CHAPTER ONE

THEO

“Daddy?” The word floated through the crack in my bedroom door like a threat. “Are you awake?”

“No,” I groaned, rolling onto my stomach and dragging the pillow over my head, hoping my energetic three-year-old would take the hint and let me sleep in.

Saturday mornings were supposed to be for sleeping in.

At least, that was the dream. But ever since becoming a dad to a pint-sized gremlin whose internal clock didn’t believe in weekends, I hadn’t slept past seven in over three years.

And right on schedule, the hinges on my bedroom door gave a soft creak before the quick patter of little feet crossed the carpet.

“Daddy?” Charlotte’s voice came again, closer this time. “Are you awake yet?”

I kept the pillow over my head for another half second, pretending I didn’t hear her.

But it didn’t matter. My daughter wasn’t the type to give up easily. With a giggle, she yanked the pillow away and let it fall to the floor.

So much for getting a few more minutes.

I cracked one eye open to find Charlotte inches from my face—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, her pink nightgown rumpled, her dark curls in wild rebellion, and her stuffed raccoon, Bandit, clutched to her chest.

“Good morning, Daddy!” she chirped, far too cheerful for this hour.

“Hey, bug,” I mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “You know it’s Saturday, right? That means Daddy gets to sleep until noon.”

“But we have Aspen’s birthday party,” she said, climbing onto the bed.

“That’s not until after lunch,” I said, wishing she had a better concept of time.

“But I’m hungry,” she announced, not seeming to listen. “Can we make pancakes?”

Of course. Our Saturday morning tradition. How could I forget?

But first…

“Did you go potty yet?” I asked when she nudged me over and snuggled under the covers.

And the guilty look she got in her green eyes told me everything I needed to know.

“Come on.” I sighed. “You know the rule. You have to go to the bathroom before you can climb in Daddy’s bed.”

A rule that had been made after way too many potty training accidents.

Yep, there was nothing quite like waking up to suspiciously damp sheets at three in the morning to make a guy vigilant.

“Fine,” she sighed.

So I rolled out of bed, scooped her in my arms, and carried her into the bathroom attached to my bedroom.

While she took care of business, I ducked into the closet on the left side of the my bathroom and grabbed a white T-shirt and sweats. When I stepped back into the bathroom, Charlotte had already flushed and was up on her toes, stretching to reach the faucet.

I didn’t have a stool for her in here, so I turned on the water and lifted her to the sink.

“Soap?” I asked, holding out the dispenser.

She nodded and rubbed her hands together under the stream

“I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick,” I said once her hands were clean. “Why don’t you go grab your apron and get ready for pancakes?”

“Okay.” She grinned, already running for the door.

Once downstairs, I helped Charlotte tie the apron my mom had sewed for her around her waist, then we got to mixing the pancake batter. I measured the ingredients, and then Charlotte took care of the whisking while I grabbed the carton of blueberries from the industrial-sized fridge.

“Ready?” I asked when the cast iron skillet on the stove was warm and it looked like Charlotte had stirred out most of the lumps.

“Ready!”

I poured batter onto the buttered skillet, and once they were ready, I gave her the go ahead to flip the pancakes with the spatula since that was her favorite part.

“Want an egg today?” I asked, even though I already knew how this would go.

“I don’t like eggs.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose.

“I figured you’d say that,” I said, suppressing a smile. “Worth a shot though.”

Little did she know I’d already snuck a few eggs into the batter when she wasn’t looking.

Gotta sneak some protein into her system somehow.

We used teamwork to plate the pancakes, and then I added two eggs to the skillet for myself.

“Ready to make your blueberry smiley face?” I asked, carrying the carton to the table where she was already climbing into her chair.

“Uh-huh.” She reached for the berries, her tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully placed each one just right.

While she worked, I flipped my eggs, started the espresso machine, and breathed in the comforting scent of coffee filling the kitchen. And for a brief moment, everything calmed. The soft hiss of the espresso machine, Charlotte’s quiet humming, and the smell of blueberries made the house feel almost whole again.

“Done!” Charlotte called a moment later.

“Want whipped topping for the nose?” I asked, walking over to where she was admiring her creation.

“Yes.” She grinned, scooting her plate toward me so I could add a generous swirl in the space she’d left in the center.

I brought my plate and coffee to the table and had just taken my first bite when my phone buzzed from the pocket of my sweats.

Expecting it to be the reminder I’d set for myself about her friend’s birthday party, I glanced at the screen.

But instead of that, I found a text from Charlotte’s nanny.

Amelia: Hey Theo, I just wanted to let you know that I just got a new job. I start Monday morning and won’t be able to take care of Charlotte anymore. Sorry for the late notice. I just got the job offer yesterday.

I stared at the message.

What?

I reread it twice, hoping I was misunderstanding something. Four weeks. I’d only hired her four weeks ago and she’d already gotten another job?

Had I not been paying her enough? Was Charlotte too much to handle?

She’d seemed happy… At least as happy as a twenty-five-year-old grad student spending her summer with a three-year-old could be.

Across the table, Charlotte was busy making a syrup puddle on her pancake, blissfully unaware.

“Sweetheart, maybe go easy on the—”

“Yes, daddy?” she asked sweetly, setting the syrup bottle back on the table.

“Never mind.” I shook my head. “Enjoy your pancake.”

I looked back to my phone, the text still mocking me.

I had less than forty-eight hours to find someone to watch Charlotte so I could be back in the courtroom on Monday.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled slowly. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Daddy!” Charlotte looked up, syrupy pancake crumbs on her chin. “That’s a bad word.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “and Daddy might say a few more before this day’s over.”