Worth the Fall: A Single Dad, Romantic Comedy (Flirting with Forever Book 2)

‘Daddy, your face is doing the funny thing again.’

I tear my gaze away from my phone—and Mia’s latest text about our dinner plans tonight—to find Felicity studying me with that eerily perceptive look that only five-year-olds seem to master.

‘What funny thing, princess?’

She scrunches up her face in demonstration. ‘Like this! All smiley. Like when we watch Beauty and the Beast and Beast looks at Belle in the snow.’

I clear my throat, trying to maintain some dignity. ‘I don’t look like Beast.’

‘You’re right.’ She nods seriously. ‘You have more glitter.’

Can’t argue with that logic, especially since I’m still finding sparkles from yesterday’s art project in places sparkles definitely shouldn’t be. My phone buzzes again, and I catch myself grinning at Mia’s message about being early for once, complete with a detailed analysis of traffic patterns that only a lawyer would include in a dinner confirmation.

‘See!’ Felicity points accusingly. ‘There’s the face!’

‘Don’t you have some very important coloring to do?’ I ask, trying to hide my phone screen where I’m typing back an equally overanalyzed response about optimal arrival times.

‘Already did.’ She holds up her latest masterpiece—what appears to be three figures surrounded by hearts and an impressive amount of glitter. ‘It’s you and me and Miss Mia! I gave her extra sparkles because she makes your face do the thing.’

I study the drawing, warmth spreading through my chest at how Felicity has drawn us all holding hands. ‘It’s beautiful, princess. Though, maybe we save the glitter for next time? I’m still finding some from yesterday.’

‘Glitter is forever,’ she declares with the certainty of someone who’s never had to explain to a board of directors why their quarterly reports are sparkling.

My phone chimes with another message from Mia.

‘Mr. Ramirez,’ the hostess says, her eyes wide as she scrolls through her tablet. ‘I’m so sorry, but I don’t see your reservation here.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, my brows furrowing. ‘I made it two days ago. For seven thirty.’

The hostess looks genuinely distressed. ‘I don’t know what happened, sir. I see your name here, but it’s marked as canceled.’

‘Canceled?’ I repeat, my voice rising slightly. I glance at Mia, who’s looking at me with curious amusement.

‘We can seat you at nine thirty,’ the hostess says, her tone hopeful.

Mia’s stomach growls so loudly in that moment it’s like a sitcom punchline. Her eyes widen in horror, and I can’t help it—I start laughing.

“Saul!” She says, suddenly distracted by something over my shoulder.

“Who?”

“I think I have a better idea,” Mia says, grabbing my hand and leading me toward a food truck down the street. “You’re about to meet the sweetest man and eat the most amazing, gooey mac & cheese you’ve ever tasted.”

Saul is a broad man with a booming voice and a laugh that could probably knock over a small tree. When Mia steps up to the truck, he greets her like an old friend, his face splitting into a grin.

‘Mia Mason! Haven’t seen you in ages! Where’ve you been hiding?’

‘Work,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘But tonight, I’m introducing you to someone.’ She steps aside, gesturing toward me. ‘Saul, this is Miguel. Miguel, Saul.’

Saul eyes me like a protective older brother, his grin fading into something more serious. ‘Miguel, huh?’

‘That’s me,’ I say, holding out a hand.

Saul shakes it, his grip firm enough to let me know he’s sizing me up. ‘You treating my girl here right?’

‘Saul,’ Mia groans, rolling her eyes.

‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m giving the man a talk,’ Saul shoots back, then turns to me again. ‘You treat her right, you hear me? She’s special.’

I meet his gaze, my voice steady. ‘I know. And I promise I will.’

Saul studies me for another second before his grin returns. ‘Good. Now let me make you two something amazing.’

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting on a nearby bench, eating the best mac & cheese I’ve ever had while Mia tells me about her spreadsheet’s subcategories for wineglass shapes.

‘The Bordeaux glass has a fundamentally different purpose than the Burgundy glass, Miguel. These are important distinctions!’

She has cheese on her chin and her hair is coming loose from its careful arrangement and she’s still barefoot, and I think I might be a little bit in love with her.

‘You’re doing it again,’ she says softly.

‘Doing what?’

‘The face. The one your daughter keeps reporting about.’

‘Well.’ I reach out to wipe the cheese from her chin, letting my hand linger. ‘Maybe she’s onto something.’

‘This is way better than steak,’ Mia says, licking a bit of cheese off her fork.

‘Agreed,’ I say, watching her with a grin. ‘Though I think I’d enjoy pretty much anything as long as you’re there.’

She rolls her eyes, but I can see the blush creeping up her cheeks. ‘Cheesy lines to go with cheesy food? Bold move, Ramirez.’

‘What can I say? I’m a romantic,’ I tease, leaning closer.

We sit there for a while, talking and laughing as the city comes alive around us. We sit a little longer, enjoying each other’s company before setting out on a walk.

As we wander the city, Mia spots a tiny café with a chalkboard sign boasting The Best Hot Chocolate in Town!

‘Want to check it out?’ she asks, her eyes sparkling.

‘Lead the way,’ I say, opening the door for her.

The café is warm and cozy, with mismatched furniture and shelves lined with books. We order one hot chocolate to share, topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.

As we sit by the window, passing the cup back and forth, Mia leans her elbow on the table and studies me.

‘What?’ I ask, smiling.

‘Tell me about Felicity,’ she says, her voice soft. ‘What was it like… becoming a father?’

The question catches me off guard, but in a good way. I set the cup down, thinking for a moment. ‘Terrifying,’ I admit. ‘And amazing. I mean, the second I held her, everything changed. She was this tiny, perfect little person, and I just… knew I’d do anything for her.’

Mia watches me with an intensity that makes my chest ache. ‘You’re a good dad, Miguel,’ she says quietly.

‘Thanks,’ I say, my voice thick. ‘She makes it easy. Most days, anyway.’

We sit there for a while, the world outside fading into the background. It’s not the night I planned—not even close. But as I look at Mia, her hand resting lightly on mine, I realize it’s better.

We walk in comfortable silence, her hand tucked into mine as we meander through the quiet streets.

I glance at her, her hair curling at the edges, her cheeks flushed from the cool air. She looks like something out of a dream, and I feel it again—that pull, that magnetic force that makes everything else fade into the background.

We turn down a narrow side street, quieter than the rest, the buzz of the city muffled. I stop walking, tugging her hand to pull her closer.

‘What?’ she asks, laughing softly as she turns to face me.

‘Nothing,’ I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. ‘I just… needed a moment.’

‘A moment?’ she teases, stepping closer.

‘To do this.’

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, slow and deliberate. She melts into me, her arms sliding around my neck as the world narrows to just this—her, me, the warmth of her lips, the press of her body against mine.

Her back hits the wall of the building, and I step closer, my hands sliding to her waist. Her breath hitches, and she pulls me tighter, her fingers threading through my hair. It’s all heat and want and the kind of chemistry that makes you forget your own name.

‘Miguel,’ she murmurs, her voice breathless.

‘Hmm?’ I press my lips to her neck, tasting the faint salt of rain and skin.

She tilts her head back, but her hands rest on my chest, a gentle barrier. ‘Come home with me.’

I freeze, pulling back slightly to meet her eyes. She looks up at me, her lips parted, her pupils wide. I want to say yes. God, do I want to say yes. But a voice in the back of my head reminds me of the conversation we had—not rushing, not ruining this by moving too fast.

I take a shaky breath, stepping back. ‘Mia,’ I start, my voice low. ‘We said we’d take things slow.’

Her face softens, and she nods, brushing her fingers over my cheek. ‘You’re right,’ she says, smiling slightly. ‘But… come inside anyway? We can watch a movie.’

I smile, relief and longing mixing in my chest. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Her apartment is exactly how I pictured it—warm and inviting, with bookshelves crammed full and a soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. We stumble in, laughing as we kick off our shoes by the door.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she says, heading toward the kitchen. ‘Want something to drink?’

‘Water’s fine,’ I say, glancing around. There’s a photo on the bookshelf that catches my eye, and I pick it up. It’s of Mia with two men—one has his arm slung over her shoulders, grinning, while the other is holding her in a mock headlock.

‘Who are these guys?’ I ask when she returns, handing me a glass of water.

She peers at the photo and laughs. ‘Those are my brothers, Nate and Josh. The one in the headlock is me, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ I say, grinning. ‘You look like trouble.’

‘I was,’ she admits, sitting beside me on the couch. ‘They used to call me the little dictator because I was always bossing them around. But they never minded too much. We’re close.’

‘Are they still around here?’ I ask.

‘Nate’s in Texas now,’ she says, tucking her legs under her. ‘Josh lives about an hour away. We see each other as much as we can, but it’s harder now that we’re all so busy.’

I nod, setting the photo back on the shelf. ‘You’re close with your family?’

‘Very,’ she says, her expression softening. ‘I was a total daddy’s girl growing up. My dad was a welder, and I thought I’d follow in his footsteps. I even begged him to teach me how to use the equipment, but he shut that down fast.’

I chuckle, imagining a young Mia trying to boss her way into a welding shop. ‘Why’d he say no?’

She grins. ‘He said I’d make a terrible welder because I talk too much. Told me to pick something where I could run my mouth and make money doing it.’

‘Sounds like solid advice,’ I say, laughing.

‘It was,’ she admits. ‘But what about you? Were you always planning to go into finance?’

‘Not even close,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Hector and I used to talk about opening a restaurant together. He’d handle the cooking, and I’d manage the business side.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ she asks, her brows lifting.

‘Life happened,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Felicity came along, and I needed something stable. Finance made sense. It wasn’t what I dreamed of, but it worked.’

She nods, her hand brushing against mine. ‘And Hector? Is he still cooking?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling. ‘He’s amazing at it. Still talks about opening that restaurant someday. We’re close—he’s my best friend, really. Him and my mom.’

Her face softens. ‘What about your dad?’

‘He passed a few years ago,’ I say quietly. ‘Heart attack. It was sudden.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her hand covering mine.

‘Thanks,’ I say, squeezing her hand gently. ‘He was a good man. Tough as hell, but fair. I learned a lot from him.’

We sit there for a while, talking and sharing stories about our families. It’s easy, natural, like we’ve been doing this for years. I tell her about the time Hector and I tried to bake a cake for our mom’s birthday and set the oven on fire. She tells me about the time her brothers dared her to jump into the neighbor’s pool—while the neighbors were hosting a barbecue.

By the time we’re done laughing, the movie we’d picked is long forgotten.

At some point, her laughter softens, and she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. The shift is so natural, so unintentional, that it makes my chest tighten. I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over both of us, letting my arm settle around her shoulders. She fits against me perfectly, like she was always meant to be there.

Her fingers are still loosely wrapped around mine, her thumb brushing my knuckles absentmindedly. The movie we picked is playing in the background, but neither of us is paying attention anymore. It’s just us, cocooned in this small bubble of warmth and quiet.

‘You know,’ she murmurs, her voice low and soft, ‘I haven’t done this in a long time.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask, my voice just as quiet.

‘Let myself feel this comfortable with someone.’ She tilts her head up, her eyes meeting mine. There’s vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. ‘You make it easy,’ she adds, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

I don’t know what to say to that. My throat feels tight, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss her again. Instead, I press my lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

‘You’re not the only one,’ I say finally, the words coming out rougher than I intended.

Her smile deepens, and she nestles closer, her body relaxing against mine. For a long while, we just sit there, the only sounds the faint hum of the TV and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Her hand slips from mine, her fingers curling lightly against my chest. I feel the weight of her trust, her warmth, and it’s enough to undo me.

‘Mia?’ I whisper after a while, glancing down.

She doesn’t answer. She’s fallen asleep, her breaths slow and even, her face soft and unguarded. Her lashes rest against her cheeks, and there’s a faint smile still lingering on her lips.

I don’t move. I can’t. It feels like one wrong shift might shatter the moment. Instead, I let my head rest against hers, the scent of her hair—something floral and sweet—filling my senses.

The couch isn’t exactly built for two people, but I don’t care. The small ache in my back is worth it for this—for holding her, for being this close.

I glance around her apartment, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows on the walls. There are little pieces of her everywhere—books stacked haphazardly on the shelf, a mug with a chip in the handle sitting on the coffee table, a cozy blanket draped over the arm of a chair. It’s lived-in, warm, and so very Mia.

My eyes drift back to her, and something settles in my chest. It’s not the dizzying rush I felt when I kissed her in the rain or the heat that flared when she pulled me against her in the alley. This is different. This is quiet, steady, the kind of feeling that roots itself deep and refuses to let go.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering for a moment. ‘You’re incredible,’ I whisper, knowing she can’t hear me.

She shifts slightly, her arm tightening around me as if in response. I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

Eventually, my own eyes grow heavy, and I stop fighting it. The sound of her breathing lulls me, each rise and fall of her chest against mine anchoring me in the moment.

For the first time in a long time, I feel completely at ease. No worries about work, no lingering doubts about the past—just this. Just her.