Chapter 1: Blind Date with a Widower Dad

Sometimes I still catch myself sighing, thinking: So this is my life now. After my divorce, my mom decided it was time to play matchmaker and set me up with another guy.

He was an engineer—good-looking, financially solid, and, get this, he was hardly ever home. Like, all year round, he’d be gone more often than not.

His only flaw? He had a son—and, well, the kid’s... complicated.

My mom looked at me, hopeful, and asked if I minded the idea of becoming a stepmom.

I just laughed. Honestly, having a kid the old-fashioned way isn’t any easier than picking one up along the way, right? I mean, if sitcoms have taught us anything, it’s that families come together in all sorts of weird ways. Besides, who hasn’t watched a Disney movie where the stepmom turns out to be the real MVP?

So I figured, why not? I’ll take this one.

His name was Michael Avery. We agreed to meet for the first time outside his office building downtown, and as I waited, I tried not to let my nerves show. It was one of those chilly afternoons where the city buzzed but the sky threatened rain.

He showed up in a light gray work shirt with his company logo stitched above the pocket, sharp features, and a gentle smile that actually made me relax a little. I caught myself thinking, Okay, Mom, you actually pulled off a good one this time.

I have to admit, I was surprised—who knew my mom still had top-shelf connections up her sleeve? Maybe I should’ve trusted her sooner.

At dinner, he leaned in and started explaining his situation. I watched him, trying to read between the lines, when he suddenly broke the ice with a line that caught me off guard.

“Thirty-five, making just under a hundred grand a year, field engineer for a major tech company. I spend most of my time traveling—like, living out of a suitcase, basically.”

After dinner, he smiled and told me he was really happy to meet me, but then he hesitated, searching for the right words.

“So, uh, I’ve got a five-year-old. He’s in kindergarten. Not sure if your mom mentioned that.”

I nodded, letting him know it wasn’t a deal-breaker.

I mean, teenagers are supposed to rebel, but what kind of serious problems could a five-year-old possibly have? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Did Michael have anger issues? Or was it something even more out there—like, did he believe in aliens or keep a secret ferret farm?

I looked him over again. His hands were clenched nervously in his lap, but his smile was hopeful and—honestly—a little goofy. It was endearing.

He seemed like a genuinely good guy. The kind you’d trust to dog-sit or fix your leaky faucet, and maybe not run off with your Netflix password.

“So, can I ask why you and your ex-wife divorced?”

Michael went quiet, his gaze dropping. “We didn’t divorce. She passed away. She died from a complication during childbirth.”

I froze, the words landing like a cold splash. My mom hadn’t told me that part.

“When my son was born, I was traveling for work all over. He lived with his mom’s parents until he was four, and then…”

He trailed off, rubbing his hands together, clearly bracing himself for my reaction.

I took a second to think, then said, “I also have a three-year-old daughter. She has to live with me. Would that be okay?”

My daughter, Daisy—well, she’s a golden retriever I rescued from a backyard breeder. People never see that one coming.

I spent almost ten grand on surgery for her. That led to a six-month cold war with my ex-husband. We divorced soon after. (Yeah, that’s how deep my loyalty to Daisy runs.)

Michael looked stunned for a second, but when I pulled out a photo of Daisy, he actually looked relieved—like, Oh, thank God, it’s just a dog.

Aside from Daisy, Michael basically knew all the weird, random things about me—thirty years old, full-time work-from-home writer, making about $3,000 a month, living with my parents post-divorce, and getting the classic daily nag from my mom.

“So, should we add each other on Instagram? Or, I don’t know, maybe just text and keep getting to know each other?”

Honestly, I was pretty satisfied with Michael. He needed a wife to help with his son, and I needed his steady income to support my stay-at-home lifestyle. Plus, I’m a total sucker for a handsome face.

After we added each other, I immediately split the dinner bill with him on Venmo. As soon as the notification popped up, I caught myself thinking, Well, that’s modern romance for you.

Michael stared at the payment notification on his phone for a few seconds, frowned in confusion, then finally said, “If you think I’m not too bad, maybe I can introduce you to my son next time.”

He has his off days. Most of the time, when he’s quiet, he’s actually pretty cute.

I didn’t say anything, just nodded, letting the silence stretch for a second.

He gritted his teeth, then blurted out, “I really like you. If you’re interested, maybe I could… set up a monthly stipend for you and Ethan. Just to help with household stuff and childcare. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want you to feel secure when I’m traveling.” He looked so awkward, like he was afraid he’d just proposed marriage instead of money.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by how direct he was, but I had to admit, I appreciated his honesty—and the fact that he was treating me like a partner, not just a glorified babysitter. “Let’s take it one step at a time. Maybe I can meet Ethan and see how things go?”

He nodded, visibly relieved. “How about tomorrow? I have to take Ethan to a doctor’s appointment, but we could all meet up at the park afterward. You could bring Daisy, too.”

After we set the time for tomorrow, I picked up Daisy from the groomer, all fluffy and smelling like oatmeal shampoo, and then told my mom about the situation. I couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of anticipation mixed with nerves about meeting Ethan.

Honestly, I never understood why Michael got so tense every time he brought up his son. What was the big deal?

He’s five—no matter how moody or wild, how ‘off’ could he really be? I mean, unless he’s secretly a tiny supervillain, how bad could it get?

“Mom, have you met his son?”

My mom scratched her head, thinking. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. The kid looks fine—just as quiet as his dad, maybe a little shy, doesn’t talk much. Nothing weird.”

“What’s there to be scared of with a five-year-old? What’s he gonna do, start a rock band in the living room?”

The next day, after Daisy’s vet check-up, I went to Target—because where else?—and bought some toys and a box of mini cupcakes for kids. The fluorescent lights, the smell of popcorn, the endless aisles...it felt like prepping for a playdate and a job interview at the same time.