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It was all happening so fast… But what the fuck was I afraid of? I’d owned my bar for five years and spent most of that time coasting—surfing and sleeping around while doing just enough to keep the bills paid and the beer flowing. On a whim, I’d started small-batch brewing last year and loved it so much that suddenly, owning a bar and pouring other people’s ale wasn’t enough. It took me a long time to get here, and now thatmy dreams were within reach, why should getting everything I wanted not sound like the best thing in the world?
In the back of my head, the rough soundtrack of my childhood played like clockwork, the legacy of having a deadbeat dad who only ever drifted into your life long enough to tell you what a disappointment you were before he drifted right on out again.
You fucked it up again, Will. Don’t know why you even try. No way you’ll ever measure up to your old man.
I thrust out my palm before doubts about the work, the risk, or the commitment—or the memory of my father—could scare me into second thoughts. “It’s a deal, Maxwell.”
Birdie’s grin split her freckled face in two, and she took my hand in a firm grip. “I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork,” she said. “Pleasure doing business with you, Kidd.”
Isaac, on the other hand, threw his arms around me and squeezed so tight my ribs cracked. “Proud of you, Kidd,” he said quietly, and when he pulled back, I nodded to let him know I’d heard.
It was nice to know Isaac was proud of me, but it wasn’t enough.
4
Will
I lived in aloft above the bar, a tiny place with the master bedroom at the top of a set of stairs, a smaller bedroom down below that I used for storage, and barely enough room outside of the kitchen and bathroom for a small round dining table, two-and-a-half-seat sofa, coffee table, and wide-screen television. The loft was included with the title when I bought the bar, and it suited the life of a bachelor. All I had to do was stumble upstairs after a late night at work, and saving on rent didn’t hurt either.
The loft faced east and, depending on how sore my head felt from the night before, I kind of liked the way the sun streamed through the windows as soon as it rose over Valentine Bay. I tried to surf more mornings than not. Early sessions weren’t necessarily compatible with a job that kept me up late at night, but surfing was non-negotiable. It kept me sane. That said, after a night that delivered the answer to my prayers in a Birdie-sized package, I was in the mood for a sleep-in. When I finally rose, the sun was twice its height above the horizon. I glanced out thewindows at the waves on my way to the kitchen, fixed myself coffee and cereal, and scrolled the bar’s social media feed.
Since Emily Jones had moved to the Bay, fallen in love with my best mate Josh, and revamped her photography career, she’d taken over most of my marketing. Jones had a good eye and mind for socials, and her images were a big reason the bar did so well. I was what she called a micro-influencer, and the extra money I made from tourists—okay, single women—visiting Valentine Bay just to drink at my bar—okay, slip me their numbers—was a big reason I was ready to take that next step with the brewery.
Yep, life was lining things up just right. I’d called Mr Murphy, and he’d accepted my verbal offer on the warehouse. Birdie’s solicitors were fast-tracking all the paperwork. My good luck was nothing less than fucking miraculous, and now that I’d agreed to Birdie’s big scheme, I wasn’t about to waste any time feeling nervous.
Abbie, my quirky best friend with a fast-and-loose philosophy on life like my own, would tell me to direct all that energy into positivity or some shit like that, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.
I’d just picked up my phone to call Abbie and tell her about Birdie’s offer when a light tap sounded on my front door. I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time and waited for another knock. Mine was the only loft in this building, and I rarely had guests, so perhaps someone was lost. When the knock sounded again, louder and more insistent, I hurried over and swung open the door.
A woman stood with a bulking tote bag on one shoulder, and weirdly, a baby in a bulky plastic carrier sat at her feet. She looked a little familiar, but I couldn’t place the face or give her a name.
“Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”
She ran her bottom teeth over her top lip. “You don’t remember me.”
She said it like a statement, not a question, and I frowned. My eyes flickered to the baby, squirming and smiling in the carrier. Involuntarily, I smiled back, and the baby grinned harder, flashing tiny dimples in his fat pink cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” I returned to the woman’s face, scanning her features and trying to place her as I took a deep breath. Something about her was kind of familiar…
My heart started racing, and I wasn’t sure why. “If you could give me your name?”
She hitched the bag higher onto her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes dropping to the carpet. I noticed then the dark roots lining the perfect part in her blonde hair, the small hole in the sleeve of her shirt, the frayed edges on the bag she carried and the worn toes on her scuffed-up sneakers. I checked the baby again. The knees of his jumpsuit were a little worn, but he looked happy enough. Healthy. Then again, what did I know?
My gaze volleyed back to the woman, who was looking at me now, her rich brown eyes underscored with tired shadows, and something clicked. From the depths of a forgotten night when this girl lay tangled in my sheets, a name swam to the surface.
She opened her mouth, and I answered my own question at the same time she did.
“Heather.”
Heather nodded, then set down the bag. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, and I suddenly recalled my manners.
I shifted to the side. “Do you want to come in?”
She glanced into my apartment. “No. Thank you.” Her hand waved towards the baby, but she didn’t look at him. “This is Sebastian and— Look. There’s no easy way to say this. He’s yours.”
A choked laugh sounded from my mouth, not that this was funny. “Huh?”
“He’s yours.”
