CHAPTER 1
Holt
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Damn,” I growl when I accidentally knock my cup of latte all over the granite counter. Of course, the hot liquid drowns my breakfast.
“I so needed that coffee,” I grumble.
Throwing my hands in the air in frustration, I turn to the sink to grab a dishrag to clean up the mess. When I’m done, I grab the plate of food and dump its contents in the trashcan.
So much for soggy toast and caffeinated poached eggs.
I’m just about done putting my plate and mug in the dishwasher when my iPhone goes off. Again.
“I hear you,” I snap at the phone as I pick it up to turn off the alarm. “Shit!” I grunt when I take note of the time.
“Noni!” I yell, “we’re going to be cutting it short. We don’t want to be late for school.”
“Coming, Daddy,” Naomi shouts back from upstairs.
A few seconds later little feet come barrelling down the stairs.
“Luna, come on, hurry. We have to go,” my daughter says.
I can’t help but laugh.
Even though she’s one hundred percent American—born right here in LA—her distinctive British accent remains. Two years in London will do that to a child.
“I’m here, Daddy!” she smiles wide as she enters the open plan eat-in kitchen. She skips her way to me, humming a song I don't recognize. “And so is Luna.”
“Woof,” our dog announces her presence right behind my daughter.
“That’s what you're wearing?” I ask.
Naomi looks down at her outfit and back up to me again. Her big blue eyes—a mirror of mine—sparkle with mirth. “Yes!”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Isn't it too much for school?”
We've already had this conversation this morning and since I'm the one who dressed her, I already know. That said, things can change at the flip of a hat in a kid’s world, so it never hurts to double check.
“It's party day,” she reminds me.
“Okay,” I smile.
Even though she's only four, she insists on dressing herself on weekends. To make it easier on her—and on me—I pull out a couple of options. She has final say. Well, most times. Sometimes we have to negotiate hard because the combinations are a little too far out there. Thank God I don’t have to deal with fashion drama during the week. She usually wears a uniform to school—private Catholic school and all—but since it’s party day and it’s Friday, the girls are allowed to wear their own clothing. Naomi selected a pretty, soft, pink embroidered dress. She asked for something fancy, but this fits the bill and the lower part of the dress isn't cumbersome and won’t trouble her. I requested she wears a white t-shirt underneath it to make it look more casual. I'm lucky. She didn't fight me. I paired the dress with tiny, white high-top Chucks. She has a little throwback rockabilly look going on.
“I love my hair, Daddy!” she beams, her fingers seeking the ponytail part of her twistback flip-under hairstyle.
Yeah, I’m the one who does her hair.
A little worried I wouldn’t know what to do with her hair, I chopped it off just before she turned two. To my mom's horror, my little girl was sporting the dreaded boy haircut so many single dads opt for as a way out. As her thick hair grew back, I turned to the best tutor on earth for training. YouTube videos saved my ass. I’m no longer hopeless when it comes to styling Naomi’s hair. Now, my girl is known as somewhat of a hair model at her school. Who would've thought a few dynamic braids and buns could cause such talk?
“Really?” I reach out and caress the top of her head.
“Really,” she nods. “Mrs. Talbot says you cuff my hair well.” Amanda Talbot is her nanny, and she means coif.
Some people have daughters. Not me. I have a mini fashionista and a princess all wrapped up in one bundle. I love every sweet inch of her.
“I’m glad,” I tell her.
“It’s for the Fall Solace party.” As if I don't already know.
“Fall Solstice,” I gently correct.
“Fall Solace.”
She gives me an uncomfortable smile.
“It’s okay, you’ll get it,” I reassure her.
“Everyone will be pretty,” she says, giving me a twirl.
“Well, you already know, you’ll be the prettiest of them all.”
A winning smile spreads across her beautiful face. “You always say that,” she giggles.
I’m a sucker for those dimples.
“Because it’s true,” I tap the tip of her nose.
“I love you, Daddy.”
Smiling as I lower myself to her level, I kiss her on the cheeks. “And I love you too, Noni. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want Ms. Wexler to give me the evil eye for being late.”
“My teacher likes you.”
“Only when I'm on time,” I remind her.
“No. She says she likes you all the time.”
I stifle a smile.
“Here’s your snack bag,” I say, changing the subject.
“Thank you.” She grabs it and runs to her backpack sitting near the entrance. She's back standing in front of me in a flash.
Even though she attends an outrageously expensive private all-girl Catholic school that offers healthy snacks and meals, Naomi loves watermelon to a fault.
“Can Luna come?” Naomi asks.
Since she entered the kitchen, our dog quietly made her way to her water bowl. Now she's on alert at the sound of her name.
“I was going to drop her off at Mrs. Talbot’s. Mason is already there.”
Mason is Luna's brother and my cousin Jace's dog. His son Ryder is five-and-a-half, and Mrs. Talbot works as our full-time nanny.
“Please.”
My eyes move from my daughter to our dog. Even Luna's eyes seem pleading.
“Please, Daddy.” This time Naomi folds her little hands underneath her chin.
My iPhone rings again. I'm at a disadvantage this morning as I don't have time to argue.
“Okay.” I grab my phone from the counter and turn off the alarm before tucking it inside my back pocket.
“Yay!” Naomi jumps up and down.
“Fair warning, this isn’t going to happen every morning. Got that?”
“Got it, Daddy!” She runs to Luna and hugs the living daylights out of her. “You get to see my new school, Luna.”
“You want to go for a ride, girl?” I ask the dog.
Luna barks and wags her tail in answer.
“Let's get you ready.”
“Can I dress her up?”
“No! We don't have time.”
I swear to God, this dog has the most elaborate wardrobe in LA.
“Not even a necklace?”
Don't get me started on Luna’s jewelry collection. Or the tiaras.
“Naomi,” I warn.
“Okay,” she lowers her eyes and pouts her lips as her long eyelashes flutter.
I'm so not falling for it.
I grab Luna’s leash, fasten it around her neck, and she heads towards the door. Naomi follows suit and grabs her backpack.
“Holdup, Luna, we’re not done yet,” I say. “Naomi, put this on. It might be cool this morning.” I hand her a white sweater I had brought down earlier.