Page 70 of Something Like Shelter

“All my life, he’s been a tattoo artist.”

“Ah,” Owen said, nodding. “That does make sense.”

“But before I was born, before he met my mom, he’d been wrapped up in a street gang. Well, he’d… run a street gang. Back when he was young and poor and saw it as the only way out of a rough start at life. So… Paine. Sounds threatening.”

“How’d he and your mom meet?”

“Mom was caught up in something, and she was being chased down the road at night. He let her into his building. From there, it was a whole thing that eventually led to them living happily ever after.”

They were everything I’d secretly wanted for myself. My mom had a big, powerful career. My father had his own business and never felt less-than because my mom earned more money. Their marriage was something they always prioritized—which was why they were still one of the happiest couples I knew.

Unfortunately for me, any attempt to find someone to have that sort of life and future with had fizzled out and died.

The worst of the worst, of course, being Adelaide’s father.

“You look a lot like your mom.”

“Yeah. My brother is the spitting image of my dad,” I said, glad for something other than my crummy past relationships to talk about. “Did they… have questions about why you’re here?”

“Both of them. Your mom asked, then immediately told me not to answer.”

“Somehow I doubt my father did the same thing.”

“He basically asked if I’ve been here a lot. I did say yes to that. I didn’t want to lie to him. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk—”

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

His brows pinched at that. “What?”

“I mean, I know it was just… that things kind of—”

“Honey,” he cut me off. “We’re grown-ass adults. We talk about things. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Last night…”

“Last night,” he repeated. “Felt like it was a long time coming. To me, at least.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“I get that maybe you’re not looking for anything right now. You have a lot on your plate.”

“I’m not not looking for something. I just figured that, ha,” I huffed, “that being a single mom to a small baby might not exactly be what men are looking for.”

“Maybe not the wrong kind of men,” he agreed. “The right kind of man wouldn’t see it as some sort of flaw.”

“And you’re the right kind of man?” I asked, afraid to hope after everything I’d been through.

“I’m the right kind of man.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to be my daughter’s father or anything—”

“But you need to know it’s something any man in your life would be open to.”

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re a package deal, Willa. I know that by being here, being with you, being a part of Adelaide’s life is part of it. A big part of it.”

“I know she’s small and she doesn’t really know any better yet, but I’m not looking to bring a revolving door of men into her life. That’s not fair.”