The words were easy for her to say now, but her eyes had filled with so much guilt the first time she’d said it at dinner almost two years ago.
“What’s wrong, little buccaneer?” Callan asked softly.
“Daddy say Matilda no allowed.”
Jeremy had scolded her at the park when she’d excitedly told everyone who’d listen that she was lucky because she hadtwodaddies. His face had turned to red, hot thunder. Even though he had no one to blame but himself, he’d never gotten used to another man taking his place.
Callan leaned over the table and whispered, “There’s no rule that says you can’t call two people Daddy, but you can keep calling me Cal if that’s what you want.”
Her bottom lip jutting out, she held up her ginger bear. “Can he call you Daddy?”
Callan nodded. “And I’ll call him Captain.”
“But heCal.”
“What about if I call him Captain Cal? I don’t want your mummy getting confused.”
Matilda grinned. “Okay.”
Soon, she was brave enough not to have her little bear say the word, and she happily chirped that Callan was her daddy. It wasn’t like Jeremy bothered to remind her of his broken, selfish rules anymore. He wasn’t around.
I wiggled the hat in my hand again to encourage Callan to take it from me.
His eyebrow lifted. “I want a hat like Til’s.”
Matilda giggled. “You can’t wear pink, Daddy.”
“Says who?” He playfully lunged for her hat. “I think I want to give this hat a go—”
Matilda squealed, and in a fit of giggles on the wind, she tore off down the hill with Dixie bounding after her.
“Stop stalling by being adorable. The photographers are on their way,” I said. “Bronte wants you to wearthishat for the photos.”
“Why do we need to do this dumb photo shoot?” Callan grumbled. “Who’s even looking at our website?”
“Everyone.”
“According to…?”
“Bronte.”
“Didyouhave to do a photoshoot?”
I nodded. “We took some shots by the cottages so our guests would know the friendly face responsible for their breakfast baskets.”
That dragged a brief smile out of Callan. “Did you do any poses?”
“Maybe a couple.”
“Dumbposes? Is Bronte going to make me stand in some stupid position like last year?” His finger curled over his chin, and he pretended to look solemnly over the valley. “Like that?”
I darted my eyes away. “Um…”
Bronte had planned even more shots that would make Callan scowl. Walking through the fields with Dixie trailing behind and shaking hands with workers—things he did naturally but was uncomfortable pretending to do with a photographer barking at him.
The photo Bronte wanted of him lounging over the front portico of the big, grand house built two hundred years ago was going to earn her an eye roll for sure. Not that she’d care. She’d worked up a whole storyboard. The family shots under the old elm, he’d love. The rest, he was going to complain about—just like last year when we’d taken a round of photos to update the website after our wedding.
“Bronte said updating the photos is important for the family’s branding and to build the idea of connection,” I said, still trying to encourage Callan. “She just finished that course in marketing—”
