Page 23 of Make You Mine

We carry on teasing like that the rest of the walk.

The park’s buzzing when we arrive. Kids dashing about in party hats, high on sugar and chaos. I spot Widget immediately. She’s painted like a glittery sea monster with blue sequins and a tail drawn across her cheek. She’s smack in the middle of face-painting glory.

Chelsea clocks us and waves. Amerie and Emmett head off toward her, so I make for the Dad’s Corner—otherwise known as the area for men pretending to be present while secretly texting colleagues and checking football scores.

I’m not alone. There’s a bloke on his phone barking orders like he’s still in the boardroom and another typing like he’s chewing someone out via email.

Honestly, it’s enough to make me rethink the whole thing. Maybe I should actuallybehere.

Willow spots me, her face lighting up. She hops down from the table and runs over, mermaid scales shimmering under the sun. She’s beaming, proud as anything, just to show me her latest masterpiece.

And in that moment, I’m bloody glad I came.

The party’s not half as bad as I figured it’d be.

The little ones charge about like they’ve had straight sugar for breakfast, and then everyone gathers around the main picnic table to butcher “Happy Birthday” while the lad of the hour blows out his candles. Cake’s handed out, along with the usual spread—pizza slices, triangle sandwiches, chicken nuggets gone lukewarm, and a few homemade offerings from overzealous parents.

I let myself enjoy a slice with Willow, right up until she decides I’m no longer fit company and bolts for the bouncy castle with one of her mates. Amerie and Chelsea both witness the moment and chuckle like it’s the most charming thing they’ve seen.

“Sorry, Dad,” Amerie teases. “Her friends are more fun.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” I mutter, licking icing off my thumb. “How was the cupcake?”

Amerie holds it up like a trophy, all fluffy frosting and diabetic hope. “About to take a bite.”

“All that’s sugar-free?”

“It’s what we call a modern miracle.”

Chelsea laughs beside her. “Willow’s teacher had one and said they’re delicious.”

The next half hour passes with the usual birthday madness—kids screaming over musical chairs or queuing up to bounce themselves into early spinal damage. Arlo’s mum swings by to thank Amerie for bringing the special cupcakes, going on about how thoughtful it was.

That leaves me and Chelsea sat alone at the picnic bench, just the two of us and an awkward silence thicker than clotted cream. It feels like déjà vu after that drive nights ago. Only difference is, we’ve now got a soundtrack of screeching five and six-year-olds and someone’s Bluetooth speaker blaring “Baby Shark” in the distance.

Chelsea clears her throat. “I better check on Willow. See if she’s thirsty or needs the toilet.”

I nod as she gets up and walks toward the crowd of party-goers.

It’s fine by me either way. It’s the first chance I’ve had to glance at my phone and notice Cormac’s called and left a voice message.

Bloody hell. What the fuck could he want on a Saturday?

Releasing a deep sigh, I press my phone to my ear and listen to the recording.

“Keating, ring me back when you have the chance. It’s important. It’s about the Atelier acquisition. The bloody fucking deal’s falling apart. Their board is pulling out.”

I let out a sharp breath through my nose. “For fuck’s sake!”

I’ve forgotten where I am for a second… until a few pint-sized humans scurry by in front of me.

But I don’t have time to give a damn about offended parents or dirty looks. Because just then, a shriek cuts through the air and startles everyone on the park grounds.

It’s Chelsea, bolting across the grass with wide eyes and panic written all over her.

“Declan! Amerie!”

We’re both on our feet before she reaches us.

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