My (Mostly) Secret Baby - Penelope Bloom Page 0,60

the Great Potato Famine of ’42.”

“Now you’re just making up dates,” I said.

“Like hell I am,” Dick protested. “I was there.”

“And if you try to get my—” I paused. I was about to say my girlfriend. What were we, even? Parents. That was a thought. “Please don’t advise my employees to suck any “titties,” I said after a brief pause.

Chelsea was smiling, but still fidgeting. Even Dick’s ridiculous behavior wasn’t quite enough to get her mind off me meeting her daughter, and I couldn’t quite blame her.

“It’s going to be fine,” I said.

She surprised me by taking my hand and squeezing it on top of her lap. Neither of us seemed to be in a particular rush to break contact.

Luna rushed outside the third-floor apartment door when we reached the top of the stairs. She did a jumping hug toward Chelsea, who caught her and spun her into a tight embrace.

I looked at the little girl more critically than I had in the office a few days back. I scanned her for hints of me and was shocked to find them.

The dark hair with a tendency toward curling at the edges. The complexion that leaned a little toward pale. The eyes and eyebrows were like mirror images of my own.

I found myself grinning when she pulled away from Chelsea and noticed me.

“Mr. Grumpy!” Luna rushed over and hugged my leg.

I awkwardly patted her back. I knew Chelsea was watching me like a hawk, and I was honestly unsure of how to bring something like this up to a little kid.

Chelsea’s brother was leaning in the doorway, watching us with folded arms. “Thanks for the huge check, Mr. Rose.”

I nodded, following everyone into Chelsea’s cramped apartment. I wasn’t naïve, and I’d known it would be small. I just wasn’t prepared to experience how small. The entire living space consisted of a room with a small kitchenette tucked off to one side. It was a glorified bedroom, and I found my blood boiling to think of the mother of my child and my daughter living in this kind of place.

Chelsea must’ve noticed something of my thoughts in my expression. “It’s not much, but it’s cozy.”

“This is our bed,” Luna said, jumping on the bed in the corner, which was just a mattress on the ground. It at least had a comfortable looking set of sheets and a comforter on it, along with a small stack of brightly colored kid blankets.

“It’s nice.”

Grant scoffed. “Speaking of how nice my sister’s hovel is, when does that first paycheck from you guys roll in, anyway?”

“The end of this week. Why?”

Grant took a step closer. He was tall but built about as thickly as a young tree. “Because I still don’t trust your greedy ass to pay her what you promised.”

“Grant,” Chelsea said quietly. “Could you give us some time alone, please?”

He snorted, shook his head, then headed to the hallway outside.

I jerked my thumb in the direction he’d left. “I don’t think he’s a huge fan.”

Luna tilted her head at me. “He’s a person, silly. If he was a huge fan, he’d have a plug coming out of his butt.”

I let out a surprised laugh. Chelsea was smiling too.

“Your mom and I wanted to tell you something important, Luna…”

Luna waited patiently. I glanced toward Chelsea, who gave me a small nod of encouragement.

I got down on my knees so I’d be eye-to-eye with her. “There’s a lot more your mom and I owe it to you to explain later, but I wanted you to know who I am. Luna, I’m your dad.”

Her large eyes narrowed as she looked from me to Chelsea, then back to me. “But I asked mommy how babies are made. She said it’s when a man and woman love each other very much. Then they press their bellies together and the boy shoots a baby from his belly button into—”

“That is not at all what I said,” Chelsea said.

Luna smiled wide. “You two touched belly buttons, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I said gravely. “Five years ago.”

Luna burst out in giggles and Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Wait,” she said, face suddenly going dead serious. “You’re really my daddy?”

“Yeah.” Why the hell did my throat feel so goddamn thick. And why was her apartment so stupidly dusty. “I’m your dad.”

Luna launched forward, wrapping her small arms around my neck. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” I said, squeezing her tightly.

32

Chelsea

Luna’s spoon scraped the bottom of her cereal bowl as she tried to get the last drop of milk. “Can