Page 115 of Daddies on Ice

“It’s not that simple.” I finish dressing and move toward the door, my hand on the handle.

“Tish.”

I pause, looking back at him.

He’s sitting up in bed, the sheet pooled around his waist, his hair mussed from my fingers. He looks beautiful and broken and hopeful all at once.

“I’m not prepared to make a choice right now,” I say softly.

Then I open the door and step out into the cold, leaving him behind with his ultimatum hanging in the air between us.

40

TISH

The walk back from the babysitter’s cabin feels longer than usual, my boots crunching through the fresh snow that started falling again this morning.

Becky’s mittened hand is warm in mine as she chatters about the games she played with Krystal, her voice bright with excitement as she describes their elaborate tea party with her stuffed animals.

“And then Mr. Bear spilled imaginary tea all over Mrs. Rabbit’s dress!” she giggles, tugging on my hand. “Krystal said we should give him a timeout, but I said accidents happen.”

“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart,” I murmur, but my mind keeps drifting to this morning with Ash.

The way his hands felt on my skin, the intensity in his brown eyes when he told me I had to choose.

The memory sends heat coursing through me despite the bitter cold, followed immediately by a sharp pang of guilt.

Choose.

The word echoes in my head like a broken record. How can I choose between three men who each hold a piece of my heart?

Ash with his protective nature and quiet strength, the way he makes me feel safe even when everything else is falling apart.

Jake with his playful charm that makes me laugh even when I want to cry, his ability to find light in the darkest moments.

Carl with his steady presence and the way he calls me Trisha like I’m something precious, something worth cherishing.

Each of them offers something different, something I didn’t even know I needed until they showed me. How am I supposed to give up two-thirds of what makes me feel whole?

“Mommy, can we make more cookies when we get home?” Becky’s voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Of course, baby.” I squeeze her hand, grateful for the distraction. “What kind do you want to make?”

“Sugar cookies! With lots of sprinkles!” She bounces a little as she walks, her enthusiasm infectious despite my inner turmoil.

I smile despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach. “Sounds perfect.”

Our cabin comes into view, and I scan the area automatically, looking for any sign of the three men or worse—my stalker.

The film crew’s van is parked nearby, and I suppress a groan.

I’d forgotten they wanted to get footage of me and Becky spending time together.

The last thing I want is cameras capturing my current emotional state, the way my hands shake slightly when I think too hard about the choice I’m being forced to make.

“Are they going to take pictures of us making cookies?” Becky asks, spotting the van.

“Probably, sweetie. Is that okay with you?”