Chapter 3

By the time Margot and I get back to the food truck on Friday after lunch, everyone inside looks like a frazzled mess and the customers waiting outside are even on the verge of cranky. Listen, that rarely happens with Mila's customers, even when the lines get long. But I'm guessing that leaving her with Astrid—the new girl—and Landon for over three hours has been backing things up.

"I'm back," I say cheerfully, and I chuckle when Landon's whole body sags with visible relief. He stands and reaches for Margot. I pull her out of the wrap I used to anchor her on my hip. I rushed as quickly as I could from the bus stop, knowing things would be hectic.

"I just have a class meeting this afternoon with some of my students from the hybrid microeconomics course," he says, slipping the dusty-pink ruffled backpack from off my shoulders and throwing it over one of his. "I'll take her for a while." If he didn't look like he needed time with my daughter, I'd fight him on this at least a little bit, but he's frazzled and he's hugging Margot to him like she's saving his sanity.

I sigh at the smitten look on Mila's face as she watches him while power-mixing the chocolate chips into a batch of cookies—she's staunchly against using the paddle on her mixer for that step. I slip into the seat Landon abandoned and take the next order from a regular customer who brightens when I wave him over to my register. This guy doesn't have Lincoln Knight's good-looks and he might be slightly balding, but his beaming face adds to the sunshine of my day.

"How'd the interview go?" Mila asks when I hop up to grab an order of cupcakes and put them in a box. Mila used to box up the orders and hand them to me, but as things have gotten busier, it's been more efficient for her to keep baking and for me, and now Astrid, to box up orders.

I grin. "Really good. Maybe I'm projecting, but I'm pretty sure I got it." The manager, Nicholas, was ruggedly good-looking like half the men in the city, I swear. The interview had a little bit of a flirty tone to the entire thing, which helped my cause. Margot was there with me, so we talked about her, and I made sure to slide in how I don't date, so I wasn't leading him on. (Listen, I'm not going that far to get this apartment.) But he seemed impressed with me and my ability to pay rent, and according to him there are two other families that live on that floor, so a baby wasn't going to bother anyone.

"Yes!" Mila reaches for a high-five, which I give her before I close up the box.

Within half an hour, we're caught back up and moving quickly again. It's mid-afternoon, so the line is steady, but not as busy as the lunch hour was.

Astrid takes advantage of the slower pace. She's in the back of the truck, boxing up orders while Mila bakes since I can keep up with everything at the register. Normally I like the break from sitting at the register, but Astrid is still getting the hang of our system, and after getting so far behind before, Mila doesn't need the stress of that happening again.

A bearded guy in running shorts and a hoodie steps up next, eyeing the menu with a scowl.

"Are we missing your favorite sweet today?" I ask. Sometimes Mila's customers can be picky about their favorites. Honestly, the most vehement people get about the bakery truck is that the menu isn't always the same, so that delicious cupcake they love isn't there every day. "If you let me know what it is, I can ask Mila to make it soon," I offer. She loves taking requests.

He turns his attention to me, his scowl deepening. "Don't you have anything healthy on this menu?"

I blink at him. "Um, no?" It's a bakery truck. "We have some homemade breads …" But now that I look at him closer, the muscles defined under his fitted hoodie and in his thighs, I think "carbs" is a bad word in his world.

"How is this place so popular?" he mutters and steps out of the line, stalking away with a disappointed look at us over his shoulder.

"Ohhh-kay," I say, biting back the urge to laugh out loud. "Did you see that?" I swivel toward Mila and Astrid. Mila's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

"That was intense," Astrid says in a low voice.

"I don't think it's a secret that you sell cookies and stuff, right?" I ask, my voice shaking with the hilarity of the whole thing.

Mila just shakes her head. I take another couple orders before it slows again, with customers checking out the menu before stepping up to order what they want.

"I went on the most amazing date last night," Astrid says. "He was so involved in everything I said." She lifts her shoulders up and then releases them with a satisfied smile. "I think I might already be falling in love."

Mila and I share a look. Astrid could be either one of us just a year ago. Starry-eyed and na?ve. Mila still kind of is, but she found a man who lives up to all her dreams.

"Who is this dream guy?" Mila asks. Both of our protective instincts have flared, even though we've only known Astrid about a week.

"Kipp Avery," Astrid says. "Oh my gosh, he's so hot. Are all the guys in LA as hot as him?" Before either of us can answer, she points to Mila. "Your boyfriend is hot."

"Fiancé," Mila corrects, eyes dancing.

Astrid points to me. "That guy that shows up every day and only orders from you is hot."

Mila laughs shortly.

My eyebrows jump. "I don't know who you're talking about." We have a bunch of regular customers and a decent number of good-looking guys, but I can't think of one who would come just to see me. Have any of them been paying special attention to me lately? It's possible. Mila's baking has grown more and more popular the last few months, so things have been busy.

Astrid glances between me and Mila. "You know, the really tall guy with dark hair and dreamy-sweet brown eyes?" She looks over at Mila, who's smirking into the bowl she's stirring. "Always wearing some kind of Rays gear when he shows up. And he usually comes by pretty early, like right after we open."

"Lincoln," Mila says, almost laughing now.

"Lincoln?" I repeat. "He's not coming here to see me."

Mila snorts again. I scoff back at her.

"Mila's food is very addicting. I know this personally," I say defensively. "I ate four sugar cookies last night. I couldn't help myself. I was so sick."

Astrid shrugs, and Mila bites her lip. I scowl at them both and curse the fact that there's only a handful of people milling around the truck, none of them ready to order yet. We need a distraction. Mila doesn't need to fill Astrid's head with one of her ridiculous fairy tales.

"Wait," Mila says, pausing in her scraping out brownie batter into a pan. "Kipp Avery. Why does that sound familiar? What does he look like?"

Oh, thank heavens. At least I can give Mila the benefit of the doubt for changing the subject.

Astrid pulls her phone from her pocket. "He was a regular on LA Lights last season before they killed him off," she murmurs, tapping around on her phone.

"Actor," I say, as though the word tastes like the cookies a barbecue truck at one of our regular spot made to try and keep customers from heading over to Mila's for dessert. Smoked. At least they were on brand.

Astrid glances at me, confused, before holding up her phone to show us a headshot of a guy with short dark hair and a pretty-boy face that will get him cast as the charming hero every single time.

Mila squints at the phone and looks back at me. "Didn't you do an episode of LA Lights with him?" she asks.

"Yeah." I'm a big fan of the crime procedural that's set in LA. It's very popular, and everyone in our apartment had auditioned for various roles at some point. I landed the part of a next-door neighbor who becomes an instrumental witness in bringing down the murderer. I had so much fun. Acting is a lot of tedious work, but I somehow thrive in it. I've always loved pretending.

Maybe that's how I ended up believing That Guy Who Fathered My Daughter loved me.

Unfortunately, that's not a career I can pursue with a daughter in tow. Not when I want to be there for her to make up for the fact that her father never will be. If my agent could just hand me roles and tell me to show up somewhere, I'd go back to acting in a heartbeat, but hustling after auditions all the time isn't something I can do anymore.

"Wasn't Kipp amazing?" Astrid says.

I shrug. "Sure." I didn't do a lot of scenes with him. My part had more interaction with the main detective of the series. I thought the writers might bring me back, because there was solid on-screen chemistry between me and the actor who played him, but I never got the call.

One of the students that's been milling around the truck steps forward, and for a few minutes I'm taking orders.

When there's a break again, I turn to Astrid. "You don't want to get mixed up with an actor."

She scrunches her nose. "Why not?"

I look up at Mila, waiting for her backup, but she busies herself with scrubbing out her mixing bowl. "They're flaky." I wish Margot was here for me to nod at as the prime example. "Listen, I can set you up with someone even better. Someone who won't run off when the next big part comes along. I'm basically the reason Mila and Landon got together."

Mila bursts into laughter. "Oh, really?"

"I had help from Eli and Court, of course, but I was the main one to push you two together."

"The flu was the major instigator in getting us together," Mila counters.

I wave her off. "If I hadn't sacrificed and gone to my parents' house for Christmas, Landon could have never spent all that time with you."

She shakes her head but doesn't contradict me.

"Trust me," I say to Astrid. "Kipp Avery and any other actor is no good for you."

Astrid nods slowly, her eyes wide. "Okay."

I grin. This could be all the fun of dating (okay, vicariously) without any of the heartbreak.