Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 172: Meeting Her

Chapter 172: Meeting Her

Rebecca

I check the clock on my phone for the fifteenth time, smudging the screen with my thumb. Six minutes until I meet Megan for the first time.

I am nervous. I am scared. What if she hates me?

I’ve changed shirts three times and have spent more time on my hair than I did for the last three weeks combined, and it still falls limp at the roots, frizzing at the ends. There are two mugs on my desk, both half full, both cold. "Chill out," I mutter, but the words do nothing to slow the jitters.

She’s eight. Just a kid. Chances are, she’ll find me dull, file me in the drawer labeled "Adults Who Make Dumb Jokes," and get on with her life. Still, the pressure sits heavy and cold. I have no experience being the person a child wants to see. I mostly deal with children who’ve been conditioned to crave Miss Rebecca’s stickers and the promise of extra Lego time.

This...this is new. I’ve never dated someone who had a daughter or children. I never even had to think about impressing someone else’s kid. But I want to impress her. Badly.

Marcus is picking her up from the airport while I wait in his kitchen alone, terrified out of my wits.

"You really think she wants to talk to me?" I had asked him before he left.

God, I sound pathetic.

He looked like he had given it a thought, then grinned. "Nobody hates you, Rebecca. It’s basically scientifically impossible."

Yeah, right!

"You hated me," I remind him.

He had punched the bridge of my nose then. "Don’t be silly. I never hated you."

He had been kind to me this past week, almost ridiculously so. I still can’t believe he is serious about us. About this...relationship. He is finally starting to look like someone attainable, but it’s still so hard to believe.

A knock at the front door jolts me from my spiral. I freeze, heart skipping a beat. Then another knock—this time lighter, more tentative. They’re here.

I leap up, nearly tripping over one of the mugs, and rush to the mirror by the entryway. My hair still frizzes, my shirt still rides up at the shoulders, and there’s definitely lipstick on my teeth. I fix what I can with trembling fingers before opening the door.

Marcus stands there with a lopsided smile, one arm casually slung around a petite girl with wide hazel eyes and a pink unicorn backpack.

"Hi," he says, voice soft like he knows I’m one step from passing out.

I clear my throat. "Hi."

"This is Megan," Marcus says, nudging her gently forward. "Maggie, this is Rebecca."

Megan’s eyes scan me from head to toe in one efficient sweep. I kneel a little to meet her at eye level, fighting the urge to recite a whole resume of why I’m not a monster.

"Hi, Megan. It’s really nice to meet you." I smile and offer my hand like a dork.

She stares at it, then tilts her head. "You look different than the picture Dad showed me."

Oh god.

"Different bad or different good?"

She shrugs. "Just different. You’re taller."

I blink. "I get that a lot."

Megan lets out a quiet giggle, and I feel my spine slowly relax. It’s a small sound, but it feels like the crack of sunlight through a storm cloud.

Marcus’s hand finds the small of my back, steady and grounding. "She also didn’t believe me when I told her you made cookies," he murmurs.

Megan perks up. "You made cookies?"

"I did," I say, trying not to sound like I’m pleading for approval. "Chocolate chip. The real kind, with browned butter and way too many chocolate chunks."

She narrows her eyes like she’s trying to catch me in a lie. "Do they have nuts?"

I shake my head. "No nuts. Just sugar, butter, chocolate, and my soul."

Another giggle. This one a bit louder. "Okay," she says, stepping inside like we’ve negotiated a peace treaty. "But I get to pick the biggest one."

"Fair," I reply, leading her to the kitchen. Marcus trails behind us, grinning like he already knew this would go fine.

I set the plate down in front of her. Megan eyes the cookies, then very deliberately picks one up, weighing it in her small hands before taking a bite.

She chews, considering, then gives a decisive nod. "Okay. You can stay."

Marcus barks a laugh behind her, and I feel warmth flood my cheeks—and my chest. "Thanks," I say, trying not to sound too relieved. "I was worried you were going to banish me."

"You’re not bad...for a grown-up." She swings her legs idly from the stool. "Are you, like...my dad’s girlfriend?"

I glance at Marcus, who raises a brow and lifts his hands like your move.

"I guess I am," I say, carefully. "If that’s okay with you."

Megan shrugs. "I mean, you made cookies. So that’s a pretty good start."

I nod solemnly. "I have many skills."

"Good," Megan says, mouth full. "Dad used to date someone who hated kids."

Marcus chokes on his coffee. "Megan."

"What? She did." Megan turns back to me. "Her name was Lila and she wore, like, a ton of perfume."

"Well," I say, smirking, "I’ll try not to stink. And I definitely don’t hate kids. I teach second grade."

"Ew," Megan replies immediately. "Second grade is the worst."

I fake a gasp. "Excuse you! Second graders are amazing."

Marcus wraps his arm around my shoulders, his voice low and amused. "You’re doing great."

"I feel like I’m in a job interview," I whisper back.

"Yeah, but so far, you’re hired," he whispers and turns his attention to Megan. "To be fair, I wasn’t exactly dating Lila."

Megan looks up at him, squinting with the kind of suspicion only an eight-year-old can pull off. "Then what were you doing with her?"

Marcus glances at me, sheepish. "Making very bad decisions," he says finally.

Megan snorts. "Clearly."

I try to smother a laugh behind my hand. This kid is sharper than I expected. "Well, I promise I don’t wear too much perfume," I add, "and I don’t hate kids. I actually like them."

"You like them?" Megan repeats like the idea is baffling. "Even the ones who pick their noses and stick the boogers under their desks?"

"Especially those ones," I say solemnly. "They’re the ones who need the most help."

Megan giggles again—third laugh. I’m keeping score. "You’re weird," she declares.

"I get that a lot, too."

She takes another bite of cookie, chews thoughtfully, then says, "Okay. You can stay."

Marcus lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Already got the Megan Seal of Approval. That took Aunt Linda three months."

"Yeah, but Aunt Linda brought me raisins on her first visit," Megan replies flatly. "Raisins, Dad. Raisins."

I hold up both hands. "No raisins here. Only chocolate, pink sprinkles, and very questionable dance moves."

"Dance moves?" Megan perks up. "Do you know how to floss?"

Marcus groans. "Please, no."

I slide off the stool with a grin. "Flossing? Oh, prepare yourself, young padawan. I learned from the best—YouTube tutorials filmed by twelve-year-olds."

And yes, I do it. Right there in Marcus’s kitchen, making an utter fool of myself, swinging my arms and hips in that ridiculous way.

Megan stares.

Then bursts out laughing. Loud, delighted, unrestrained.

Marcus hides his face in his hands. "I’m dating a second grader," he mutters.

I shoot him a look. "And you love it."

He leans in, presses a kiss to my cheek. "I really, really do."

Megan, still giggling, hops off her stool. "Okay, now you definitely have to stay. Dad’s boring, but you’re kind of fun."

I pretend to bow. "My greatest honor."

As Megan wanders off to explore the living room, Marcus pulls me in close and murmurs, "Thank you."

"For what?" I whisper back.

"For not running. For trying. For making her laugh."

I smile, resting my forehead against his. "She’s awesome. You did good, Marcus."

He grins. "Amy may be the worst one-night stand, but she is a decent mother."

"Shh...don’t talk trash about Megan’s mother!" I hiss.

Marcus chuckles under his breath. "She can’t hear me. Besides, I think she will agree."

I swat his arm lightly, then glance toward the living room where Megan is kneeling in front of the bookshelf, flipping through a stack of old picture books. She hums to herself as she reads, completely at ease.

"She seems happy," I murmur.

"She is," Marcus says.

Megan’s voice drifts back into the kitchen. "Rebecca! Do you know how to play Uno?"

Marcus groans. "Oh no. Don’t say yes unless you’re ready to be destroyed."

I raise an eyebrow. "Destroyed?"

"She cheats," Marcus stage-whispers.

"I strategize," Megan corrects from the living room without even turning around.

I grin. "Bring it on."

Marcus leans into the counter, watching me as I head out to join her, a soft pride in his eyes.