A Father's Second Chance. Mindy Obenhaus
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life with someone. To give that person your whole heart.
Celeste froze, the long pearl-handled knife midway through another slice of wedding cake. She could never trust her heart to anyone. She laid the piece of raspberry-filled white cake on a plate. Precisely why she was the caterer, not the bride.
As the romantic ballad came to an end, her eyes again roamed the crowded, dimly lit reception hall in Ouray’s Community Center. From all appearances, Cash and Taryn were the epitome of forever and always. Yet how could anyone promise forever? People change. At least that was what her mother said. Countless times. Usually followed by a less-than-flattering remark about Celeste’s wayward father.
“Cake, please.”
Celeste glanced down to see small fingers gripping the edge of the lace-covered table. A pair of large sapphire eyes framed by white-blond curls peered up at her.
A smile started in Celeste’s heart, spreading to her face. “Well, hello there, sweet girl.” The child was adorable, her frilly lavender dress making her look like a princess. “You must be the flower girl.”
The little girl nodded, her mischievous grin hinting that she might not be as innocent as she appeared.
“Emma...” A man with dark brown hair and Emma’s same blue eyes sauntered toward them. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his tuxedo slacks and his loosened bow tie dangled from beneath the unbuttoned collar of his starched white shirt. Very GQ. Tall, dark... Of course, at five foot two, everyone seemed tall to Celeste. One of many reasons high heels were her best friend.
He stopped beside the child. “You’ve had enough cake, young lady.” His baritone voice was firm. Unyielding.
Emma frowned. Her bottom lip pooched out as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Cassidy had two pieces.”
“Your sister ate her dinner.” The man stared down at her, seemingly unfazed by the pathetic look.
“No fair.” The little girl stomped her foot.
He held his hand out to the child. “Let’s go see if we can find some more of that brisket. Then we’ll discuss cake.”
Emma’s lip quivered, her eyes welling with tears. Her face reddened and contorted in ways Celeste had never witnessed firsthand. Nonetheless, she recognized the markings of a tantrum. And, from the looks of things, this was setting up to be a good one.
Perhaps she could find a way to change the subject. She opened her mouth, but the man she presumed was Emma’s father held up a hand to cut her off.
“I’ve got this.”
Fine by her. After all, Emma was his daughter.
He dropped to one knee. “Emma, please. Not here.”
His plea was met with a loud wail.
Celeste bit back a laugh. Seemed the poor man had been through this before.
Pulling his daughter close, he begged her to stop crying. His tuxedo jacket was doing a fair job of muffling Emma’s sobs, still...he glanced up at Celeste, defeat and perhaps embarrassment marring his otherwise handsome features.
Surely there was something she could do.
Then again, Emma’s father had made it clear he didn’t need her help.
The child let out another cry. This time loud enough to be heard over the music.
People started staring.
Celeste couldn’t help herself. While she might not be an expert with kids, she’d quelled many an executive tantrum in the boardroom. Perhaps those tactics would come in handy now.
She wiped her hands on a napkin and rounded the table. Knelt beside the pair. “Emma?” She touched the baby-fine curls.
Emma hiccupped then slowly turned her head until her red-rimmed eyes met Celeste’s.
“Have you ever had a birthday party?”
The child nodded against her daddy’s chest.
“And all your friends and family were there?” She looked at Emma’s father, afraid he’d tell her to back off. Instead, he seemed to wait for his daughter’s reaction.
Emma nodded again, this time lifting her head.
Celeste continued. “Now, suppose one of your friends got mad and started crying at your party. How would that make you feel?”
The child’s eyes darted back and forth across the wooden floor. She wasn’t answering, but she wasn’t crying anymore, either.
“Would that make you sad?” Celeste offered.
Emma nodded, gnawing on her thumb.
“Well, this is Cash and Taryn’s party. You wouldn’t want to make them sad, would you?”
Emma shook her head, her eyes growing even bigger. “Tawyn’s my aunt.”
“I see.” She dared a glance at Emma’s father. He seemed to have relaxed, though he didn’t necessarily look happy. “Well then...” Her gaze shifted back to Emma. “You want to be a big girl for your aunt Taryn, right?”
Emma’s smile returned. She nodded once more.
Celeste pushed to her feet.
So did the child’s father.
She took hold of Emma’s hands and spread her arms wide. “Look at your pretty dress.” She let go of one hand and twirled the child with the other. “That’s a dancing dress if I ever saw one.”
Emma giggled, and Celeste didn’t know if she’d ever heard a sweeter sound.
“Now—” stopping, she smiled down at Emma “—do you think you can do what your daddy tells you?”
Emma nodded.
“Good girl. And then, maybe, if it’s okay with your mommy and daddy—”
“I don’t have a mommy.”
Celeste blinked, her cheeks growing warm at the child’s candor. “Oh. Well then...” She swallowed, her gaze flitting briefly to Emma’s father. “If it’s all right with your dad, I can send a piece of cake home with you for later. How does that sound?”
“Yay!” The little girl just about bounced out of her white patent leather shoes. She tugged her father’s hand. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s get some more bisket.”
“Brisket, sweetheart.” As his overzealous daughter pulled him toward the buffet table, he shot Celeste an irritated look. “Thanks for the help. But I can take care of my daughter.”
Celeste bristled. She hadn’t expected his praise, but she hadn’t expected him to be so rude, either. That’ll teach her to get involved.
Shrugging off the exchange, she watched the pair walk away. Emma obviously knew she had her father wrapped around her little finger. But did she have any clue how blessed she was to have a father who cared?
I don’t have a mommy.
Celeste ached for the child. And wasn’t there some mention of a sister?
She shook her head. A single dad with two daughters. No wonder the guy looked defeated. He didn’t stand a chance.
“Celeste?”
She turned as Erin, one of her part-time servers, approached.
“We’re down to crumbs on the brisket.”
“No problem. I’ve got another tray in the kitchen.” Celeste pointed to the cake. “You mind taking over?”
“Not at all.” Erin picked up the long knife as Celeste started toward the swinging door. “Sausage is running low, too.”
Celeste waved a hand in acknowledgment and