Chapter 6

6

Dakota

A s the days go by, I try to focus on everything else going on in my life, for there is plenty. With Maisie in Chelsea's daily care after school, I am able to get more work done. A couple of barista gigs here, an evening cocktail lounge job there, and another child CPR training at a preschool down the road from us. Yet, as Friday comes along, I have a look at my online bank account and realize I'm nowhere near close to what I need for outstanding mortgage payments on my house.

The bank keeps calling. The word "foreclosure" is getting tossed around more often than before. I can feel the noose tightening around my neck, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I find peace and joy in my daughter's soft arms. I find passion and energy in my little bartending experiments at home, late at night, after Maisie's gone to sleep. But I can also feel my battery reaching a critical point.

There's too much to do and not enough time in the day to do it.

I can't do anything more about that now, so I focus on attending the Single Dads Club meeting tonight. It's a good networking opportunity, not just a learning one. The people at the community center help each other out, according to Chelsea. Maybe I'll get more work by attending. Who knows, but it's worth a shot.

I haven't heard much from the Faulkner triplets since Saturday, and I don't know what to make of it. Maybe they think they scared me off or maybe they're playing it safe, not wanting to pursue me. I don't know. It's all a jumble in my head, and my heart keeps tying itself up in knots as I try to sail forward, ever forward.

I've got my CPR dummies and a couple more pieces of equipment with me as I struggle to carry everything up into room 23. The whole time, I'm shaking my head at my own excitement to see the triplets again. My body may have hijacked my brain; I don't know. But I'm conscious and aware of what I'm doing. No, this is all me. I'm drawn to them, and I have to follow through on this dangerous fantasy. I have spent every night thinking about it, wondering what it would be like. I can't get it out of my head.

"Dakota!" Cole exclaims as I walk through the door, then shoots up from his seat.

"Oh, shit." I stumble, and all of my stuff gets scattered across the floor. Fortunately, I'm surrounded by chivalrous gentlemen. In under five minutes, everything is set on the table in the middle, and I'm slightly less flustered than when I first walked in.

"Thank you," I cut him off with a weary smile, my gaze wandering around the circle of single dads until I see Maddox, Archer, and Reed staring at me. "I was actually hoping you might have a seat for me after I'm done with the practical part of the instruction, at least for tonight."

Cole thinks about it for a second. "Of course," he says and pulls up a chair. "It will be right here, waiting for you."

"Great. So, happy to see you again, gentlemen," I say, my gaze bouncing and settling here and there—it keeps lingering on the triplets, but I hope nobody else notices. "We talked about reasons why you'd need an altered method of CPR for children last time, and tonight, I'm going to show you precisely why. I brought an adult torso and a child's torso for reference."

The guys all gather around as I begin my instructional demonstration. To my delight, they're remarkably active participants. Some are shy, and some are hands-on. It leads to plenty of laughs as I do my best to layer some humor in between the seriousness of such potential scenarios. This isn't my first training session, but I still get nervous, so it gives me great satisfaction to get such a high degree of participation from the guys—especially the triplets.

"I'll admit, I'm impressed," Reed says to me at one point in a low voice while it's Cole's turn to practice chest compression on the child dummy.

"How so?"

"You're a very good teacher," he whispers.

I chuckle lightly. "Ah, so, I deserve my certificate, huh?"

"I can also see who Maisie takes after with those whip smarts of hers. You're definitely rubbing off on your daughter."

"Maisie teaches me a lot, too, you know."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, we learn from Trevor aplenty. But seriously, you are a very good instructor, Dakota. I apologize for doubting you at first. Mea culpa."

"Don't worry about it," I reply with a warm smile. "I happen to like what I do for a living, small or big gigs alike. I guess that plays a part in my delivery."

The rest of the training session runs smoothly, and we end up covering the third module as well since the guys are such quick and eager learners. By the time I'm done and the dummies are set aside, they're each back in their assigned seats, waiting for me to join them.

"Dakota, please. It's always a pleasure," Cole says.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I go ahead and sit down, feeling tiny and vulnerable next to the Faulkner triplets. Their eyes, in differing shades of green, scan me from top to bottom, but I can't really tell what they're thinking. All I can do is offer a shy smile.

"I feel ten percent smarter now," Archer quips with a playful grin.

"Then I've done my job," I say. "And thanks again for having me for the single parent part of the club, too."

"Pretty sure the community center has a Single Moms Club, too," Reed replies. "Wouldn't you be more interested in that?"

"This one's more enticing," I concede. "Besides, it's like you guys said, we're all parents here and single at that."

"You hear that, fellas? She thinks we're enticing," Reed says, prompting his brothers to laugh lightly. "Welcome back, Dakota. It's good to see you again."

"So, how was everyone's week?" Cole asks, glancing around at the circle.

I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. Physically, I'm a few inches too close to Archer. His broad frame casts a heavy shadow, and the scent of his cologne has my skin tingling all over. It reminds me of that evening at Dante's, of how close I was to kissing him.

Reed won't take his eyes off me, his lips curling into a slight smile. I remember kissing those lips. That was a treat I'd like to revisit. And Maddox, hot damn, the man is still a walking, hulking mystery. I shudder as my body reacts to his presence, remembering the way he kneaded my breasts and had me wet with desire.

"We had a bit of a rough one," Reed says after one of the other dads finishes. "We took Trevor out to the Science Museum last Saturday."

"That doesn't sound rough. It sounds wonderful," Cole says.

"It was wonderful for us, to be honest," Archer replies and steals a knowing glance at me. "The company was incredible, and I'd love to do it again. But Trevor didn't respond as excitedly as we hoped. He kept to himself for the most part. He paid attention to the tour guide and what she was saying, but there was a little girl with us, and Trevor wouldn't even look at her. The girl tried to be friendly, but…"

"Trevor is becoming more and more closed off, even with us," Reed adds with a furrowed brow. "He's barely come out of his room over the past couple of days. He only comes down for dinner, says a word or two, and then he's back upstairs, doing his homework, then playing video games. We don't know how to help him."

"He needs more time and all of your patience," another dad says. "I lost my wife a couple of years ago, and I still struggle to connect with Andy. His mother was the glue that kept us together. I didn't really understand that until I lost her."

I nod in agreement. "Our parents are the very first people we meet when we're born. They are our entire world, our entire universe, the ones we later model ourselves after. Trevor lost them both at an age where he simply cannot imagine a life without them. Yet he is now forced to live said life. It's hard."

"Sometimes we feel like he really doesn't like us all that much," Reed sighs.

I can almost feel his grief. They're mourning, too, not just Trevor. But as men, as adults, they have to set their emotions aside to focus on the boy. They love him like their own, that much I could tell from our visit to the Science Museum. They always kept an eye on him while we were there, they clearly take good care of him, and they seem to enforce boundaries when needed. They may think he doesn't like them, but they're missing something important, and I get it.

"When you tell Trevor not to do something," I say, "does he rebel? Does he go against your wishes?"

"Most of the time, no. He does what he's told, but we do explain why he shouldn't or cannot do or say certain things," Reed replies.

"He respects you, then. He sees you as an authority in his life," I say, smiling gently. "That speaks volumes. You think he doesn't like you because he doesn't open up to you like you'd hoped, right?"

The triplets nod at the same time, giving Cole a reason to chuckle softly.

"You guys are amazing dads already, and you don't even know it," Cole says. "The trouble with orphaned kids, especially boys, is that they tend to be closed off. Men, in general, don't openly talk about their feelings. I'm sure we can all agree on that."

That gets him a resounding yes from the entire room, prompting me to giggle.

"So why are you expecting a boy to do what most men won't?" Cole asks, looking at the brothers. "I agree that Trevor needs more time and all of your patience. It's going to be a long and bumpy road until you all find that same wavelength, but you already have his respect. Has there been any more trouble in school?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Just seven-year-old kid stuff," Reed says. "Maybe an hour of detention here and there, but nothing that would be cause for alarm."

"If anything, he's better behaved than the three of us ever were," Archer shoots back with a satisfied grin. "His grades aren't as good as we'd hoped, though."

"Tutoring might be a good idea, at least until he gets the grades up to where they need to be," I say.

The more we talk about our kids, the more I realize that we are all stuck in the same pot, boiling on a medium fire, struggling to make sense of a situation we never planned for. We're human beings, prone to error and learning from our mistakes, but unlike most modern-day parents, we don't make a habit of passing ourselves off as perfect in front of our children. We make sure that they know we're human, that we make mistakes, and that we deserve forgiveness and patience, just like they do.

In that sense, I have to admit that I am quite proud of how I've raised Maisie thus far. Her brilliance aside, my daughter has learned to be kind and empathetic, and when I mess up, she doesn't hold me to some unreachable standard because she understands I'm merely a mortal. I just wish she had a better father.

"How is Maisie doing in the absence of her dad?" Cole asks me at one point.

"Honestly? She's doing okay. She's a little sad from time to time, especially when other kids in school mention doing things on the weekends with their dads. But Maisie's father wasn't really that present, to begin with, so I don't think she truly misses him. She might be missing what could have been, but Chelsea and I do our best to fill in the gaps."

"Chelsea?" Cole replies.

"My best friend. She's the one I told you about last time. She runs a daycare from home and watches Maisie after school so I can work. She's got a social worker on speed dial, as well. I will happily recommend her to anyone who needs her services," I say, beaming with pride.

By the end of the meeting, I end up giving her number away to three dads in the group.

"I'm taking you out tonight," Archer tells me as I get up.

"You're taking me out tonight?" I repeat after him, somewhat dazed.

"I'm guessing you want to explore this further, given the door you chose to walk through tonight."

I give him a long look, then gaze over to Reed and Maddox, who smile before they walk over to Cole to help him clean up. "As in a date?" I ask Archer.

"A date. If you'd like."

Half an hour later, we're at a cocktail lounge downtown. It's a small but snazzy bar modeled after a speakeasy from the Prohibition Era, hidden in an old building. There's a faux private investigator's office at the front, and patrons must indulge in role-playing before they're allowed to go in.

"Wow, they take this pretty seriously," I mumble as we pass a couple who were rejected.

The girl looks upset, but the guy is literally embarrassed, his face and ears red with shame. Archer isn't intimidated. He takes my hand, squeezing it firmly, and leads us through the creaky door. The role-playing PI gives us a lazy glance from behind his desk.

"What do you want? We're closed," he says.

He appears bored, but his demeanor tells me he takes his role seriously. Behind him, the wall is covered with old bookshelves, each loaded with first or second editions of famous detective novels. I spot a few familiar titles, then look around and wonder where the actual bar is located.

This room doesn't have any other doors. It's just a cramped and dusty office.

"You're not closed for people like us," Archer tells the guy with a confident smile.

"People like you?"

"People who like to have fun out of the sight of Johnny Law, that is."

I can't help but gaze at Archer with sheer fascination and arousal. This man is heaps of fun wrapped in a godlike body with an impeccable sense of style. I think he's the most dangerous of the Faulkner triplets. His profile looks royal in this dim, amber light.

"How do I know you're not coppers yourselves, huh?" the guy asks, using that dramatic nasal tone they showcased in 1950s detective flicks. I expect he'll pull a toy machine gun from under his desk if we don't give him the right answers.

"Does this babe look like a copper to you?" Archer asks, then playfully smacks my ass. I yelp with surprise, then hold back a nervous laugh as he pulls me closer. "This here's my partner in crime, the Bonnie to my Clyde, buddy, and there had better be some top-notch moonshine up in that joint of yours, or there's going to be real trouble tonight."

The guy is sold, smiling broadly and nodding in appreciation. "Well played. I take it you've been to our establishment before."

"Once every fortnight, but never with my lady. She needs to see this place," Archer says.

"I can never say no to a beautiful dame," the guy replies.

"You said no to that couple who just walked out," I cut in.

He shakes his head. "He didn't want to play the game. Kept telling me to just let them go in. That's not how we do things here at Dickie's Detective Agency, doll. You want to impress a girl with how mediocre and boring you are, there's a watering hole just down the road from here where they can't tell the difference between a mojito and a Cuba libre."

"Well, like my man just said, there had better be some good moonshine in this place; otherwise, momma's going to be really mad," I quip, sliding into my own part as Archer gives my hip a gentle squeeze. I may not look like a vacuous '50s dame in this jeggings-and-white shirt combo, but I can at least deliver the character sass without a flaw. "The worse the burn, the better the shine, detective."

"You said it, doll," the guy chuckles and lifts the receiver from an old-time phone on his desk. "Access granted. Enjoy your evening, Bonnie and Clyde."

"Thank you," Archer says.

As soon as the guy presses a single red button on his rotary phone, the bookcase behind him starts to jiggle. Threads of dust dislodge from some of the shelves, and a secret door is revealed as part of the bookcase slides to the right. Beyond, a pink-lit corridor awaits. The music reverberates from somewhere below.

Archer guides me through the corridor, then down a set of narrow, concrete stairs. It all looks as old as the building itself until I realize it's actually just a superbly executed vintage interior design. Every wall sconce, every painting, and every framed poster are all originals of a long-ago era but are beautifully preserved.

"This place is incredible," I gasp as we reach the basement, where the real magic unfolds at our feet. "They went all out and then some."

The cocktail lounge is decorated in an early 1930s style: dark brick walls, sturdy blackwood tables, and deep green velvet tapestry on every seat. Private booths are set up in the corners for those desiring privacy, and that is precisely where we're headed. I take a long look at the bar as we pass by it—a mastodon with glass shelves and only the finest and most expensive spirits.

A smooth jazz tune ripples across the room, and unbelievably, I am in love with this place.

"Dickie's Detective Agency," I say the name aloud as we take our seats in one of the private booths. "I'm going to have to remember that."

"I knew you'd like it," Archer replies, unbuttoning the collar of his pale green shirt, giving me a glimpse of his curly blond chest hair. "But I'm surprised you didn't already know about it."

"In my defense, I've only been back in San Francisco for about a year. It's a big city. I simply haven't had the chance to discover some of these newer joints. But I'll tell you one thing, Archer. You've managed to impress me. Well done, sir."

And I mean every word. I absolutely love this place—the vibe, the lighting, the music. And one glance at the cocktail menu already waiting on our table only serves to validate my conclusion—this is one of San Fran's best-kept secrets.

"I have an issue, though," I mutter as I look over the drinks. "I would sample them all, but my liver is definitely not up for the job."

Archer laughs. "Remember what you told me that night at Dante's?"

I told him I didn't want him or his brothers to stop what they were doing to me, but I don't think that's what he's talking about.

"Refresh my memory."

"You said you can tell how good a restaurant is by how they make their eggs. And you can tell how good a bar is by how they make a classic cocktail, like a mojito."

"That is correct, yes."

"I'll get a mint julep. You get a mojito. That's for starters, and then we'll see where the night takes us from there."

"A mojito it is, Clyde."

Once our drinks are placed in front of us, I can feel my muscles relaxing. I haven't had that first sip yet, but Archer's presence alone seems to be enough to soothe my nerves. It's been a hard week, and the next one will be even tougher. But I'm finding that once I'm close to one or all three of the Faulkner brothers, my troubles seem to just melt away.

"How is Trevor?" I ask, then gingerly proceed to taste my mojito. "Oh, God, they nailed it and then some."

He laughs. "I love being right."

"Yeah, you were definitely right about this place, though I'll admit I was skeptical when you first mentioned it."

"I could tell." His gaze pierces through my very soul. The world briefly disappears from around us as I lose myself in the green and golden pools of his eyes. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Dakota. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I shake my head slowly. "No."

"Some might say it's not a good thing, especially for a woman working behind the bar, but I like it. I like how I'm able to read you so easily, to almost guess what you're thinking. It makes everything I want to do to you a whole lot easier and a far more pleasurable experience," he says, then pauses for a deep breath. "Trevor is fine; he'll be spending the evening with my brothers. There's a game on tonight and he seems willing to come out of his tomb in order to watch football. We figured it's a good place to start."

I almost lose track of the entire conversation. This man has a way of darting from one topic to another with such speed that I find myself blushing and out of breath as he inches closer.

"What about Maisie?" he asks.

"Oh, she's with Chelsea."

"Till when?" He gulps down half of his mint julep, and the scent of that finely crafted drink slips from his lips, tenderly testing my senses as he leans in.

"I said I'd be home around ten," I reply, my voice barely a whisper.

I know where this is going, and I can't seem to hit the brakes. I don't want to.

"Maybe you should tell Chelsea you'll be a little later," Archer says.

"Maybe we could get a few more drinks in before I make such a decision," I retort.

His delicious-looking lips stretch into a devilish grin. The air between us is supercharged. I hold my breath, my heart thudding maniacally as he closes the gap between us and kisses me.

I close my eyes, drowning in a sea of hot white, as I surrender to him. Reed's kiss was different—tender, curious, excited—and it lit up everything inside of me. Archer's, on the other hand, is an entirely different experience: sinful, delightful, all honey and lust. It's causing liquid heat to pool between my legs and my sense of self-control to dissolve into sheer nothingness.

"I think you've already made that decision," Archer says, pulling back for a second. "The minute you walked into the Single Dads Club tonight."

I think he's right. With shaky fingers, I take my phone out to text Chelsea while Archer finishes his drink and asks for the check. Everything happens so fast yet so smoothly that I don't even register the transition until we're back in his silver Lexus, driving through the city, the evening lights flashing past us like fireflies in a blustery wind.