Alone again, Hallie rose to her feet, smoothing out the bedspread and straightening the pillows before arranging Foxie in her rightful place in front of them. Returning to her computer, she slid her finger back and forth across the mouse. The job application greeted her as the screen lit up again.
She hated the idea of giving up on Hallie’s Cakes. But her financial situation had never been this dire before. And her year of culinary classes had required a hefty tuition. At USC, her full-ride academic scholarship allowed her to save much of the money she’d earned from her on-campus job and her baking business.
What good had all that saving done her now? It was vanishing before her eyes.
She stared at the application for several long seconds, the blinking cursor mocking her.Maybe it’s time to admit defeat.
Sighing, she clicked on the first section and started typing.
“Can we do this again, Daddy?”
Christian glanced at Isla, partially hidden by the giant leather chair dwarfing her small body. Her feet were propped up on the matching footrest, her toes separated by purple foam dividers.
The smell of acetone mixed with whatever flowery lotion the woman in front of him massaged into his feet. “Sure, sweetheart.”
He didn’t mention that this would probably be the last time they splurged on their occasional daddy-daughter dates until he knew whether his job was truly at risk. They weren’t considered wealthy—especially stacked against Carrie and her CFO husband—though Christian’s salary provided a comfortable life with a few splurges when necessary. If he weren’t so uncertain about his permanence at the company, this outing wouldn’t concern him. But Isla didn’t need to know all that.
His daughter smiled at him before returning her focus to the nail technician at her side. The woman had painted Isla’s fingernails in alternating orange and black for Halloween with tiny pumpkins on both her thumbs.
Before becoming a girl dad, he’d never dreamed of stepping foot in a nail salon. So when Isla had suggested manis and pedis for this special outing, naturally he’d had reservations. But then she’d mentioned how all the other girls in her kindergarten class went with their moms. Really? Taking five-year-olds to a salon was a thing now?
But maybe it had always been a thing, and he just didn’t know it. Put this on the list of situations he never expected to deal with as a parent. How could he deny his daughter the experience simply because he wasn’t a woman?
Simple answer: he couldn’t. He’d give her the moon if it fit in her bedroom.
And bringing Isla to get her nails done turned out to be just the distraction Christian needed. Jim’s lecture from yesterday about being late—and the subsequent “consequences” that followed—didn’t gnaw at his mind right now. Nor did the unfortunate conversation with Carrie earlier. It had taken the entire ten-minute drive to the nail salon to unclench his jaw from that encounter.
The technician dug her thumb into the arch of his foot, jolting him from the uncharitable thoughts forming about the entire Pritchard family. Christian relaxed his shoulders, only then realizing how tense they’d become in the moment it took to rehash the conversation.
She signaled the end of the massage with a light tap on his calf, and he slipped his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you.”
She bowed her head before walking away. After unrolling his pant legs, he slipped on his socks. Once the other technician slid Isla’s flip flops onto her feet and removed the foam dividers, he tipped her as well.
“You ready to go, kiddo?” he asked, tying his shoes. The trays of pedicure tools left in front of him looked like a colorful Jackson Pollock of smeared lotions and body scrubs. He walked around them, holding his hands out for his daughter.
“Yep!” She reached up and Christian lifted her from the chair, setting her on the floor. “I’m hungry. Can we go to dinner now?” She swung their connected hands back and forth as they walked up the middle aisle to the entrance.
It warmed his heart to see her carefree like this, so he swallowed his hesitation at spending even more money. He’d just have to keep his head down at work so Jim wouldn’t find additional reasons to let him go. And after tonight, he’d tighten his wallet to be on the safe side. “You’re in charge tonight. What’re you in the mood for?”
Isla pursed her lips, thinking. “How about french fries?”
“The Burger Stop it is, then.” Buena Hills’ family-friendly restaurantwas a town legend with its burger that easily fed at least four people. He’d never ordered it before, but he’d always been curious about the truthfulness of that claim. “How about a milkshake to go with those fries?”
“You can’t have french fries without a milkshake, Daddy.”
Christian chuckled at her exasperated tone. “Silly me.”
After signing the receipt, he grabbed Isla’s hand again. The bell above the door announced their departure as they stepped out of the salon into the dim evening light.
“Hey, Christian.”
He turned to find Tyler’s wife approaching from his right side, her sister half a step behind. Though twins, their appearance was a study of opposites. Gemma’s dark curls cascaded haphazardly over her shoulders, and she wore jeans and a zippered hoodie. Cassie’s blonde locks were pulled back in an immaculate ponytail, thin curly tendrils framing her face.
“Hey, Gemma,” he said, then turned to the other woman. “Cassie.”
She gave a little wave and a smile that didn’t quite reach her tired hazel eyes.
Gemma reached down and tapped Isla lightly on the shoulder. “Hi, Isla. Are you on a special outing with your dad?”
