Lessons in Fatherhood
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Makenna Lee
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17
Chapter One
I’m unplugging my alarm for a week. At the very least.
Kindergarten teacher Emma Blake wanted to sing and skip like she did with her class, but doing so while crossing the center park of Oak Hollow town square all alone might gain her a few sideways stares. But no one could stop her from dancing like a Rockette on the inside. Her students were adorable, but she’d been counting the days—and minutes—until summer break. Thankfully for all involved, it had been an early-dismissal day.
A warm gust of wind fluttered the full skirt of her Crayola-print shirtwaist dress and carried the delicious scent of freshly baked bread from the Acorn Café, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. It was hot like every other June day in Texas, but the sky was blue and next week’s plan was set. Sleeping late, reading good books, spending time at her vintage shop and taking care of no one but herself. Heated from her walk, she twisted her long hair into a bun and secured it with a hairband.
Emma walked around the gazebo and studied their new sign from a distance. Emma’s Vintage & Creations by Jenny. She once again had to control her urge to skip. The combination of Jenny’s one-of-a-kind designs and her own vintage finds were working well together and bringing in new customers, and hopefully soon they’d have their online business up and running.
Just as she neared her shop, Nicholas Weller rushed out of the space next door. The space she and Jenny McKnight had wanted to buy for expansion, until this player from the city swooped into town and outbid them. His self-important attitude at the Oak Hollow business owners meeting had been a tip-off of what to expect. He’d introduced himself with the haughtiness of someone used to wearing tuxedoes and sipping expensive champagne while being served by his butler. When he’d told her to call him by his first name while straightening his designer tie, as if he was doing her a favor by allowing such casualness, she’d barely resisted an eye roll.
And now, in clothes too formal for a summer afternoon, Nicholas winked and grinned with his perfectly straight, white teeth as if she should fall at his feet and adore him.
Not happening, buddy. And who winks anymore?
Resisting a scowl—because her parents raised her right—she nodded politely.
Now they would have to listen to the construction noises as he remodeled with intentions of turning the old hat shop into an art gallery. It was unlikely such a place would make it in this Texas Hill Country town, but at least the space would be remodeled when he’d had enough of small-town life and decided to sell. He probably wanted to turn it into some ultramodern white space with chrome and glass, but thankfully the historical society wouldn’t allow him to get rid of all the historic charm of the space.
This man with his two-seater sports car—which was taking up two parking spots—was so not her type.
She continued inside the shop her late grandmother built. “Hi, Jenny. How’s business been today?”
“Pretty good.” Little rainbows danced off the jeweled antique broaches in the velvet-lined tray Jenny adjusted on the counter. “A group of women who came in from San Antonio posted on social media saying this is their new favorite shop.”
“Excellent. Can’t go wrong with free advertising.”
“How does it feel to be out of school for the summer?”
“Like I’ve won the lottery. I need a long rest followed by catching up on some Netflix series and staying up as late as I want. Probably while sipping an adult beverage and eating the junk food I’ve been denying myself.” She put her tote bag under the register beside the little tea set and storybooks they kept handy for when Jenny’s little girl visited the shop. “But don’t worry. I’ll still be here to help you every afternoon. And mornings, too, if needed.”
Jenny’s long, dark hair fell over her shoulder as she bent to straighten a pair of shoes. “Take a few days just for yourself. You deserve it. I can handle things here for the next few days because we have another new employee. I called the college student we decided on after interviews, and she was thrilled to accept the summer job. She starts tomorrow.”
“Wonderful. I might take you up on that,” Emma said, enjoying the sensation of her tension melting away. “But I’ll probably end up at least stopping by every day.”
“I brought a new dress I finished last night. It’s a wrap style so it will fit a wider range of sizes.” Jenny lifted a red-and-white dress from the rack beside her.
“Oh, wow. That’s gorgeous. Let’s put it in the window.” Emma undressed one of the wireframe mannequins and fell into her favorite stress-reducing task of window dressing.
“If it sells quickly, I’ll make more,” Jenny said and handed her a red tulle petticoat.
“You should get started. I think it will be a hot seller. And I want one for myself.”
“I’ve already started one for you,” Jenny said. “It’s turquoise.”
“Perfect. You know me so well.” Emma slid the petticoat underneath the full skirt to show off the huge red flowers on a white background, leaving a bit of the tulle peeking out along the hemline.
The string of silver bells above the door cheerfully jingled as customers came inside. They both welcomed the women and Jenny went to help them.
Over their soft mix of music dating back to the 1950s, she could hear a baby crying. Emma couldn’t see anyone out the display window overlooking the square, and she’d swear the noise was coming from Nicholas’s space next door. She put her ear to the shared wall and the sound grew louder. When the crying didn’t stop, and there were no adult voices, her curiosity turned to concern. She had seen Nicholas leave but had not seen him return or anyone else go in.
Out on the sidewalk, she peered through his front plate-glass window. “Are you kidding me?” A diaper bag and car seat with an infant sat in the center of the mostly empty room. Had this man really left his child all alone? As if she needed another reason to dislike him. She tested his front door and it opened.
“Hello, is anyone here?”
With no answer, she crossed the room and kneeled beside the baby, but called out a few more times. Tiny pink feet had kicked free of the blanket and quivered with his cries. He was dressed in a green onesie covered with trucks and cars, so she assumed he was a boy and guessed that he couldn’t be more than a few months old. Unable to stand the pleading cries, she unbuckled the infant from his carrier.
“There, there sweetie. It’s okay.” Cradling him close, she swayed and swaddled his feet in the soft blanket. The sight of a rabbit embroidered on one corner of the blanket made her breath stutter. The rapid beating of her heart matched the baby’s, and she could almost hear Steven’s voice calling her Bunny Rabbit. The baby stopped crying and blinked big brown eyes, his little mouth rooting against her. Emma nudged his tiny fist toward his mouth, hoping to temporarily pacify him.
So tiny. So precious. So brand-new and magical, still carrying that enchanting newborn quality as if brushed by angel wings. Longing to feed him from her own breasts, she felt her eyes prick with the familiar sting of tears. It had been more than three years, but flashes of pain still cut deep every time she thought about the accident that devastated her world.
“You are beautiful and precious, and someone shouldn’t have left you alone.”
Something banged in the back of the shop, and her heart jumped into her throat. It sounded like a door had been flung open too hard.
“Is anyone back there? Mr. Weller?” She walked around a stack of boxes and down the short hallway to the office, which was also empty. But the back door was wide open. A chill shot through her, and she glanced into the alley behind the row of shops, but there was no one in sight. If left ajar, her back door had blown open a time or two when the narrow alley created a wind tunnel. This meant he hadn’t even properly closed it before leaving.
“I should call the police station.”
The little bundle in her arms screwed up his cherub face and fussed.
“But first, let’s see if there’s a bottle or pacifier in your diaper bag.” Back out front, she picked up the striped bag and put it on the old built-in glass-front display counter, but before she could unzip it, the front door swung wide as Nicholas Weller pushed through with a bag of takeout from the Acorn Café.
He stopped short and his jaw dropped slightly open.
Her well-practiced teacher’s stare was achieving the desired reaction. “I can’t believe you would do such a thing. How could you be this dumb?” she said quietly enough not to upset the baby.
His eyebrows sprang up toward his perfectly styled light-brown hair, and his broad cocky smile was nowhere to be found.
“I was about to call the police and report you,” she said.
Without taking his eyes from her, he slowly set his bag of food on a makeshift table of plywood and two sawhorses. “Catch me up here. Report me for what, exactly?”
“Are you kidding me?” she said so loudly the baby started crying again. “Oh, now look what you’ve made me do.”
This is not at all how today was supposed to go.
Nicholas Weller knew what it was like to have a woman mad at him, but he usually knew the reason. Not this time. Why was his ill-tempered neighbor in his store yelling at him with her crying baby in her arms?
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she cooed to the child, then met his eyes again.
Her pink lips pursed above a slightly pointed chin, and what felt like crystal daggers shot from her pale green eyes. Nicholas pressed his lips tight against the untimely urge to laugh. With her hair pulled into a tight bun, she looked like an angry pixie. Weren’t people in small towns supposed to be welcoming? And the reason for her uninvited visit was still a mystery. In her primary-colored crayon dress—which was better suited to a child—this prickly, judgmental schoolteacher was going to be a tough neighbor.
“I should report you for leaving your baby alone while you ran out for food.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Suddenly ice cold to the core, he held up both hands and backed away. “This is not my baby.”
“He’s not?” She looked between the two of them as if searching for similarities. “Then where did he come from?”
“I thought it was yours.”
She made a growling sound in her throat. “He’s a baby, not an it.”
“Where did he come from? I was only gone ten minutes.”
“I didn’t see anyone come in or out of your front door.” She gasped. “But I did hear your back door bang and found it wide open.”
“It was? I didn’t leave it open.” Every hair on his body stood at attention. This was getting weirder by the second. “Is someone playing a joke on me? Are there cameras?” He went to the front windows and scanned the area.
“If it’s a joke, I’m not in on it.” Joining him at the window, she swayed, rocking the tiny infant. “This baby is only a few months old. You’ve truly never seen this child and have no idea who he belongs to?”
He had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. “No.”
The infant made mewling sounds, and she held him toward Nicholas. “Hold the baby while I see if there’s a bottle in the diaper bag.”
His pulse jumped, and Nicholas shoved his hands into the front pockets of his gray slacks. “I’ve never held a baby.”
She turned her body away as if that answer deemed him unfit. Cradling the baby in the crook of one arm, she unzipped the bag and pulled out a pacifier. “You need to look in this diaper bag. There’s a letter with your name on it.”
Had he fallen into a delusion? He’d ask her to pinch him, but she looked to be in more of a slapping mood. After a brief hesitation, he approached the open bag as if it was venomous. On top of diapers and clothes, there was an envelope, and it really did have his name on it.
This can’t be good.
“Who is the mother?” Emma asked.
He picked up the ordinary white envelope with the potential to change his life, and it seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. “I have no idea.”
She gaped at him and once again clutched the infant closer. “How can you not know who his mother is? Are there that many options?”
“You’re assuming he’s mine.” His throat was so tight it was almost a whisper.
Surely a DNA test will prove this isn’t my child.
With a shaky hand, he slid his thumb under the flap, hissing at the sting of a paper cut. Was this minor wound an omen of things to come? He unfolded a page of postpartum instructions from a hospital in Houston, but with no patient name. On the back was a handwritten note of looping script that looked familiar. With his heart slamming against his breastbone, he silently read.
I tried to hide the truth, but the truth found me.
I took the coward’s way, I took the pay, and now you’ll see.
Will you ever forgive me?
Looking into his eyes, your eyes, I saw the only choice can be...
Introducing you to your baby.
And even though it’s probably too late to be a family of three, our baby deserves to know his family tree.
“Aurora.” Blood rushed in his ears as his vision blurred. This poem-style message could only be one person. His ex-girlfriend, Aurora Di Ciano. Poems like this had been her fun way of leaving him messages or clues to solve. And this message was clear.
She had my baby?
She had never said anything about being pregnant. A quick calculation of the last time he’d seen Aurora and the approximate age of the baby would make it possible. It all lined up with the time Aurora abruptly broke up with him. One day he thought he might be falling in love, and the next, she disappeared from his life. Nicholas fumbled in the bag for more information. Proof he wasn’t jumping to wild conclusions and this really was Aurora’s baby. Moving bottles, diapers and a can of formula, he found a large manila envelope tucked into an inside pocket. He pulled out a cardstock page just far enough to see the baby’s footprints. A few more inches revealed a handwritten name.
Nicholas Jackson Weller, Jr. Six pounds twelve ounces & nineteen inches long.
An unfamiliar emotion hit with the force of an ocean wave, bringing with it the sting of salt in his eyes. She’d given the child his name. He held his breath and slid the page out farther, and his suspicion was confirmed.
Mother, Aurora Ann Di Ciano. Father, Nicholas Jackson Weller.
Aurora was not the kind of person who would try to trick him into taking a baby who wasn’t his. She was as straightforward as they came and honest—almost to a fault. But where in the hell was she?
“Mr. Weller? Nicholas?”
Snapping his head up, he met Emma’s inquisitive eyes. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Are you okay?” she asked and came close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” He was definitely not, but you never let a stranger see weakness or too much emotion.
The page slipped back into its envelope with a barely audible whoosh. But one loud enough to change everything. The world as he knew it was over. Something that was never supposed to happen had dropped into his life without any warning. Lord knew he had no example of how to be a parent.
After squeezing his eyes closed and counting to five, he took his first good look at the tiny baby in her arms. Big curious eyes. A little mouth working furiously on a translucent blue pacifier. He reached out for one little foot poking from the folds of a blue blanket, his skin softer than anything he’d ever touched. This time the wave of emotion was gentle but all-consuming, like the heat of a summer day.
“He’s mine.” He met Emma’s gaze. “And before you ask me again, yes, I know who the mother is. The question is, where is she?” He turned in a circle like she’d appear from the scarred and faded woodwork.
“I take it she never told you she was pregnant?”
“No. She just suddenly disappeared from my life.” Why am I telling a stranger these personal details?
“Could she be the one I heard at the back door?” Emma asked.
“That’s not at all like Aurora. I need to call her.” He pulled out his phone and walked toward the back office.
While the phone rang, he recalled a message Aurora left a few months ago saying that she would call back soon. Still licking his wounds from being dumped, he had not tried to call her, hoping to discover how badly she wanted to reconnect. Much to his disappointment, she had not tried to reach him again.
This is what she wanted to tell me, and I was too prideful to call her. Maybe my father is right. I’m too self-absorbed.
“Hello, Nick,” said a male voice on the other end of the phone line. “It’s me. Marco.”
“Marco? Why are you answering your sister’s phone? Where is she?” Nicholas heard sniffling and the shuddering breath of restrained crying. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s gone.”
“Where?” His whole body went numb.
“She died.”
I couldn’t have heard that right. His pulse raced and Nicholas’s brain scrambled to turn the teenager’s words into something else. Something not horrible.
“She had the baby and then she died. She’s gone.” The young man’s voice was a forced whisper, hoarse with sorrow.
Nicholas propped his forehead against the white shiplap wall, struggling to get air into his lungs. “Marco, where are you?”
“Nearby.”
“You brought the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Get your butt back over here.”
“On my way.”
With a deep inhale that didn’t help the least little bit, Nicholas stepped out of the empty office. Emma’s voice drifted down the hallway, singing a lullaby that tapped at a memory just out of reach. He paused and cocked his head. Someone had sung that song to him. But who? Because it certainly hadn’t been his parents.
Emma rocked side to side in a hypnotic rhythm as she sang to the tiny infant cradled in one arm. A tear rolled down her cheek followed by another.
Why is she crying?
He followed the movement of her delicate hand brushing her tears away. She had short, neat, unpainted nails, very unlike the women he was used to dating.
When she saw him, she swiped at her cheek again. “Do we need to call the police?”
“No. I know who brought him.” He leaned against the wall, the backs of his eyes prickling with tears that he would not allow to come out in front of a stranger, or anyone for that matter.
The pacifier popped out of the baby’s mouth, and he turned his head to nuzzle against Emma’s breast.
“This little guy needs to eat,” she said.
He concentrated on breathing so he wouldn’t pass out. “His name is Nicholas.”
Emma gave a short, clipped laugh. “You’ve already named him after yourself?”
“No.” He frowned at her.
This woman is getting under my skin. And not in the fun way.
“His mother named him.” He gazed at the curious face of his tiny son and rubbed the heel of one palm across his chest.
Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant? Am I such a horrible prospect for a father that she tried to hide him from me?
The jagged scar on his knuckle reminded him of the time Aurora talked him into hiking. The day he’d first thought he might be feeling something close to love and considering a long-term relationship. Catching his reflection in the glass of the display case, it took him a second to recognize his own face, etched with grief. Nicholas hardened his features into an expressionless mask before facing Emma.
She tilted her head, observing him in a way that told him Emma Blake was the kind of woman who saw too much.
“Let’s go next door to my shop. There’s a kitchenette in the back. We can make a bottle for him, and you can sit down.”
“She’s dead.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded robotic and emotionless.
Emma sucked in a sharp breath and her face shifted into an anguished expression that made him suspect she had experience with something he didn’t yet understand.
“His mother? She died?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Before he could say more, Marco came through the door. His black hair fell over his forehead but couldn’t hide red-rimmed eyes, deep brown and expressive just like Aurora’s. Nicholas pulled him into a tight hug, then held on to his shoulders and studied his face. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, and I’m sorry I left baby Nick here like that.” The teenager glanced briefly at Emma while tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. “I went into the back to see if there was a place to make a bottle. When I heard someone come in... I don’t know what came over me. I panicked. I figured your girlfriend might not want you to have another woman’s child.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” she said as fast as a hockey puck sliding across ice.
“I hardly know her,” Nicholas said, irritated by her rapid denial of a relationship with him. “She owns the business next door.”
“Oh.” Marco’s brow furrowed as he looked between them. “I didn’t go far. I went out the back, then around to the front and watched from behind a tree across the street.”
“Should I leave?” Emma asked. “Y’all probably have a lot to talk about.”
As if in protest to her suggestion, the baby cried full on, his little pink tongue quivering in his wide-open mouth.
Nicholas winced at the high-pitched crying. “Can we make that bottle at your place?”
“Sure, grab the diaper bag and car seat and follow me.”
Nicholas and Marco followed her into the dress shop, where a dark-haired woman was helping a customer, but her eyes followed them as they walked through women’s clothing to a little back room set up as a kitchen.
“Hold your son while I make the bottle,” Emma said.
Nicholas stared at her without moving a muscle, and she rolled her eyes.
“I’ll take him,” Marco said. “He is my nephew. I’m Marco.” He rested the baby on his shoulder, patting his tiny back.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Emma.” Everyone except for the baby was silent while she prepared the bottle, then handed it to Marco. “There are cold drinks in the refrigerator. Help yourself.” She rotated her beaded bracelet while glancing once more between them and then left them alone.
The men sat at the two-person bistro table at one end of the narrow space. Once the baby was quietly drinking, Nicholas finally found his voice. “Tell me what happened, starting with, why didn’t I know she was pregnant?”
“Because of the money.”
A sharp, cold sensation slid down his spine. “What money?”
Marco winced. “The money your dad gave her to disappear from your life. He said our parents’ prison records couldn’t be associated with his or your name.”
Nicholas’s vision tinted red, his knee bouncing so fast the metal table rattled. He wanted to argue that his father couldn’t have done that. But if he could kick his own son out of the family business until he could “prove his worth,” of course he’d do this to a woman he barely knew. Anything to protect the family name. “That’s why she broke up with me? He paid her off?”
“Yeah. At first, she told your father no, but then he doubled the amount. But the money wasn’t the only reason. She knew she’d never be accepted into the Weller family. And she said you’d told her you weren’t the kind of guy who ever wanted to settle down and be a family man.”
A tight knot formed in his chest. He had said that. More than once, partly to remind himself he didn’t know how a healthy family really worked. “How did she die?”
“A surgical complication the day after having the baby by C-section.”
Nicholas held his breath to fight off a sob he refused to let out. If he had been by her side, would he have seen something was wrong and possibly been able to save her? Could he have prevented her death if he’d been there?
“I didn’t put you on the birth certificate because I still thought she didn’t want you to know, but then I found the poem she’d written. When they started talking about putting the baby in foster care, I showed them my sister’s will listing me as guardian if something should happen to her.” He shook his head and adjusted the bottle. “Nothing was supposed to happen. It shouldn’t be like this.”
“No, it shouldn’t.” He gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea. “Marco? Why didn’t you just call me?”
“I was afraid your father would ask for the money back if he found out that I contacted you. And a lot of it was spent and I needed the rest to take care of the baby.” He smiled down at his nephew. “I’ve tried, but I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. My friends have been telling me to put him up for adoption.”
“Adoption?” His stomach clenched and rolled. Oh my God. What am I about to do? “If he’s really mine... I’ll take him.”
“You can get a DNA test if you want, but I promise he’s yours. My sister wasn’t seeing anyone but you. She wasn’t like that.”
“I know. I believe you.” Aurora was the only woman who’d ever made him consider a real relationship. Until she’d left him like yesterday’s garbage.
“I do have one piece of good news. I got a full-ride football scholarship to UT in Austin,” Marco said.
“That’s great, kid. Congratulations. Did your sister know?”
“Yes. She was proud.” He looked at Nicholas with imploring eyes. “I have some buddies in Austin who said I can live with them, but not with a baby. It’s more of a college party house, not exactly a good fit for a newborn. And I really want to take the scholarship and get a degree.”
“Of course. Aurora would definitely want you to go to college.”
“Do I have to give back what’s left of the money?”
“Absolutely not. You keep it. Use it for college expenses.”
Marco’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you have a lawyer who can help with getting your name on the birth certificate and all that legal stuff? Seems like rich people always do.”
He didn’t bother saying that it was his parents who were rich. Not so much him anymore without his salary from the auction house—and his habit of overspending instead of saving. He was far from destitute, but he couldn’t go throwing money around like he used to. “I know a few lawyers. I’ll call one of them.”
“His shot record and the pediatrician’s information are in the pocket of the diaper bag. The doctor said he is healthy and growing like he should.”
“That’s good. Sounds like you’ve done a great job taking care of him. How old is he?” Nicholas couldn’t believe he was having to ask the age of his own baby. But the date is not the part he had been focused on when he glanced at the paperwork in the manila envelope. More than that...he couldn’t believe he even had a baby.
“Four months. He was born on February first.” Marco pulled the bottle from the sleeping baby’s mouth, leaving a dribble of milk on his dimpled chin.
Nicholas’s hand went reflexively to his own chin and the slight cleft he’d inherited from his grandfather.
“You have to make sure to burp him after he eats.” Marco demonstrated how to place the baby on his shoulder and pat his back until they heard a soft burp.
“How do you know how to do this?” Nicholas asked. “Take care of a baby, I mean.”
“The internet, and I asked a friend’s mom.”
If a nineteen-year-old can learn how to do this, I can, too. Right?
He could call his old childhood nanny, but Angela wouldn’t be able to do more than give him advice over the phone from her retirement home. Confidence was rarely a problem, but in this case, Nicholas was going to have to ask for help from someone closer by, and only one person came to mind.
Would Emma Blake take pity on him? Or would she laugh in his face?
