Page 34 of Vegas Daddies (Forbidden Fantasies #17)

CADE

T he bell over the door gave a soft chime as I stepped into the small shop, a quiet little place with shelves lined in carefully curated home goods.

Handmade ceramics, candles in glass jars, delicate linens—every inch of the space felt deliberately designed for comfort and something like luxury.

At least luxury to someone who had grown up working class like me.

It smelled like cinnamon and honey, the kind of scent that could make someone imagine a home they didn’t even have.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing here.

Selling, technically. The small selection of wooden bowls, coasters, and candle holders I carried in my bag had been meant for another shop in another town.

But I’d found myself wandering into this place instead, hoping the owner might be interested in carrying my work.

Business, I told myself. That was the reason I was still here, just far enough from my own regular life for it to be inconvenient but not nearly far enough for it to be an exotic adventure, an escape from that mundanity.

I was still in the same town as Allie Tate because I saw an opportunity to work toward my business in a new location.

Not because of Allie.

Obviously, it was bullshit. And not even convincing enough bullshit that I believed it inside my own head. If I was honest, I was already looking for reasons to root myself in this town. To linger. And every time I closed my eyes, I pictured her. I pictured us.

Not that I had hope that I had a real chance.

I set my bag down near the front counter, flexing my fingers before sliding them into the pockets of my jacket.

The store was quiet, save for the murmured conversation of a young couple and their child browsing near the back.

I watched them absently—the way the father lifted his small daughter up so she could see the row of delicate bird-shaped salt and pepper shakers, the way the mother laughed as the little girl clutched them like they were toys, making little tweeting sounds.

They were a beautiful family. And at the sight of them, I felt something tighten in my chest.

I thought about Daphne, a little girl I hadn’t even met yet, and felt an unsettling twist of nerves.

If she was mine, if she wasn’t…both possibilities rattled me in ways I didn’t want to own.

I wanted to be the kind of man who could step up no matter what, but I wasn’t sure what that would mean in this unconventional situation.

What it would mean to be there for Allie. For Daphne. Hell, even for my friends.

“Can I help you?”

I turned toward the voice. A tall, dark-haired woman behind the counter smiled, her eyes flitting down to my bag. She was pretty in a polished kind of way, with a sleek ponytail and a cardigan that looked soft enough to be expensive.

“Looking for the owner,” I said, my voice a little gruff.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m, uh, a woodworker.

And I’m hoping to see if they’re interested in carrying some handmade pieces.

” I unzipped my bag and pulled out a bowl, the rich grain of the wood catching in the shop’s warm lighting.

“Oh, wow.” She reached for it, and I let her take the bowl from me, her fingers brushing over the smooth finish before she lifted it to inspect it more closely. “This is beautiful.” Her eyes flickered toward me. “You made this?”

I nodded. “All handcrafted. I carve, sand, finish everything myself.” The pride I always felt when I talked about my craft filled my chest, helping to usher away some of the paternity-related angst this woman had interrupted.

She let out a low hum of appreciation as she eyed the bowl, peeking into the bag to see some more of the pieces I’d brought.

“I think our customers would love these.” She looked up at me again, her admittedly stunning brown eyes lingering just a little too long for my comfort.

“And I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a man who works with his hands. ”

I didn’t react, keeping my expression polite as she tested the weight of the bowl in her hands. I knew flirting when I heard it. Normally, I might have entertained it. Once upon a time, I would have.

But not now. This woman held no interest for me when all I could think about was Allie.

“I can leave some pieces on consignment if your boss wants to see how they sell,” I said instead, steering the conversation back to business. “Or we can discuss wholesale rates.”

The woman tilted her head, lips pursed in something close to disappointment. “That sounds like a conversation for my boss, to be honest. But between you and me? I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding customers.”

She wasn’t just talking about my art, I knew.

I ignored it.

It wasn’t just that I wasn’t interested—it was that I couldn’t be. I was already halfway gone for a woman who had no reason to pick me.

Allie had choices. Two other men besides me, both of them compelling in ways I couldn’t compete with. Luca was energetic, carefree, endlessly good-hearted. Gavin was all fire and confidence, all sharp wit and smirking charm. I was…what? The quiet one? The brooding one?

Maybe, I thought suddenly, she wouldn’t have to choose at all. Maybe our planned group date wasn’t just a convenient solution to a right-now problem, but a microcosm of what could be.

The thought hit like a jolt of electricity.

Not just a passing musing, but a genuine, real possibility.

There were relationships like that in the world.

Hell, back in LA, polyamory was almost yesterday’s news.

And the kind of arrangement I could suddenly see, Gavin, Luca, and I sharing Allie as friends, while not common, certainly was not unheard of.

It wasn’t like the four of us weren’t already tangled together forever regardless.

We’d all taken her to bed that night in Vegas with hardly a second to consider if it might make things weird, and somehow, it hadn’t changed a damn thing in our friendship.

Now, I almost felt closer to my friends, knowing we all cared about the same woman.

That we all wanted to keep her safe. To keep her.

But this wasn’t how I’d ever pictured myself.

I’d always imagined monogamy, one person to build a life around, a wife and kids.

I’d tried to build it once before, even bought the damn ring.

Jordyn had made it clear I wasn’t what she wanted, and the thought of setting myself up for another rejection?—

I stopped that train of thought before it could spiral.

Allie wasn’t Jordyn. And this wasn’t a marriage proposal.

Besides, Allie was an artist too, and I couldn’t see her ever worrying about who was “husband material.” Years had passed since my engagement had ended, damn it, and I was better now.

No longer the heartbroken kid I’d been on that ill-advised guys’ trip.

But this connection Allie and I shared, it was something . Something that felt big and earth-shattering, like proposing marriage had been all those years ago. And I knew now that I needed to see where it led.

I packed up the rest of my pieces after finalizing the details with the woman. As I stepped outside, the sun had dipped lower, washing the street in early evening gold.

I pulled out my phone and opened a new message to the girl of my dreams.

Cade: You free tonight?

A moment passed before the three dots appeared, and then a message bubble.

Allie: I’m working. Why?

I ignored her question, volleying back with my own.

Cade: Alright. When do you get off?

A longer pause this time. My stomach tightened.

Allie: I’m done here at 10.

That was all I needed.

I didn’t text back. Instead, I pocketed my phone and started outside back to the car. If I timed it right, I could get back to the house, make myself a little more presentable, and then make it to the diner just in time to surprise her. It wasn’t a plan—it was an impulse. But it felt right.

I wasn’t good at chasing. I never had been, even before the heartbreak I thought had been the end of all heartbreaks for me. But for Allie, I’d learn.