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“I’m guessing it’s not because you’re in bed with some new hottie.”
“Yeah. Right. Abby has made sure I have no sex life. And, thanks to you, she’s found new ways to torment me.”
“Thanks to me?” This time Marc chuckled.
Abby was Aidan’s just-turned-four-year-old daughter—the daughter Aidan never even knew he had until Social Services placed her in his arms. She was the product of a torrid affair that had ended eight months before Abby was born. Right after Abby’s birth, her mother was killed in a car crash. Which left Aidan as her sole surviving parent.
Taking on a baby meant throwing Aidan’s world into chaos. Who he was, what he did—a baby just didn’t factor into any of that. He was faced with two choices. Either man up and take care of his daughter or place her in the foster care system.
To Aidan, a Marine to the core, there really was no choice to make. Reluctant or not, he’d accepted fatherhood with grave responsibility.
And then he’d fallen in love with his precious little infant.
The truth was, Marc was crazy about her, too. She had him wrapped around her little finger.
“Abby? Your precious little princess? Driving you crazy?” he asked with mock surprise. “Well, now, that’s a surprise.”
Marc’s sarcasm was well earned. While other little girls her age were having tea parties, Abby was climbing to the highest rung on the monkey bars in the park and swinging upside down, or using Aidan’s sensitive documents to line the cage of the gerbil she was hosting for her preschool class. She was a creative little tyrant, with a personality as big as her mind.
Just picturing his niece made Marc smile. “I’m still unclear as to how Abby’s tormenting you is my fault.”
“Because she’s in the process of trying on her flower girl dress for the seventh time. I’ve counted, because each time she tries it on, she gets distracted by some must-do activity. And every one of those activities means ripping, staining, or somehow destroying that damned dress. Plus, every fifteen minutes, she wants to know when she gets to wear it. Three weeks doesn’t work for her. Couldn’t you and Madeline push up the wedding to, say, tomorrow?”
Marc burst out laughing. “I’d love to, for Abby’s sake and for mine. But this wedding has taken on a life of its own. So I can’t help you there. What I can do is to grab Maddy and come over tomorrow night. Between the two of us, we’ll help Abby expend some energy and get you some peace. How’s that?”
“In exchange for…?” Aidan’s mind was a steel trap. “I seem to recall you mentioning something about a favor.”
“I had a feeling that would register at some point.” Marc reached for the beer he’d been drinking. “It’s work and it’s important. Will Abby let you talk?”
“Only if she talks to you first.”
“My pleasure. Put her on.”
“Princess?” Aidan called out. “Uncle Marc wants to say hi.”
“I
s he here?” Marc heard Abby’s deceptively innocent little voice reply eagerly.
“He and Aunt Maddy will be here tomorrow night. But he’s on the phone, and he wants to say good night to you.”
Running footsteps, and then Abby was on the line.
“Hi, Uncle Marc. Are you going to sleep now?” She sounded puzzled. “It’s so early.”
Marc bit back his laughter. “I think it’s you who’s going to sleep, cutie pie.”
“I’m not tired. I’m trying on my dress. Daddy says I’m ’stroying it. It’s only got three rips. One is big. I got it ’cause I wouldn’t let Daddy help me put it on. It’s pretty clean. But the magic marker won’t wash out.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Daddy doesn’t want you to know, but he bought me another dress to save for the wedding. It’s the same, only not ripped or dirty. Daddy hid it, but I know where it is. It’s on the top shelf of his closet in a pink bag with a zipper.”
Marc heard Aidan groan in the background. His own shoulders were shaking with laughter. “That was a good idea on your daddy’s part. So let’s not spoil things for him. Don’t tell him you know about the dress, and let it sleep in his closet until the wedding.”
“Okay, but that’s still ten plus eight more days away. I counted on the calendar.”
“Ten plus eight more is eighteen,” Marc responded to her glum little voice. “That’s less than twenty. Remember when it was lots longer?”
“Uh-huh. But it’s still long.”
“How about if you and Aunt Maddy make a special flower girl calendar tomorrow night? You can draw a picture on each day, and decorate it with glitter and sparkles. Then, Aunt Maddy can help you think of a flower girl job for each day, something to make the wedding even more special. Being a flower girl is really important.”
