Stuck With the Grumpy Single Dad

4. Chapter Three Matt

Chapter Three: Matt

“ H i, there! Welcome to the Siren and Sword! You folks must be new to town!”

By some strange twist of fate, the redhead from the hallway is apparently our waitress. The twins are gaping at her like she’s a fairy princess come to life, but after what I overheard, I’m not impressed.

“What makes you say that?” Maybe my tone is a little more defensive than I intended it to be, but whatever.

The redhead keeps smiling. “Because I haven’t seen you around before and I never forget a face. And I’d definitely never forget a face like yours.”

Is she… flirting? Across from me, Mia giggles quietly. Ava kicks me under the table.

“Okay,” is all I say.

McHugh warned us ahead of time that Beaufort Manor is a well-known landmark in Mermaid Shores, and that the arrival of the old man’s heir might cause a stir. Given that I really hate being in the spotlight and that I’ll do anything to protect my girls from the wrong kind of attention, I’ve been doing my best to keep a low profile.

Which means that I’m absolutely not going to tell flirty waitresses anything personal.

She’s got a good poker face, though. That pretty smile stays fixed on her lovely, freckled face. She is completely unbothered by my lack of a response.

“Well,” she says, placing her hands on her hips. “My name is Mabel and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you started with some drinks? What about you two gorgeous girls? What would you like to drink?”

“I want a margarita,” Mia announces boldly.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is her favorite joke, attempting to order alcoholic beverages on the rare occasions we go out to eat despite the fact that she’s twelve years old.

Mabel laughs loudly. “You know what? I could probably ask the bartender to throw together a virgin margarita, if your dad is okay with it.”

So they can overcharge me for lime juice and club soda? No, thanks. I might be a millionaire now—which, after an entire month, still doesn’t seem real—but I’m still frugal.

“No, that’s okay,” I cut in. “She’ll have a Sprite.”

Mabel winks at me. “Sure thing.”

“Me, too,” Ava chimes in.

“Two Sprites. Got it. And what about you, handsome?”

It’s an effort not to gape at her. I’m tempted to think she’s really laying it on thick, but the way she talks is less seductive and more matter-of-fact. As if she believes she’s simply stating the obvious when she calls me handsome, and therefore, it’s no big deal.

“I’ll have a decaf coffee. Black.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

She saunters away.

The moment she’s out of earshot, the girls giggle.

“She called you handsome ,” whispers Mia.

“She’s just doing her job. She wants a good tip.”

Ava twists in her seat to catch a glimpse of Mabel as she slips behind the bar to fetch the coffeepot. “She’s really pretty. I wish I had red hair.”

Unfortunately, my daughter is right. Mabel is very pretty. She’s got that natural kind of beauty, with her thick copper hair and big green eyes, and there’s something admirably no-nonsense about her. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing dungarees that are a size too big for her and has her hair twisted back with a plain rubber band.

Even with the shapeless outfit and apron covering most of her body, my focus went right to the elegant curve of her waistline the moment I saw her leaning against the open doorway in that hall. Nothing could hide the fact that her figure is a perfect hourglass shape, soft and supple where it matters most.

It was jarring to even notice that about her, though. I haven’t thought about a woman in that way for over a decade. I just haven’t had the time or the energy or the interest. Raising twin girls and running my own business is like having three full-time jobs at once. When would I have time to date?

Plus, who would I date? Greenville was an even smaller town that this one, and I’ve known most of the people who live there since I was fifteen. Not to mention, they all know about my dead wife. I’ve dealt with enough pity over the years. I don’t have the stomach for it anymore.

Unfortunately, even though Mabel is stunning, she ruined whatever good opinion I might have formed of her otherwise .

“I know you hate kids…” said the guy in the kitchen, loud enough that there was no mistaking his words.

And then she laughed about it. “You know me…”

She might have been nice to the girls just now, but it’s obviously fake.

I’ll never understand how people hate kids. Not wanting them, and even not wanting to spend a lot of time around them, is perfectly understandable. But hating them? They’re kids , for Pete’s sake. They’re vulnerable and silly, and their brains are still developing. They’re learning how to navigate this world, how to be human. If they make a mistake or act rude, it’s only because they’re stumbling through life with a severe lack of experience.

Beautiful or not, there’s no way I could ever respect someone who laughs about how much they hate children.

Our waitress returns with the drinks in record time.

“So, where are you folks from?”

“Maine!” chirps Ava before I can figure out a polite way to say none of your business .

Mabel grins at her. “No way! You’re taking a vacation from Vacationland?”

Mia perks up beside her sister. “Actually, we just—”

“Girls, are you ready to order?” I interrupt, a little more harshly than I mean to. Both Mia and Ava frown at me.

I can feel Mabel’s eyes on me, too, but I’m staring hard at the menu. She’s chipper as she takes our orders, but doesn’t call me handsome again. It’s a relief and, annoyingly, a bit of a disappointment. I don’t get compliments often. Mostly because I don’t interact with people, unless they’re customers, in which case they’re complimenting my work , not me.

The waitress waltzes away again, leaving a soft scent of floral perfume in her wake.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” Mia asks. Beside her, Ava nods.

“I’m not grumpy.”

“The grumpy person doesn’t get to decide if they’re being grumpy or not,” Ava argues.

Mia adds, “What can you even be grumpy about, Dad? We’re rich now!”

I run my hand through my hair. “Mia, honey, you shouldn’t say that. At least, not out loud. It’s impolite.”

“It’s true.”

“Still.”

She sighs, flopping back against the cushioned booth. “Fine.”

“It’s weird being rich,” muses Ava. “Nothing has really changed except we have a really big house now.”

“Yeah, but we’re not even living in the big house yet,” Mia replies.

As the girls chatter on, I let my mind wander.

We arrived in Mermaid Shores four days ago. The original plan hadn’t been to move at all, but then the attorney sent me photos of the property and the girls got so excited about the prospect of living in a manor. Plus, when I started looking into the local school system and learned that it’s one of the most well-funded districts in the region, I knew that staying in Greenville would mean denying my girls a better life.

On top of that, there was no real reason to stay in Maine. My wife and my parents are gone. The girls didn’t seem too upset about saying goodbye to their friends. The house we lived in was on the verge of becoming a financial liability, what with all the repairs I haven’t had the time or money to fix yet piling up .

It was the right choice to make. That’s what I told myself as I packed our things up, reserved a moving truck, and went through all the paperwork that McHugh sent me.

When we finally got here, I came fully prepared with the knowledge that the Beaufort Estate wasn’t exactly a luxury mansion. Over the past couple of decades, as the old man Roger aged and became more of a recluse, he left the manor to fall into disrepair and moved into the guest house instead. That’s where the girls and I are staying now, too. It’s not fantastically modern, but it is nicer than our farmhouse up in the middle of nowhere.

I’ve already done a quick perusal of what needs to be fixed. Some storm damage over the years has resulted in some necessary roof repairs, as well as the chimney. The brick fa?ade needs to be power-washed, and the ivy that’s growing all over it needs to be cut away. The manor also needs new windows, some serious landscaping, and a new porch.

And that doesn’t even begin to cover the state of the interior. The floors will need to be sanded and stained. The kitchen needs to be gutted and modernized. The electrical wiring needs to be updated. The walls need fresh coats of paint. All the musty, dusty furniture that’s probably been sitting in there since the eighties needs to be replaced.

There’s a mice problem, too.

Basically, it’s going to take a very long time for me to make Beaufort Manor livable again. At least I have the money for it. And now that I’m hitting pause on my carpentry business, I have time, too.

It’s a good thing. A golden opportunity. I can work on the house without being stressed over how much income I’m bringing in, and I can spend more quality time with the girls in the meantime.

And I can also think about what comes next for me.

What am I supposed to do with myself now? Business is more competitive down here, but our proximity to Boston also means that there are a lot more potential customers. I can’t imagine giving carpentry up for good, but it’s not like I need to depend on the income. McHugh advised that we could obviously live very comfortably off Roger Beaufort’s investment portfolio indefinitely and still have enough left to last the girls a very long time.

“Dad? Hello? Earth to Dad?”

I blink out of my reverie. Somewhere in the haze of my hectic thoughts, the waitress came by with our food. I didn’t even notice. I stare down at the steak salad in front of me, wondering how I could’ve been so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the redhead’s presence.

“Just thinking,” I tell the girls. “Sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Bricks and lumber. Wiring. Plaster and wood stain. Roof shingles and—”

“Okay, we get it,” says Ava with a small giggle. “Jeez, Dad. You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

Mia snorts. “Then why are you frowning? You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Everyone gets wrinkles, Mia. It’s a privilege to age.”

“Whatever you say…”

Ava, trying to play the diplomat, points to a colorful mural on the wall by the entrance. It’s a massive, abstract depiction of a group of mermaids, and seems to use every single color and shade in existence. It’s impressive.

“I love that,” Ava says with a wistful sigh. “Dad, we should hire whoever did it to paint the house.”

I chuckle. “We’ll see. ”

Mia taps her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if there are real mermaids in the ocean here.”

“Well, duh. It’s called Mermaid Shores. Of course, there are mermaids.”

“Do you think they’re nice mermaids?”

“All mermaids are nice.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

I tune the girls out. My gaze wanders across the restaurant. It happens to land on Mabel, where she’s delivering two platters heaped with fried food to a table of college-aged guys. She smiles and winks at them, as smooth and sweet as honey.

If I’m being completely honest, the big house and the good school wasn’t the only reason I was so quick to come to Mermaid Shores.

After all, what are the chances that I would inherit property here ? In this tiny hidden gem of a town? Where someone very special to me has lived their entire life?

I’ve never met her, and I don’t even know what she looks like, but I do know that Maple Leaf lives here. Maybe it’s insane that I don’t even know her real name, despite writing letters to her for the past twenty years. Except, she doesn’t know my real name, either. We slipped into our code names with ease and have never mentioned it.

Despite that, the woman I know as Maple Leaf is one of my closest friends. She knows more about me than anyone else on the planet. Since the first letter I ever opened from her, I had this sense that I could be myself with her. Over the years, I’ve never hesitated to tell her everything.

Well, almost everything.

She doesn’t know I’m here. Not yet. In the chaos of the move, I didn’t get the chance to sit down and write her a letter explaining everything. I will, though.

Or maybe I’ll run into her here, whoever she is, and instantly know that she’s my Maple. Something will click and we’ll both know .

It’s a stupid, childish fantasy. I know that. I’m a grown man and I’m thinking that something like love at first sight might actually happen to me.

Not that I’m in love with Maple. I mean, I don’t even know her name. I don’t know what she looks like, except that one time in a letter she mentioned that she has a birthmark shaped like Vermont on her left thigh. Also, she’s one year younger than me. That’s not a whole lot to go on, though.

But it’s true that I care about her. Even during the years that no letters passed between us, there was always a part of me that was wishing the best for her. We’ve been there for each other during the most difficult times of our lives. In fact, right after my wife died, when I suddenly had infant twins to care for all by myself, Maple’s letters were the only things keeping me from falling apart.

Eventually, I have to hunt her down. I need to thank her for being one of the best people in my life for almost two entire decades.

Until then, however, I’m going to keep my head down and focus on readjusting to this weird new version of reality.