A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 2

2

Dakota

I keep replaying the entire scene in my head. It’s as if something came over me as soon as I walked into that room and saw them: Archer, Maddox, and Reed. Their names are imprinted on my brain, etched with something sharp that permeates everything.

I’ve never felt this kind of magnetism, and the fact that they are identical makes the entire experience all the more confusing. I can understand having the hots for one of them, but having the hots for all three? It’s ridiculous.

Taking deep breaths, I stand outside Chelsea’s house for a moment. I need to pull myself together. I check my phone. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but DING . New message.

“Huh,” I manage.

It’s a text from Reed.

It was a pleasure meeting you, Dakota.

I text back, my thumbs moving without my permission.

It was a pleasure on my part as well.

It was a pleasure on my part, as well. Good God, why don’t I also send him my kind regards while I’m at it?

Thanks for what you said in the meeting and for agreeing to exchange numbers . We’re struggling parents. There’s a lot we can learn from each other.

Yup, that sounds good .

Wow, I’m really piling on the charm here… Jesus. I slip my phone back into my purse and go inside the house. “Mommy!” Maisie exclaims as soon as she sees me come in.

She jumps from the sofa and runs straight into my arms. I laugh as I hug her tightly. “Missed you, too, baby. Have you been good?”

“For the most part,” Chelsea giggles as she joins us in the foyer.

“For the most part?” I ask, then give Maisie a curious look. “What does that mean?”

My sweet girl puts on her signature “guilty but innocent” expression, wide brown eyes piercing right through my soul. “I wanted something sweet,” she mumbles.

“We don’t have sweet stuff in the evening, you know that,” I reply.

It’s one of our rules. No sugar after seven in the evening. It has worked wonders for both of our sleep cycles.

“But there’s no school tomorrow!” Maisie insists, shaking her head making her honey-colored pigtails bounce.

“That is true,” I say.

My best friend of almost twenty years offers a pacifying shrug. “I told her we’d ask you first. I tend to let the kids nibble on the weekends. But you’re the mom.”

“It’s okay,” I reply and give Chelsea a soft squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ve had quite the night, so you know what? Let’s have a little sweet something.”

“Yay!”

“Okay, what do you want?” I ask.

She thinks about it for a moment, and I can’t help but notice how adorable she looks in her pale blue jammies with white dolphins on the shirt’s chest pocket and tiny toes wiggling on the soft carpet. “Chocolate chip cookies!” Maisie declares.

“Chocolate chip cookies it is, then,” I agree.

She bolts into the kitchen while I take my shoes off and leave my purse in the foyer. Chelsea watches Maisie go, smiling before she decides to follow.

“How many kids do you have during the weekdays?” I ask as I stop by the bathroom first to wash my hands.

“With Maisie, nine,” Chelsea replies from the kitchen. I can hear them fumbling through the cabinets, taking out everything needed to make the cookies. “I’m expecting a couple more as soon as the school year starts up again.”

“You’ve done amazing for yourself,” I say, joining them in the kitchen.

Maisie takes her seat in the chair at the counter island, ready to give a helping hand, while Chelsea lays the ingredients out in order. “Dakota, you’re almost out of the woods now, and it’s going to be okay. It was easier for me because I never left San Francisco. I stayed and turned my parents’ house into a daycare, making a name for myself here.”

“Whereas I took out a mortgage on my grandma’s house so I could move to Los Angeles with Keith,” I mutter, watching Maisie as she counts the eggs in the carton. “We need three eggs, baby.” I pause and look at Chelsea, knowing my daughter can count out the eggs for this prep stage of baking. “And what did that get me? A divorce, crippling debt, and my career prospects gone down the drain.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Chelsea replies. “You had an extra gig tonight, right? The community center has a decent amount of funds allocated for this kind of stuff.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for arranging that for me. But the bank won’t wait forever. I’m way overdue, and these bartending gigs are barely enough to cover half of the payment without coming home to an empty fridge. The CPR training is extra cash, but it’s nowhere near enough to cover everything.”

“I know it’s not easy, but you’ve got this. And you have my full support. Listen, let’s skip the friendly discount already. Let me look after Maisie for free. You can make it up to me when you get back on your feet.”

I shake my head. “No, this is my responsibility. I pay you peanuts as it is. Come on, Chelsea, I’m not an idiot. I see how hard you’re working.”

“And your Grandma Katherine hasn’t even reached out, huh?”

My blood runs cold. It’s been almost six years, but I can still remember the moment with startling clarity. “She’s not interested in me or Maisie,” I mutter.

Maisie gets busy measuring the brown sugar. She likes to pack it down. For a five-year-old, she is exceptionally intelligent, her hands working smoothly on processes that are usually a safer bet for older kids. “She made that very clear at Grandma Sally’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” Chelsea sighs.

My father, God rest his soul, left his family behind to start a new life in San Francisco. I didn’t know he’d also left a daughter in the process.

“I had no idea he had another daughter, yet she blames me. How are his choices my fault?”

“Callie, right?”

“Yeah. She hates my guts.”

“Hey, you said it yourself; it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t even know she existed until Sally passed away. It was super weird of her to show up at the funeral.”

I nod slowly, getting a large, stainless-steel bowl ready while Maisie starts handing over some of the ingredients. “Here, Mommy. Start with the flour.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my hands moving on automatic pilot while my mind stays anchored in the conversation with Chelsea. “Grandma Sally knew about them. My mom also knew. They all knew, but they never told me anything.”

“You saw what Katherine is like,” Chelsea says. “It’s obvious that there’s some ugly family history there. Your dad probably thought you were better off growing up knowing only your mom’s side of the family.”

“It would’ve been nice to know, though. Callie grew up probably feeling abandoned by her own father. Who leaves a daughter behind like that?” I roll my eyes. “Oh, wait.”

“Hey, two completely different people,” my friend says, but the truth is, we don’t really know.

The only person who might’ve known the whole story was Sally, my maternal grandmother. I was too young when my parents died, so I could possibly understand that being an excuse for them keeping me in the dark about everything. Maybe it was a messy divorce. Maybe Callie’s mother and Katherine, my paternal grandmother, cut Dad off. Or he just up and left like Keith did.

Either way, it made everyone’s lives more difficult.

“Katherine should’ve done right by you,” Chelsea declares as she helps Maisie with the butter for the dough while I mix the flour, baking soda, and salt. “You are her granddaughter as much as Callie.”

“Callie was first. Besides, they made it clear at Sally’s funeral that I’m not a Monroe, even if that’s my legal birthright name. I’ll never be a real Monroe, according to them.”

“Ugh, that uppity bullshit of upstate New Yorkers born with silver spoons in their fancy mouths. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Want to puke?” Maisie asks matter-of-factly.

That has us doubling over with laughter before we mix together the wet and dry ingredients for the cookie batter. It’s so good to unwind like this. Spending quality time with my daughter and venting with my best friend. I’d missed Chelsea. I’m so glad she welcomed me with open arms when I came back from Los Angeles, my heart broken and my tail between my legs.

About an hour later, the three of us are settled on the sofa, watching a cartoon. Maisie has had her fill of chocolate chip cookies and milk and is in the process of dozing off, her head resting on a pillow in my lap.

“There’s nothing better than this,” I say with a mouthful of cookies.

“Peanut butter and chocolate,” Chelsea disagrees.

“Fair point,” I concede.

She gives me a long look. “You’ve been through a lot, Dakota. You should cut yourself some slack.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always running around, always working, always mom-ing. You’re not taking care of your own needs,” she says. “I worry about you.”

When we were kids, Chelsea was always looking after me. My grandma Sally struggled financially after my parents died. It took a while for her to find a balance, during which time Chelsea’s family would often have me over for lunch or dinner. I know this house inside out. I know every corner, and I remember every nook and cranny. To see her worrying about me now, though, it tugs at my heartstrings.

“Listen, I’ll admit I’ve made my share of wrong turns when I was convinced that I was doing the right thing,” I tell her. “When I left for Los Angeles, you kept up Sally’s place for me. You called, you checked in… honestly, it didn’t even feel like we were ever really apart while I was married to Keith. Hell, you spotted the red flags in my relationship long before I became aware of them. Had I listened to you back then, maybe his departure wouldn’t have come as such a shock. But I’ve got this, Chelsea, I promise. I’ve got this.”

“Just remember you’re not alone,” she insists. “Stop talking like you can move these mountains on your own, please. It puts unnecessary pressure on yourself, and believe it or not,” she glances at my daughter and lowers her voice, “Maisie can feel it, too.”

I give her a worried look. “Has she said anything?”

“Only that you were so proud when she got her IQ test results, but then sad because you couldn’t afford to enroll her in Prescott Academy.”

“Ah, right. Yeah, that was a bummer. But that isn’t something she should be concerned with.” I look down at my daughter, sleeping peacefully on my lap. It breaks my heart to know that she shared with Chelsea that she’s worried about me.

“How did that come about?”

“Maisie is exceptionally intelligent, as you already know,” I reply in a lowered tone, helping myself to another cookie. “Her kindergarten teacher referred me to a specialist last month. He spent about an hour asking Maisie questions, playing some special cognitive games with her, and then had her do one of those Mensa-approved tests. A week later, he reached out and said he was ready to give Maisie a letter of recommendation for Prescott Academy.”

“That’s like the Harvard of primary schools, huh?”

“More like the MIT. Maisie’s mathematical and logical skills are out of this world, according to Mr. Danvers.”

“The guy who tested her?”

I nod once. “Yeah. He’s a former Prescott kid himself. He urged me to get her enrolled.”

“But the cost…”

“About eighty grand a year. It’s an insane amount, Chelsea. I can’t possibly afford that, and even with a scholarship, she still wouldn’t be able to go. They don’t give full rides.”

My heart hurts just remembering the entire conversation. I was so happy and so proud of my baby girl, wondering where she got such colossal smarts. Definitely not from Keith. I want what’s best for my daughter, and I know that she will struggle in normal schools. She’ll be ahead of everybody else academically, and the other kids might bully her. She’ll feel like a misfit, and there is only so much I can do as her mom to quell that. Getting her enrolled in Prescott Academy would’ve meant she’d have a safe place to learn, where her brilliant mind would be nurtured and celebrated.

“Chelsea, what was I thinking?”

“With what? You said it yourself; you simply can’t afford Prescott Academy.”

“No, I mean with the mortgage.”

Chelsea lets a heavy sigh roll out. “Ah. In your defense, you were madly, deeply, blindly in love with the guy.”

“Too bad that wasn’t enough.”

An hour later, we are home. I carry Maisie to her room and tuck her into bed. She’s already sound asleep, lightly snoring by the time I head back downstairs to pour myself a cup of tea. Living here in my grandmother’s house has been a bittersweet experience.

This is my childhood home. I’ve been living here since I was about six years old. It still has the same color on the walls, albeit faded. The same hardwood floors throughout, but they creak a lot louder now. It still has most of the original furniture, too, but I’ve taken good care of it, so it’s still in good condition. It’s old but homey, quaint, and cozy.

God, I’m exhausted physically and emotionally. But I am hopeful. Whenever I talk to Chelsea, my spirits go back up. Maisie helps a lot, too. She’s so bright and positive, and making sure she’s got everything she needs keeps me focused on the good most days rather than the bad.

I pour myself a glass of wine and turn the TV on for a bit. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift coming up on Sunday at a prestigious cocktail lounge, and I intend to make the most of my free time until then. Next week will be packed, back to back, with a lot of evening events.

A knock on the door makes me sit up. My thoughts wither away like wisps in the wind. I check my phone, but there’s no message or missed call from Chelsea. I get up and walk over to the door, carefully looking through the peephole first.

“Archer?” I whisper, my mind suddenly blank as his unique eyes stare back at me.

How in the world did he find out where I live? And why is my hand already reaching for the doorknob? Too late. It’s open, and Archer stands in the doorway with wide, hopeful eyes and a subtle pout on his lips.

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour,” he says, and I raise my hand for the most burning question of all.

“How’d you know where to disturb me, exactly?”

“Well, funny story,” he smiles.

“I’m not yet amused. It had better be funny, or I will call the cops.”

Archer’s smile broadens. “Part of the work that my company does is for tracking software. We work closely with the police and federal agencies. All I had to do was run your phone number, which you willingly gave to Reed, by the way, through our software, and it gave me all the information I needed.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“It’s unethical what I’m doing here. I admit it, and I apologize for that, as well, but I have to do this. I have to apologize for my earlier behavior.”

I stare at him with sheer disbelief. My brain continues to fail me as I struggle to think of a proper comeback, but there is something about Archer and his brothers that doesn’t set off any red flags in my mind. There’s a warmth in his eyes, a look on his face that promises trust and safety. My instincts rarely fail me. Keith notwithstanding, obviously.

“You tracked me down so you could apologize? This couldn’t wait?”

“My humor, my temper… sometimes they get crossed,” he says. “And when I meet someone as challenging and as fascinating as you, I tend to lean into one or the other more. Reed says I drop my filter and speak my mind a little too freely.”

“I think Reed is a smart man,” I mutter. “He already apologized on your behalf, though.”

“Right, right, Mr. Goody two-shoes, always trying to clean up my mess,” Archer scoffs. “Disregard whatever he said, please, and allow me to apologize to you directly. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

The gentlemanly thing. Where on earth did this guy come from? Why haven’t I met anyone like him, or his brothers, for that matter, until now? I don’t know how to respond. I only know what my body is telling me, and the chemistry between us is sparking. I’ve never felt this way before. I’m equal parts confused and exhilarated.

“Thank you,” I say after a long and heavy pause. “I appreciate it. In fairness, my own smart mouth can get the better of me sometimes. I may have thrown some straws into that fire, for what it’s worth.”

Archer lights up, suddenly relieved, and I can see the golden specks flashing in his hazel eyes. “Great. So, we’re on for a coffee date tomorrow, then.”

“We’re what, now?”

“Coffee date. Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. sharp. I’ll pick you up.”

“Wait, wait, I’m confused.”

He chuckles softly and leans forward just enough to make my heart skip a few beats. “I like it when you’re flustered; your cheeks burn hot pink. I’m going to think about this moment for a while. Have a lovely evening, Dakota. And don’t worry; your personal details are safe with us. We’re pillars of the San Fran community.”

With that, he whips around and walks back to his car, parked outside my house. A sleek, black Lexus. This man is something else, leaving me all hot and bothered, my breath ragged, my panties slick.

What the hell just happened? I ask myself.