Page 45 of Best Laid Plans

The rest of the week drags by, but now, it’s finally Sunday. From the moment I told Tatum that we were going to the park today with Alden, it’s been all she’s talked about. Lucky me, I had the foresight not to tell her too soon, but even still I’ve been hearing about it since yesterday morning.

We’re nearing twenty-four hours of Alden-induced mania.

“Mama! It’s time to go now?” Tatum bounces and wiggles at the foot of my bed before climbing up onto it and snuggling up to me.

For the past half hour, I’ve had my nose shoved into my Kindle, reading while she watched Netflix. But it seems the charm of whatever show she was watching—probablyTrolls—has worn off.

“Fifteen more minutes, Tater Tot.”

“How long is dat?”

I point to the alarm clock on my nightstand. “When that last number is a five, it will be time to go.”

She nods, positioning herself so that she can stare at the clock until it’s time to leave. I shake my head at her determination and fall back into my book. I’m at a good part in my book—you know, agoooodpart—when Tatum gleefully announces, “Time to go! It’s time to go! Hurry, Mama!”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should wait a little longer,” I say, teasingly.

“No! No Mama! We have to go now! What if him thinks we’re not coming and he weaves?”

Her desire to see him simultaneously breaks and heals my heart. I know for certain that when we tell her who Alden really is, she’s going to be the happiest girl on the planet. “I’m only joking. Let’s go!”

Tatum yelps with joy and throws her arms around my neck before jumping off of the bed and haulingyou know whatfor the front door. I, on the other hand, move at a normal speed, pausing to slip on my shoes. I detour to Tatum’s room to grab her shoes as well, along with a small bag filled with essentials for going out with a toddler.

“Forget something, Tater Tot?” I ask, dangling her shoes from the tips of my fingers.

“Oh! Yeah! Thanks, Mama!”

I squat and help her into her shoes, and then we’re out the door and on our way.

29

Alden

Ever since leavingtheir house on Tuesday night, I’ve been anxious to see my girl again. Especially now that I’m one-hundred-percent certain she’s mine—well, 99.9998%.

So anxious, in fact, I arrived to the playground ten minutes early. Do you know the kind of looks you get being a single, childless dude loitering near the swings? Let me tell you…they’re not good.

The thought of fleeing to my car is tempting, but I don’t. Honestly, some petty part of me is excited to see the looks on these people’s face when my daughter shows up.My daughter. Damn, that feels…good. Strange still, but so good.

Things with Natalie and I are running smoother every day. And by smoother, I mean I’ve quit acting like a split-personality asshole. I still have a smidge of resentment I’m harboring, but, it’s more like a tiny, dying ember than the raging inferno it was.

So, yeah, progress.

I’m fiddling around on my phone when the sound of familiar, excited laughter floats my way. I look up just in time to see my Tatum barreling toward me. “Alden!” she screams, and I wrap her in a hug, breathing in her sweet, still baby-ish scent.

“Hey, pretty girl. How have you been?”

“I’s good.” She does a twirl, causing the little cape attached to her shirt to flare out. “I’s a super-he-whoa!”

Natalie claims the seat next to me, smiling at Tatum’s pure, unfiltered cuteness.

“A superhero, huh? What’s your code name?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy.

“You know, Peter Parker called himself Spiderman. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Who’s Tatum…Reynolds?” Calling her by that last name burns in my gut. I wonder if Natalie would ever be opening to having it changed to Warner?

“Uh. Hmm. I’s Super Pwincess Sparkle!”

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