Page 14 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

T he question hangs between us.

Heavy.

Hot.

Like smoke curling from a house fire.

Who’s the daddy?

My mouth opens. Closes. Nothing. No sound. No lie. No truth. My brain is scrambling.

Then— “Shit, Lilly! I was up writing late last night.”

Rosa barrels out of her car and to my side, flashing Nikolai a smile. Arms full of crumpled papers. Hair an utter disaster. Panting. Wild-eyed. Late, as always.

“I know, I know—I’m behind. Just tell me where to start.”

Nikolai stares her down like he’s ready to kill. With eyes like knives and jaw tight.

He doesn’t like this interruption.

I, on the other hand? I could kiss her.

I hook my arm through hers. Grateful. Shaking. Saved.

“Plenty to do,” I say. “Let’s start now.”

And without looking back, without another breath?—

I walk away. Leave him standing there with the question still burning and my answer locked tight behind my teeth.

I can feel him watching as we walk into the bakery. He knows I’m running.

And something tells me he’ll be back.

And he is.

Two hours later, when the morning rush finally dies down, the bell chimes.

Nikolai walks in carrying a toolbox.

My heart does that stupid fluttering thing. The same thing it does every time I see him.

“Need something?” I ask, trying to sound casual while preparing for the worst.

“Noticed you have a broken chair.” He nods toward the corner table where one of the wooden chairs sits with a wobbly leg. “Thought I'd fix it.”

I blink. “You want to fix my furniture?”

“Problem with that?”

I don’t have an answer.

He kneels beside the broken chair. Opens his toolbox.

And with the same hands that can shatter ribs, I watch him thread glue. Tighten bolts.

I watch. Even though I shouldn’t. Black sweater. Sleeves shoved up. Forearms inked with dark poetry.

That little line between his brows appears as he focuses. Like his world has narrowed to the crack in the wood.

And I can’t stop staring. Can’t stop remembering what those hands did to me. On me. Inside me.

God help me.

The bell chimes again. Mrs. Patterson shuffles in, leaning heavily on her cane. She's eighty-three, comes in every Tuesday and Friday for a blueberry muffin and coffee with extra cream.

“Morning, sweetie,” she calls to me, then sees Nikolai. “Oh my.”

He looks up. “Morning, ma'am.”

Mrs. Patterson's wrinkled face lights up like Christmas morning. “Well, aren't you a tall drink of water. I'm Eleanor Patterson. And you are?”

I wince. Small town. Curious folks. I used to love that once. Now? Not so much.

“Nikolai.” He actually stands to shake her hand properly. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Oh, such manners!”

She pats his arm like he's her grandson. “What brings you to our little town?”

“Business,” he says smoothly. “And the coffee here is excellent.”

Mrs. Patterson beams at me. “Did you hear that, Lilly? This nice young man appreciates good coffee.”

I force a smile. “He certainly does.”

“Are you single, dear?” Mrs. Patterson asks Nikolai without an ounce of shame.

Rosa chokes on her latte.

Nikolai's mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile. “I am.”

“Well, that's too bad. A handsome man like you should have someone to take care of him.”

She leans in conspiratorially. “Though between you and me, our Lilly here is quite the catch. Makes the best scones in three counties.”

My face burns. “Mrs. Patterson?—”

“What? I'm just saying. You're both young, both single. Life's too short not to take chances. In my days, when a man fixed your furniture, it meant something.”

Nikolai meets my eyes over Mrs. Patterson's silver head.

There's heat there. Sizzling, dazzling heat.

“I couldn't agree more,” he says quietly.

Mrs. Patterson leaves after her muffin and coffee. More people trickle in.

And Nikolai stays.

Finishes the chair repair. Notices a loose hinge on the display case. Fixes that too. When Mrs. Chen mentions her car making a funny noise, he follows her outside to take a look under the hood.

Who the hell is this man? I follow to stare out the window.

Rosa slides up to me. “You two got history or something?”

“None,” I lie.

“He’s really something,” she whistles. “You should catch him while you can.”

“He’s not interested,” I lie, yet again.

“The way that man looks at you? I bet you’re wrong.”

I want to tell her it's more complicated than that.

But I can’t. So I just watch. Watch him be kind to a lonely old woman who probably hasn’t had anyone really listen in years.

And it guts me.

Because this morning? He looked at me like a loaded weapon. Asked about Chleo’s father with eyes sharp enough to bleed.

Yesterday?

He fucked me like vengeance. Bent me over and ruined me with his hands, his mouth, his name in my throat.

But now?

Now he’s crouched beside Mrs. Chen’s busted Honda.

Explaining engine trouble. She laughs. He looks up and smiles.

And I stand here, heart melting for a man I should fear.

How can someone be so gentle and so dangerous at the same time?

The question haunts me as the day continues. Nikolai doesn't leave.

He just... stays. Helps. Charms every person who walks through that door.

“You're going to spoil me,” I tell him during a brief lull.

“Good,” he says, and there's something in his voice that makes my stomach flip.

That's when Chleo comes running in from school, backpack bouncing, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Muama! Guess what? Tommy's mom brought cupcakes for his birthday and—” He stops short when he sees Nikolai. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey there,” Nikolai says softly.

I hold my breath.

“You fixed the wobbly chair.” Chleo observes his toolkit, the chair in the corner, always noticing everything.

“I did. Does it meet with your approval?”

Chleo tests it out, sitting down and rocking slightly. The chair holds steady. “It's good. Mama's been saying she'd fix it for weeks.”

“Sometimes it helps to have the right tools.”

“Can I see them?”

Nikolai glances at me. I nod, not trusting my voice.

He opens the toolbox, explains what each tool does in simple terms that don't talk down to a five-year-old. Chleo listens.

Then, he looks up at Nikolai: “Want to see what I built at school?”

“Absolutely.”

And just like that, my son is showing this dangerous stranger his Lego creation. Explaining how the wheels turn and where the secret compartment hides treasure.

Nikolai listens like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever heard.

Before I can protest, Nikolai is lifting Chleo onto his shoulders. My son squeals with delight, hands gripping that dark hair I used to run my fingers through.

“I'm so tall! Mama, look how tall I am!”

I look. And my heart breaks a little more.

Because Chleo looks so happy up there. So secure. Like he belongs.

And Nikolai... the way he holds my son so carefully. Like Chleo is made of spun glass and starlight.

They walk around the bakery like that, Nikolai pointing out things from Chleo's new height.

The top of the display case.

The old tin signs on the walls.

The way the afternoon light catches the dust motes dancing near the window.

“This is such fun,” Chleo announces.

“I'm glad,” Nikolai says softly.

When he finally lifts Chleo down, my son's face is flushed with excitement and something else. Something that looks like longing.

He comes over to me, tugs on my apron.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“When is my dad coming to visit?”

The question hits like a physical blow. I kneel down to his eye level, brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead.

“I don't know, sweetheart. His work keeps him very busy.”

“But he loves me, right? Even if he can't visit?”

My throat closes up. Behind Chleo, I see Nikolai go very still.

“Of course he loves you,” I whisper. “So much. More than you could ever know.”

It's not a lie. Not exactly. Because if Nikolai knew about Chleo, he would love him. I'm certain of that.

But love from a man like Nikolai comes with chains. With danger. With a world I can't let my son be part of.

“Okay,” Chleo says, apparently satisfied. He bounces back to his usual sunny self. “Can I have a cookie?”

“One. Then homework.”

He selects a sugar cookie shaped like a star, then disappears into the back room to do his homework.

The afternoon stretches on. Nikolai leaves for a while, but returns. Like this is his life now.

And maybe that's what scares me most.

That he fits.

That watching him with Chleo feels so right it makes my chest ache.

That I could get used to this. Could let myself believe in the fairy tale.

When six o'clock comes, Rosa packs up her writing supplies.

“See you tomorrow, Lilly. Nice meeting you, Nikolai. Try not to fix everything before I get back—I like having things to complain about.”

After she leaves, it's just the three of us. Nikolai, and Chleo, and me in the back room doing homework.

I should ask Nikolai to leave. Should tell him we're closing soon.

Instead, I start cleaning the espresso machine. Anything to keep my hands busy.

“Mama!” Chleo calls from the back. “Can you come look at this?”

I find him bent over a piece of paper, tongue poking out in concentration. He's drawing something with crayons, completely absorbed.

“What are you working on?”

“A picture for the nice man. For fixing our chair.”

My stomach drops. “Chleo, you don't have to?—”

“But I want to.” He holds up the paper proudly.

It's a drawing of three stick figures holding hands. A tall one with dark scribbles for hair. A medium one with brown hair in a ponytail. A small one in the middle.

It looks like a family.

“It's beautiful, baby, but?—”

“Can I give it to him now? Please?”

How do I explain that the nice man isn't family? That he can't be family? That family means running in the middle of the night?

I can't.

So I nod.

Chleo races out to the main bakery, clutching his drawing. I follow, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Nikolai is wiping down tables. He looks up when Chleo approaches.

“I made this for you,” Chleo announces, holding out the paper. “For fixing our chair and being nice.”

Nikolai takes the drawing carefully, like it's made of gold leaf. He stares at it for a long moment.

The big stick figures. The little stick figure.

When Nikolai looks up, his eyes are bright with something that might be tears.

“This is...” His voice cracks slightly. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Nikolai kneels down so he's at Chleo's eye level. “Thank you. I'll treasure it forever.”

Chleo beams. “Maybe tomorrow you can help fix other things. The bell on the door is loose too.”

“Maybe I can.”

Nikolai stands slowly. He's still holding the drawing, still staring at it like he can't quite believe it's real.

When he looks at me, there's something broken in his expression. A single tear tracks down his cheek.

The drawing flutters slightly in Nikolai's hands as he folds it carefully, reverently, and slips it into his jacket pocket.

Right over his heart.