“Hi, I’m Tate.” Tate practically pushes her way between us.
I drag my eyes away from Tilly, almost forgetting that Tate was riding her bike back and forth, probably watching me like a hawk. “Hey, baby.”
“Hi, Tate. I’m Tilly. I own the cupcake shop.”
Tate’s eyes go wide. “I love cupcakes,” she whispers. “Are you my daddy’s new friend?”
“I think so.” Tilly peers up at me.
“Tate, Tilly and I just met.”
“Daddy,” Tate almost sings my name. “Remember our talk the other night?”
“Tate.”
“She’s perfect.” Tate nods quickly.
Tilly blushes, probably able to guess what we’re talking about. I’m a little mortified that my kid is throwing me under the bus just like everyone else in my damn family.
“Go ride your bike.” I tap her cute little nose.
“My daddy’s getting me a horse,” Tate tells Tilly, being defiant and not listening to me.
“Really?” Tilly crouches down, getting eye-to-eye with Tate, and somehow keeps her balance on those ridiculous shoes.
“Yeah.” Tate twists her little body back and forth. “Auntie Nee said he needs to get back in the saddle.”
Tilly laughs loudly, covering her mouth with her hand, and she glances up at me. “Well, I don’t…”
I shake my head because I’m not ready to crush Tate’s dreams just yet. “We’ll talk about it later, Tate. You have five minutes before dessert.”
Tate reaches over and grabs Tilly’s hand away from her face, pulling her toward her bike lying on the ground. “Let me show you my bike, Cupcake.”
“It’s Tilly,” I remind her because she knows better.
“It’s fine.” Tilly winks. “I kind of like it.”
I thought I was fucked when I saw her covered in flour, swearing like she could give lessons in profanity. But now…watching Tate walk away hand in hand with another woman, and seeing a genuine smile on Tate’s face for the first time in years, I know I’m double fucked.
5
Tilly
“Are you crying?” Roger walks into the kitchen, catching me wiping the tears away from my face.
Wine and baking do not mix. After running into Angelo and Tate, I cracked open a bottle and decided it was a splendid idea to drown my sorrows.
“Grab an apron and stop judging.” I scrape the sides of the mixing bowl as tears stream down my face.
“Tilly.” He touches my elbow, trying to comfort me, but I’m too far gone, and honestly, too tipsy for anything to get through. “What happened?”
I turn to face him with the spatula in my hand, dripping with chocolate cupcake batter. This isn’t my finest moment, but it’s raw and real. “I met his kid, Roger.”
The space between his eyebrows wrinkles. “Whose kid?”
“Angelo’s, and she’s precious. Completely adorable. You should’ve seen her.”
My face is doing this weird thing. A cross between a smile and an ugly cry. By the look on Roger’s face, it’s painful to look at and not pretty.
