The one to my left has a head of light brown hair and what seems like the inability to keep his jaw from hanging open.
“Hi,” he says, and I don’t know what it is about him, but I can almost guarantee this guy plays for my dad. He’s somewhat tall, athletic build, and looks freshly fucked.
My dad’s roster tends to be equally as invested in the women they take home from the field as they are in the game itself.
“Get off the elevator, Isaiah,” the man to my right says, and while yes, they’re both objectively good-looking, this one is offensively attractive.
He’s got a backwards hat on, dark-rimmed glasses, and a toddler in his arms with a matching cap for goodness’ sake. I try my hardest not to look too closely, but I can see the dark hair spilling out around the edges, ice-blue eyes framed by those glasses. Scruff slopes over his jawline, screaming “older man,” and that alone is my kryptonite.
Then you add the cute-ass kid he’s got slung on his hip and he’s almost begging to be drooled over.
“Bye,” the man to my left says as he gets off the elevator, leaving me to ride with the two cute boys to my right.
“Floor,” I ask, taking a swig of my beer as I press the number for my dad’s room.
There’s not a chance in hell he didn’t hear me, but still, Baby Daddy doesn’t respond.
“Should I just guess?” I ask. “I can press them all if you’d like and we could take a nice long elevator ride together?”
He doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile which is a red flag if you ask me.
His little boy reaches for me, and I’ve never been one to fawn over kids, but this one is especially cute. He’s happy, and after the morning I’ve had, a toddler smiling at me like I’m the greatest thing to ever exist is surprisingly what I need.
His cheeks are so chubby that his eyes almost disappear from his beaming grin as his dad continues to ignore me, pressing his floor number himself.
Well, okay then. This should be fun.
The longest elevator ride of my life has me concluding that the gorgeous man I rode with has a giant stick up his ass. And when I make it to my dad’s room and knock, I couldn’t be more thankful that our brief encounter is over.
“What are you doing here?” my dad asks, his face lighting up. “I thought I wasn’t going to get to see you again this trip?”
I hold up both beer bottles in faux excitement, one empty, one still full. “I quit my job!”
He eyes me with concern, widening the opening into his room. “Why don’t you come in and tell me why you’re drinking at 9 a.m.”
“We’re drinking,” I correct.
He chuckles. “You seem like you might need that second one more than me, Millie.”
Crossing the room, I take a seat on the couch.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“I suck at my job. I don’t even enjoy baking right now because I’m so bad at it. When have you ever heard me say I don’t enjoy baking?”
He holds his hands up. “You don’t have to justify it to me. I want you to be happy and if that job wasn’t making you happy, then I’m glad you quit.”
I knew he’d say that. And I know when I tell him that my new summer plans consist of driving around the country and living out of my van to get some fresh air and a fresh perspective, he’ll say he’s happy for me even though there will be concern laced in his tone. But I’m not fazed by his concern. What I’m worried about seeing is disappointment.
In the twenty years he’s been my dad, he’s never once shown it so I’m not sure why I constantly look for it. But I’d work my ass off and stay in every miserable kitchen for the rest of my life if it meant I could avoid disappointing him.
I’m self-aware enough to know that I have an innate need to be the best at whatever checkmark or goal I’m chasing. Right now, I’m not the best and I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to watch me fail. Especially him. He’s why I strive for perfection in my career, which is a stark contrast to the wild, unattached, and go-with-the-flow attitude I have towards my personal life.
“Are you done for good?” he asks.
“Oh, God no. I’m taking the summer to get my groove back. I’ll be back and better than before. I just need space without prying eyes to get it together, and to give myself a little break.”
His eyes lighten with excitement. “So, where are you spending this summer break?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got two months and my next job is in LA. Maybe I’ll take my time driving to the West Coast and see some sights along the way. Practice in my kitchen on wheels.”