6

Milo

I knock on the front door of the mid-century modern house in a nice LA suburb and wait. My hands clench and unclench, trying to steady my nervous energy.

It's not every day you meet your children for the first time.

The door opens, and Mike and Robyn Malone greet me. They're in their early sixties, and from the countless emails we've exchanged, they seem nice. Genuine. Like maybe we can find a way to navigate this super complicated and potentially fraught process ourselves.

Meeting like this, informally and without the need for social workers or court-appointed monitors, is a good start.

"Welcome, Milo," Mike says. He's stocky, with a head of silver hair thinning just a bit on top. His bright blue eyes twinkle as he looks at me with a welcoming smile.

"It's good to finally meet you," I say, stepping into their entryway. "Here. I bought these." I stick out my arm, and Robyn takes the bouquet from me. I don't know what the etiquette is for an occasion like this, but I figured flowers couldn't hurt.

She accepts them with a smile. "Thank you. They're beautiful." Soft, curly gray hair frames her face, and her warm brown eyes reflect her gentle, caring presence.

They really seem like ideal grandparents, and I'm glad Josie and Jonah have been in their care while we work things out.

"I know we have a few things to discuss," Mike says. "But the children are waiting in the living room."

"They're excited to meet you," Robyn adds.

"I am, too." I suck in a deep breath. "A little nervous, but excited."

"That's perfectly understandable." Robyn smiles and pats me on the arm. "This is a big moment. For all of us."

I force a smile as they usher me toward the living room, tension swirling in my gut with every step.

I've never given much thought to parenthood. My sole focus has always been hockey. It's been the one constant in my life, the only thing I could rely on. But now that paternity has been confirmed, I have to step up.

Honestly, I'm not just a little nervous—I'm petrified. I want to be a good dad more than anything. But how? How can I be a good father when I have no role model to base myself on?

Parenting is hard. I've read countless books and scoured the internet, devouring everything I can on the subject. But at the end of the day, there's no magic manual that teaches you how to be a good dad.

My throat tightens, and I pray I'm up to the task. I have to be. Two little kids are depending on me.

We enter the living room, and my stomach tingles with a fluttering sensation as my eyes land on Josie and Jonah.

Josie is sitting on the couch, keeping a watchful eye on her brother who's on the floor. She's the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen, with tousled dark blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and blue eyes that sparkle with curiosity. Jonah bears a striking resemblance to her. Same wide smile, same big blue eyes, hair slightly lighter and curlier.

"Josie, Jonah, we'd like to introduce you to someone," Mike says. "This is Milo. Your father."

Josie stays seated on the couch, but Jonah drops the blocks he was playing with and pushes to his feet. With a combination of determination and wobbliness, he toddles over to me, arms stretched out for balance.

"Hewwo," he says, tapping my leg.

I crouch down. "Hey, Jonah. Nice to meet you." I wince—did I really just say nice to meet you to a toddler? "What are you building over there?"

"I got house! See?"

"I'd love to see. Right after I say hello to your sister."

"Oh-tay," he says, and man, he is too cute for words.

I get up and Robyn joins me as I walk over to Josie. "She's a little shy at first," she whispers. "Takes her a little while to warm up to people."

"I can relate," I mutter back, then take a seat on the couch.

"Hey, Josie. How are you?"

"Good, thank you."

She's wearing a dress with colorful patterns and sandals, her feet dangling off the couch. She holds onto Robyn's hand but keeps her bright blue eyes fixed on me the entire time.

Not sure how to break the ice, I go with, "Do you like hockey? Or sports?"

She shakes her head and looks away. "No," she says quietly. "I don't."

Okay. That didn't work.

"What about books?" I ask, hoping for more luck. "Do you like to read?"

"Oh, yes," Robyn answers for her, rubbing Josie's arm. "Tell Mil—" Our eyes meet, and we exchange an awkward smile. Robyn tries again. "Tell your father about the book we bought yesterday."

"Green Eggs and Ham," Josie says softly.

"Oh. So you like to cook?" She and Robyn look at me funny. "That's the name of a cookbook, right?"

Josie looks up at her grandmother, and I hear Mike chuckle from the other side of the room. What am I missing here?

Josie starts laughing as Robyn explains that Green Eggs and Ham is a Dr. Seuss book.

"Oh, I knew that," I say, waving my hand in the air even though I have no idea who this doctor is or why he's writing a cookbook that my five-year-old daughter is reading.

But the ice has been broken, and that's all that matters.

I go over to help Jonah build his house. Well, I try to. He's more interested in knocking down whatever he starts rather than finishing it.

Josie sits on the floor, a few feet away from us, watching me intently.

I glance her way now and then, wanting her to feel included without overwhelming her.

She catches me looking and her cheeks turn red. "Do you like my dress?" she asks, bashfully.

"I do. It's very pretty."

"Pwitty! Pwitty!" Jonah raises his arms above his head.

"See, even your brother agrees."

That brings a small smile to her face. I sit, playing with Jonah and his blocks, while striking up a conversation with Josie about the other books she's reading.

After ten or so minutes, a young woman enters the room.

"This is Grace, our nanny," Mike explains.

"Hi, it's great to meet you." She looks me up and down, smiling widely. "I'm a huge fan of the LA Swifts. And you."

"Thank you," I reply politely and try not to bristle. This is definitely not the time for flirting.

"Would you mind taking Josie and Jonah outside, please?" Robyn asks Grace.

"Of course." She takes Jonah into her arms, aims another sultry smile at me, then leaves with the kids.

"You guys have a nanny?" I ask, settling into an armchair as Robyn and Mike sit on the sofa opposite me.

"We do," Mike answers. "She's part-time, but let's face it, we're not spring chickens anymore and kids have a lot of energy."

"Yeah. I bet."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Robyn says. "I haven't offered you anything to drink. Would you like some water? Coffee? Something stronger."

"No. That's fine. Thank you. I have a house inspection tomorrow, so I can't stay long."

They exchange a discreet look. I mentioned in our emails that I'm planning to settle in Comfort Bay, and I get the sense they're not too keen on the idea. It's a three-hour drive from LA, and I get it. It's not across the country, but it's also not just a few suburbs away like they're used to.

"It's really not that far," I explain. "And I want you to see Josie and Jonah as much as you like."

Robyn leans forward, her expression hopeful. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Of course. You are, and will always be, their grandparents. I don't want to come between that. I have no family myself, which is why I know how important it is. Please don't think that by moving to Comfort Bay, I'm trying to take them away from you."

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you moving there?" Mike asks. "It's not your hometown, is it?"

"No. It's not. But a few of my teammates live there. And it's a beautiful place. A quintessential small American town with tree-lined streets, charming front porches, a local diner on the corner, and a town gazebo. It's close to the water, and only a short drive to the mountains. Everyone knows each other by name, and it's a real close-knit community. I want Josie and Jonah to have a safe and happy childhood, and I think it'll be a great place for them to grow up. And both of you are always welcome to visit. Any time. I mean it."

"Thank you, Milo." I can hear the gratitude in Robyn's voice. "That really means a lot to us. We've been so worried that—well, never mind. It's just good that you're being so nice and decent about this. It's been a hard few months for us."

I can't even begin to imagine. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Mike says, his eyes watering at the mention of the loss of his daughter.

Not knowing whether to say more about Isla or move on, I opt to move on. "So, everything seems to be going well with the paperwork."

Mike wipes the corner of his eye and nods. "Yes. It is. Even though it's taken a while."

"It sure has."

I'm almost officially a father of two.

Josie's paperwork is finalized and custody will be transferred to me in the next two weeks. That part was relatively simple since I am her biological father.

The process with Jonah is a whole other story and the reason for the lengthy holdup. After an exhaustive search, his biological father couldn't be tracked down.

I faced two options—take Josie and leave Jonah with his grandparents or take them both.

The decision was a no-brainer.

Siblings belong together, and there's no way I would tear them apart.

The adoption process for Jonah is well underway. If it all goes to plan, I'll be issued a temporary custody order for him at the same time as finalizing Josie's custody.

"I should probably get going," I say, keen to hit the road and try to beat rush hour. "Mind if I say goodbye to Josie and Jonah?"

"Oh, not at all," Robyn answers.

As the three of us get up, Mike says, "Thank you for doing this, Milo."

I instantly know what he's referring to. "Keeping them together is the right thing to do."

"Maybe. But not all men would make the same decision. I want you to know how much I"—he looks at his wife and she gives a small nod—"how much we both respect you. We're here for you. Anything you need, whether it's help with the kids or advice, just let us know."

"I will."

We step out into the backyard. Grace is supervising the kids who are sitting side by side in a small sandbox. Josie is showing Jonah how to use a bucket to mold a castle, while he clumsily packs sand and laughs when it tumbles down.

I didn't think twice about taking Jonah, as well as Josie. It really was a no-brainer. But I have to confess, a part of me was worried that I wouldn't feel the same way about him as I would for Josie.

But from the moment I laid eyes on the little guy in the living room, I experienced a pull in my gut like I've never had before. Whether I'm related to him by blood or not, I knew then and there that I'd love them both equally as my own.

"And good luck with the house hunting tomorrow," Robyn says. "I hope you find your dream home."

"Yeah," I say, staring at my kids playing in the backyard. "I think I have."

"Are you sure this is the house you're looking for?"

The disdain in Willow Wilkins' voice is obvious, and I bite my tongue so I don't snap at her.

She's been showing me properties around Comfort Bay since the summer, usually ones on what's been dubbed Millionaire's Mile. It's an exclusive enclave in the hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean, where prices start at ten million.

It's not that I can't afford a place like that. I've been smart with money and contract negotiations my entire career and have a healthy sum stashed away in savings and investments.

But I don't want to raise my kids in a mega mansion.

I want somewhere that's small and cozy and feels like home, not like it belongs in an architectural magazine. A place where we can play basketball in the driveway or squirt each other with water guns in the backyard on hot summer days, creating simple childhood memories they can treasure forever.

This house has caused friction between Willow and me, since her commission just took a hefty cut. But she's apparently the best realtor in the county, and with the season starting and plans to take custody of Josie and Jonah, I've been too busy to find another agent. So I guess I'm just going to have to grin and bear it.

"It's perfect. I'll take it," I say to Willow once we've completed the walkthrough.

Sure, it's not much—just a three-bed, one-bath bungalow on a quiet cul-de-sac a few blocks from Main Street. But it feels homey and safe, and it's the kind of place I can picture us living in. I can always hire a contractor to add another bathroom or more space later.

"But you haven't even looked outside."

I peer out the kitchen window at the decent-sized backyard. It's fully fenced with a few palm trees scattered along the back fence line. There's even plenty of space for a large deck and a pool in the future.

"Looks good to me," I say.

Willow's phone buzzes. "Sorry. I need to take this. Go have a look outside. It's quite close to the neighbor, especially on the left side. You might want to see if that works for you."

"All right," I say, stepping outside as she takes the call.

I want to check out this neighbor situation and see how close it really is. One thing I really value is my privacy.

I walk up to the fence line and glance over. "Holy moly," I mutter under my breath, and it has nothing to do with the proximity to the neighboring house—Willow was exaggerating, it's a fine distance apart—it's who my soon-to-be new neighbor is.

"Those evil stepsisters got you doing all the chores again?" I call out.

Beth stops hanging a shirt on the clothesline and spins on her heel, freezing when she sees me—apart from her eyebrows, which shoot up high to her forehead. Even in simple, striped black-and-white joggers and a black long-sleeved shirt, she looks amazing.

"What are you doing here?" She drops the clothespins into the basket and moves toward me. "Are you stalking me?"

"You got me. Good thing I chose pro hockey over a career in the secret service."

"Well, then, what are you doing here?" she repeats, folding her arms over her chest as I try to gauge what mood she's in.

Playful or peeved off?

It's a fine line, and one I haven't mastered reading yet.

I cross my fingers and hope she's up for some verbal sparring.

We haven't seen each other since the night of Fraser's party, which was way too long ago. I'd been hoping to use our little fender bender as an excuse to reach out to her, but the insurance companies have been annoyingly efficient, so I haven't had a reason to contact her about anything.

"Looks like we're not only friends…ish, but now also"—I raise both hands and curl my index and middle fingers as I say, "'neighbors…ish.'"

She walks right up to the fence line and hooks her fingers along the top of it. "Don't ever say that again, with or without air quotes. In fact, don't use air quotes at all."

Her words have bite, but the small grin she's trying to suppress gives her away.

Looks like we're in for another round of sparring.

Giddyup!

"Seriously, though…" She aims those multicolored eyes straight at me, and a slow-warming heat spreads throughout my entire body. "You're not actually thinking about buying this place, are you?"

"I am."

"Why?"

"It's got great bones. Decent-size block. It's in a good school district."

"All houses in Comfort Bay are in the same school district."

I lock eyes with her. "And I've always wanted to live on a cul de sac."

Color rises on her cheeks. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Live what down?" I reply innocently.

She shakes her head, her black strands moving from side to side. "You're good. I'll give you that."

I shrug. Then smirk. "Yeah, I know."

"And arrogant."

"Not arrogant." Our eyes meet again, and the heat pulsing through me kicks up a few levels. "I just know where my talents lie."

She takes a breath then backs away from the fence. "Well, I don't think real estate is one of them. Why aren't you buying one of the mansions on the hill overlooking the water?"

My smirk grows. "I love it when you're completely wrong."

She zooms back up to the fence, our faces inches apart. "What am I wrong about?"

I don't move back as I answer, "You're wrong about thinking I'd want to live in a place like that. That's not me, Beth. I'm not flashy. I don't need a massive house with ten garages. Or fancy cars. Or any of that superficial, stereotypical rich-person stuff." I lower my voice and lean in closer to her. "I came from nothing. I have no one to rely on in this world except for myself. I'm actually quite careful with how I spend my money."

Too much information? Yeah, definitely. Why the heck did I just blurt all that out?

"Oh." She blinks a few times but doesn't back away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed." And then, with the same sincerity in her voice, she adds, "I just don't want to see you humiliated."

I'm confused. "Humiliated?"

She nods. "I may not like you in the traditional sense of wanting to spend time with you, but I also don't want you publicly humiliated. Don't you see, Milo? This is all a setup."

She looks and sounds so serious that I'm convinced she's being genuine.

"What's a setup?" I ask.

"All of it." She tips her chin over my shoulder. "This house isn't really for sale."

Huh?

I get the first inkling she's playing with me because I know this place is for sale. I found the listing online myself.

And now the fool-ee becomes the fool-er.

I play along, my expression remaining earnest. "It isn't?"

"It's not. Don't look now, but there are hidden cameras everywhere. In the trees. In the plants on the porch. Scattered throughout the inside of the house. It's for a new reality TV show Evie's sister Harper is producing. A cross between America's Funniest Home Videos and Punk'd."

I let out a low whistle. "Man, that's something else."

"I know. I feel so bad for you. Not even Willow is real."

"She's not a real person?"

"She's not a real realtor. Come on. Did you really think Willow Wilkins was a real name? She's an actress. Everything about her is fake. Her name. Her teeth. Her hair. Her tan. Her breasts."

I let out a low whistle. "She does have fantastic breasts."

Beth's eyes widen in surprise. "You've noticed them?"

"Oh, yeah. How could I not?" Now it's my turn to have some fun at her expense. "They're amazing. Oh, and they feel spectacular."

Her head falls forward and she latches onto the top of the fence. "You've felt them?"

"I have. It's incredible how lifelike silicone can feel nowadays."

She opens her mouth, closes her eyes, and turns to the side. "You…you had me there for a minute."

I sure did.

This round goes to me.

"Question is, why did you care so much whether I touched them or not?"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes! You did."

"No! I didn't."

"Milo!" Willow calls out from the back door. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," I yell over my shoulder. "Just saying hello to my new neighbor."

Beth makes a sound, but I can't tell whether it's one of pleasure or irritation. Possibly both?

"Do you need me to come over?" Willow yells. "I would, but my heels on this lawn…"

"No. It's fine." I let out a sigh. I'll be glad when this is all over and done with and I won't have to spend any more time with the woman. "I'll only be a minute."

I turn back to face Beth. Her expression is set somewhere between annoyed and exasperated. So, the usual for whenever she's around me then.

"If we're going to be neighbors, you can at least tell me the real reason why you're buying this place." She looks up at me, and I don't know what it is, but there's something about her that just hits differently. Even with the very limited interactions we've had, no other woman has ever made me feel the way she does.

And because she's unlike anyone I've ever met, I do something I've never done before.

I open up to her.

"All right. On one condition."

"What?"

"You don't tell anyone."

"Who would I tell?"

"Your friends. Family. The media."

"I have better things to talk about with my friends and family than you. And I would never go to the media." She pauses for a beat, and I can't tell what's coming next, whether it's something sincere or a burning tease. "You're not that interesting. Fraser, sure. Culver, too. But you?…Nah."

I shouldn't smile, but I can't help it.

Despite not wanting word of my impending fatherhood to come out publicly until I'm ready—and not really knowing Beth that well—I do what I always do. I go with my gut. And my gut is telling me I can trust her with this.

"Fine. I'll tell you why I'm buying this place."

She lifts on her toes. "I'm all ears."

"They're not that big," I quip.

She rolls her eyes. "Get to the part where you tell me the juicy goss faster please."

"I recently found out I'm a father."

Her eyes go round, and she rocks back. "You're a…father?"

"Go ahead. Make some crack about how unbelievable it is that a woman would even sleep with me, or how terrible it is for the human race that my genes are being passed down to the next generation."

"No. It's not—I would never…I just didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"I'm not," I reply firmly. "Josie is five."

"Five? But you said you became a father recently."

"No. I said I found out I became a father recently." I blow out a heavy breath. "It's a long story."

"Milo!" Willow calls out again. "I have another appointment. We should get going."

"Okay," I yell back, without taking my eyes off Beth. I hate leaving after dropping this bomb on her, but she asked, so I answered. "Please keep this to yourself."

"Of course." She reaches up and slides her hand over the top of mine, giving it a squeeze. Warmth flares in my chest at the touch. "I won't tell a soul."