty-five years old.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him too. It’s why I ensure all my jobs overlap with his travel. I pick kitchens in big cities with MLB teams that my dad will be coming through for work. So of course, I miss him.
A summer with my old man does sound nice, and if having me nearby for a bit will make him happy, it’s the least I could do after everything he’s done for me.
Except there’s one problem.
“There’s no way upper management would allow that,” I remind him. “No one on the team or staff is allowed to have family members with them while they travel.”
“There is one family member who’s allowed to travel with the team this season.” A sly smile slides across his lips. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 3
Kai
Monty: Leave Max with Isaiah and come back to my room. We’ve gotta chat.
Me: Am I leaving Max so you can yell at me?
Monty: Yes.
Me: Cool, cool. I’ll be sure to rush right over for that.