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

‘So,’ Becca says, sliding into our usual booth at Noble Coffee with that look in her eye that usually means she’s up to something. ‘Let’s talk bachelorette party plans. I’m thinking Vegas? Or maybe Miami? Somewhere we can really let loose before the big day.’

I stare down at my chai latte, trying to find the right words. My stomach does a nervous flip that has nothing to do with the three shots of espresso I’ve already had today.

‘Actually…’ I start, then pause, fiddling with my napkin. ‘I don’t think I want a traditional bachelorette party.’

Becca’s eyes widen like I’ve just suggested we skip the wedding entirely. ‘What? But it’s your last hurrah! Your final fling before the ring!’

‘That’s just it,’ I say quietly, my voice smaller than I intend. I trace the rim of my mug, gathering courage. ‘When Cameron and I broke up, I lost most of my friends. They were all couples we knew together, people we’d done dinner parties with for years, gone on vacations with. And they just… faded away. Taking sides, I guess, or maybe just not knowing how to handle it.’

I look up at Becca, heat pricking behind my eyes. ‘You and Taylor are the first real friends I’ve had in years. The kind who are just mine, not part of some couple package deal.’

Becca’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. ‘Oh, honey.’

‘I don’t need a wild party or a crazy weekend,’ I continue, the words tumbling out now. ‘What I’d love is just… a day with my favorite people. You, Taylor, Linda, and Felicity. The women who’ve become my real support system.’ I bite my lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable. ‘Is that totally lame?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Becca says, already pulling out her phone with that determined gleam in her eye. ‘That sounds perfect. And honestly? Way more you than doing shots in Vegas while we’re wearing matching ‘bride tribe’ tank tops.’

I laugh, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. ‘No male strippers jumping out of cakes?’

‘Please,’ she scoffs, typing furiously. ‘The only cake we’ll have will be from that French bakery you’re obsessed with. And covered in edible glitter because, let’s face it, your flower girl would accept nothing less.’

‘She does have opinions about proper petal-throwing protocol,’ I agree, grinning as I remember Felicity’s detailed diagram for her grand entrance down the aisle.

The day of my bachelorette celebration arrives sunny and perfect. Felicity practically vibrates with excitement as we enter the restaurant, her new dress—picked specially for the occasion after an hour-long debate about proper brunch attire—swishing around her knees.

‘Look!’ she squeals, pointing to the table Becca has arranged. It’s decorated with subtle sparkles and fresh flowers, place cards written in elegant script—even one for Felicity with Official Flower Princess beneath her name, because according to her, ‘flower girl’ wasn’t fancy enough for such an important occasion. My heart squeezes at the thoughtfulness.

Linda arrives with a gift bag full of spa supplies and her usual no-nonsense smile that can’t quite hide how pleased she is to be included. Taylor brings a photo album she’s secretly compiled of our friendship moments—nights out, office celebrations, impromptu dance parties in my living room. And Becca orchestrates everything with her usual flair, making sure everyone’s glasses stay full and the conversation flows.

‘To Mia,’ Becca raises her glass, and something in her voice makes my throat tight. ‘Who reminded us that sometimes the best families are the ones we choose for ourselves.’

‘And sometimes they come with extra sparkly flower petals,’ Felicity adds solemnly, making everyone laugh.

I look around the table at these women who’ve become my cornerstone—my village, my support system, my chosen family. No, it’s not a traditional bachelorette party with matching sashes and embarrassing dares. It’s better. It’s exactly what I need.

Later, as we get our nails done (Felicity insisting that everyone needs at least one sparkly accent nail ‘to match the flower petals’), I catch my reflection in the salon mirror. I’m smiling, relaxed in a way I never managed during those carefully orchestrated couple dinners with Cameron’s friends. These women know me—really know me. They’ve seen me ugly cry over case files and stress eat donuts during depositions. They’ve helped me navigate wedding planning chaos and late-night anxiety spirals. They love me, not despite my type A tendencies and workaholic nature, but because of them.

‘You’re thinking deep thoughts,’ Linda observes from the chair next to me. ‘Stop it. This is a relaxation zone.’

I laugh, shaking my head. ‘Just feeling grateful.’

‘As you should,’ she says with that maternal authority that brooks no argument. ‘Now, are we doing matching pedicures or not? Because your flower girl has some very specific ideas about proper petal-coordinated toe art.’

‘Obviously matching,’ I say, watching as Felicity explains her vision to the bemused nail technician, complete with hand-drawn diagrams. ‘When has she ever not had specific ideas about ceremony aesthetics?’

‘Like bonus mother, like daughter,’ Becca teases from my other side.

And she’s right. Somewhere between color-coded wedding plans and flower girl protocol lessons, I found my place. My people. My family.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Today is one of those rare days where everything feels under control. My desk is neat—well, neat for me. My inbox is manageable. The Simmons account is running like a well-oiled machine, and for once, I feel like I’ve got this whole work-life balance thing figured out.

Even wedding planning has been relatively smooth lately, mostly because Miguel insists on being a human buffer between me and Felicity’s more… creative ideas. (The princess carriage? Officially vetoed, though not without a bit of sulking.)

And Miguel… he’s been perfect. Steady and supportive, despite insisting for weeks now that I move in with him. He’s not wrong—I practically live at his place anyway—but my lease doesn’t expire for a few months, and I convinced myself it made sense to wait.

I sip my coffee, glancing at my to-do list for the day. Everything’s checked off, and it’s not even lunchtime. I smile, feeling smug.

I’ve got this.

Then my phone rings.

I glance at the screen, frowning at the unknown number. Normally, I’d let it go to voicemail, but something tells me to answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, this is Steve from Moving On Movers,’ a cheerful voice chirps. ‘Just wanted to let you know we’re at your building and ready to get started!’

For a moment, my brain doesn’t compute. ‘I’m sorry, you’re where?’

‘At your building,’ Steve repeats. ‘We’re here to move your stuff.’

My heart drops. ‘Move my—oh my God!’ I shoot up from my chair, nearly spilling my coffee all over my desk. ‘No, no, no, that’s not supposed to be—wait…’ My voice trails off as the pieces snap into place.

I did schedule movers. A month ago. For today.

‘Oh no,’ I whisper, clutching my forehead.

Steve is still talking, something about timing and parking permits, but I’m already scrambling to grab my bag and my coat. ‘I’ll—I’ll be there soon!’ I blurt out, hanging up before he can respond.

I rush out of my office, narrowly avoiding a collision with Linda in the hallway.

‘Whoa,’ she says, holding up her coffee cup as if to ward me off. ‘Where’s the fire?’

‘My apartment,’ I say, already heading for the elevator. ‘Apparently, my movers are there, and I completely forgot!’

Linda raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching. ‘You? Forget something? Impossible.’

‘Ha, ha,’ I call over my shoulder as the elevator doors close.

The entire cab ride to my apartment, I’m mentally kicking myself. How did I forget? I had a detailed spreadsheet for this exact scenario—color-coded and everything!

When I finally burst through the door of my building, I expect chaos. Movers hauling boxes in every direction, Miguel frantically trying to explain my packing system, maybe even a neighbor complaining about the commotion.

But instead, I find Miguel standing in the middle of my nearly empty living room, calm as ever, chatting with one of the movers.

‘You’re here,’ I breathe, clutching the doorframe for support.

He turns at the sound of my voice, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘Of course I’m here. You told me when you scheduled this that it was my job to handle it. Did you forget?’

I stare at him, my pulse still racing from my mad dash across the city. ‘Maybe.’

He chuckles, crossing the room to pull me into his arms. ‘You’ve been juggling a lot, Mia. It’s okay to forget things sometimes.’

‘I don’t forget things,’ I grumble against his chest, though the tension in my shoulders is already melting away.

‘You do when you’re stressed,’ he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. ‘Which is why I’ve decided you need a spa day. Or maybe just some extra Miguel love to relax.’

I laugh, leaning back to look up at him. ‘Extra Miguel love?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ he says, his hands sliding to my waist. ‘Highly effective. Five stars on Yelp.’

I snort, shaking my head. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

‘And you love it,’ he says, dipping his head to kiss me softly.

He’s right, of course. I do love it—love him, love this steady, unshakable support he gives me no matter how chaotic my life gets.

The kiss deepens for a moment, and I feel his hands tighten slightly on my hips. The world falls away, just for a second, until a throat clears behind us.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ one of the movers says, looking amused. ‘But we are almost done with the bedroom, did you want us to do the bathroom next?”

Miguel chuckles, pulling back but keeping his arm around me. ‘See? I’ve got it under control,’ he whispers before turning back to the movers.

An hour later, the movers are finishing up, and my apartment feels eerily empty. I look around, trying to shake off the pang of nostalgia.

Miguel wraps an arm around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my temple. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, leaning into him. ‘It just feels… weird. Leaving this place.’

‘It’s not leaving,’ he says gently. ‘It’s moving forward. And you’re moving in with me, which is exactly where you belong.’

I smile, my chest warming. ‘I really do, don’t I?’

He grins. ‘Obviously.’

After one last look around, I grab my bag. ‘I need to get back to work,’ I say reluctantly.

Miguel sighs dramatically. ‘Fine. Go be a corporate badass. But tonight, you’re all mine.’

‘You promise?’ I tease, standing on tiptoe to kiss him one last time.

‘Always,’ he says, his voice soft but full of conviction.

And just like that, the chaos doesn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

Back at my desk, I breathe a sigh of relief, ready to dive back into work. The movers are handled, Miguel was his usual calm and supportive self, and I even managed to catch a cab without being late for my next meeting.

It feels like a win—a small one, but I’ll take it. I open my laptop, start scanning my emails, and sip my lukewarm coffee.

I’ve got this.

The phone on my desk rings, and I glance at the caller ID: the florist.

A small pang of unease prickles in my chest, but I shake it off. It’s probably just a confirmation or a minor question. I pick up the receiver.

‘Hi, this is Mia.’

‘Ms. Mason! This is Darlene from Blooming Dreams,’ the voice on the other end chirps. It’s a little too cheerful, which immediately sets me on edge.

‘Hi, Darlene. What’s up?’

‘Well,’ she says, stretching the word like it’s a Band-Aid she doesn’t want to rip off, ‘I wanted to touch base about your order. Specifically, the dahlias you requested.’

My heart sinks. ‘What about them?’

‘There’s been a slight hiccup,’ she says, in a tone that makes it clear the hiccup is more like a burp after a three-course meal. ‘Unfortunately, our supplier has let us know that dahlias won’t be available in time for your wedding.’

I blink, trying to process. ‘Won’t be available? At all?’

‘At all,’ she confirms. ‘We’re so sorry! But we wanted to ask if there’s another flower you’d prefer as a substitute. Maybe roses? Roses are very classic.’

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. ‘Darlene, I chose dahlias because they’re my favorite flower. I’ve already designed the centerpieces and bouquets around them.’

‘I understand,’ she says quickly. ‘And we’ll do everything we can to make the arrangements look just as beautiful. But…’

‘But no dahlias,’ I finish, my voice tight.

‘Correct.’

I take a slow, measured breath, trying to stay calm. ‘I’ll have to think about it. Can I call you back?’

‘Of course!’ Darlene says, her voice as sunny as ever. ‘Just let us know as soon as you can, and we’ll make it happen!’

I hang up, setting the phone down carefully as if it might explode.

It’s fine, I tell myself. Just a hiccup. I can handle this.

My phone rings again.

I glance at the screen and see the name of the bakery. A wave of unease washes over me as I pick up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Ms. Mason, this is George from Sweet Sensations,’ the voice on the other end says, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

‘Hi, George,’ I say, my grip tightening on the phone. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m afraid we’ve had an… incident,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘There was a fire at our bakery yesterday. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the damage was extensive, and we’ve had to cancel all pending orders.’

For a second, I don’t speak. I can’t.

‘I—I’m sorry, what?’ I manage, my voice shaking slightly.

‘I know this is terrible timing,’ George says, his voice full of genuine regret. ‘And we’re deeply sorry. We can recommend other bakeries that might be able to take your order on short notice.’

‘Short notice?’ I echo, feeling like the walls are closing in. ‘The wedding is a week away!’

‘I know,’ he says, his voice soft. ‘I wish there was something we could do.’

I hang up before I start crying on the phone.

But the moment the receiver is back in its cradle, the tears spill over. My chest heaves as I try to keep quiet, but a strangled sob escapes, and before I know it, I’m hunched over my desk, my head in my hands.

‘Mia?’

I look up to see Linda standing in the doorway, her coffee forgotten in her hand, her face a mask of concern.

She’s by my side in two seconds flat, pulling a chair up and sitting next to me. ‘What happened?’

I sniff, trying to wipe my tears away, but they keep coming. ‘The florist called. The dahlias I chose—they’re not available. And then the bakery called right after and said there was a fire. They’re canceling my order.’

‘Oh no,’ Linda says softly, rubbing my back.

‘I feel awful about the fire,’ I continue, my voice breaking. ‘But now I don’t have a cake. Or flowers. And I don’t have time to find replacements because I have a meeting with Simmons tomorrow and I’m supposed to have everything together for the pitch, and I⁠—’

Linda cuts me off, holding up a hand. ‘Mia, stop. Take a breath.’

I try, but it comes out shaky.

‘Listen,’ Linda says firmly. ‘You’re one of the most capable people I know, but even you can’t do everything at once. It’s okay to ask for help.’

I shake my head. ‘No, I can’t. I’m type A. I’m supposed to be the one who handles everything.’

Linda raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

Her words are blunt, but they cut through the noise in my head. I slump back in my chair, defeated. ‘I need help,’ I whisper.

‘There it is,’ Linda says, her lips quirking into a small smile.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ I ask, my voice thick with frustration.

Linda pats my arm. ‘You’re going to focus on finishing up for Simmons. I’ll start researching florists and bakeries and see who has availability. And if we can’t find anything, Miguel seems like the kind of guy who’d be happy to whip up a three-tier cake himself.’

I laugh, despite myself. ‘He probably would.’

Linda smiles. ‘You’ve got people in your corner, Mia. Let us help you.’

‘Thanks, Linda,’ I say, the weight on my chest lifting slightly.

‘Anytime,’ she says, standing and heading for the door. ‘Now, finish your work. I’ll handle the disasters.’

As she walks away, I take another deep breath, and for the first time since the florist called, it feels like I might actually be okay.

It’s been three days since my world momentarily spiraled into chaos, and somehow, everything feels… settled. Well, mostly. My things are officially at Miguel’s apartment, mostly unpacked, and the sight of my books on his shelves and my favorite coffee mug in his kitchen still makes me feel a little teary.

Not in a bad way. In a how did I get so lucky kind of way.

When I walked into his apartment two days ago and saw that he’d not only unpacked most of my stuff but arranged it like it had always belonged there, I didn’t even try to stop the tears.

‘You’re incredible,’ I’d whispered, burying my face against his chest.

He’d kissed the top of my head and said, ‘I told you everything would be okay, Mia. You just need to let me take care of you sometimes.’

And now, as I sit at my desk finishing up some notes, I can’t help but smile. The wedding chaos is still lurking in the background, but Miguel, Linda, and now Becca and Taylor have turned what felt like insurmountable obstacles into manageable tasks.

The next day, I meet Becca and Taylor at our favorite café. Becca, as always, is immaculately put together, her navy blouse crisp and her hair perfectly curled. Taylor, on the other hand, is sporting a casual blazer over a T-shirt and jeans, her energy as magnetic as ever.

‘Mia!’ Becca calls, waving me over to the booth they’ve snagged near the window. ‘We’ve already ordered your chai latte.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, sliding into the seat across from them.

Taylor leans forward, grinning. ‘So, Mrs. Soon-to-Be-Ramirez, how are we feeling? Excited? Nervous? Ready to elope and skip the whole thing?’

I laugh, shaking my head. ‘I’m… a mix of all three, honestly. It’s been a lot.’

Becca raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re handling it better than I expected, considering last week’s meltdown over the flower and cake situation.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ I groan, covering my face with my hands.

‘No need,’ Becca teases. ‘That’s what we’re here for. To make sure you don’t spiral again.’

‘Exactly,’ Taylor says. ‘Speaking of which, Linda deserves a medal for finding you a new bakery on such short notice. Did you see the pictures on their website? Their cakes are gorgeous.’

‘I know,’ I say, my mood lifting. ‘I can’t wait to go taste-test this afternoon.’

‘And the flower situation?’ Becca asks, sipping her coffee.

I sigh, but it’s more relieved than frustrated. ‘We decided on ranunculus. They’re beautiful, and Darlene at the florist swears they’ll look amazing in the arrangements.’

‘Crisis averted,’ Taylor declares, raising her glass of iced tea like it’s champagne.

I laugh, clinking my latte against it. ‘For now.’

The conversation shifts, and I notice Taylor practically glowing as she talks about her new job and her latest adventure in cooking.

‘So,’ I say, giving her a sly smile, ‘how are things with Austin?’

Taylor’s cheeks flush slightly, but she grins. ‘They’re… amazing, actually. Better than I ever expected.’

‘Good,’ I say. ‘Because you deserve it.’

Becca leans in, smirking. ‘Don’t leave out the juicy details. You know we’re dying to know.’

Taylor laughs, rolling her eyes. ‘Fine. If you must know, we’re ridiculously happy and stupidly in love, and I’m having the best sex of my life.’

Becca gasps dramatically. ‘The best? You? You’ve had some… adventurous relationships.’

Taylor shrugs, her grin turning smug. ‘What can I say? Austin’s full of surprises.’

I laugh so hard I nearly choke on my latte. ‘I’ll never look at him the same way again.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Taylor says, winking. ‘I’ll spare you the details. For now.’

The laughter carries us through the rest of our coffee date, and by the time we leave, I feel lighter, like I can actually breathe again.

When we get to the bakery, the smell of sugar and vanilla greets us like an old friend. Linda had really outdone herself finding this place—every display case is filled with intricately decorated cakes and pastries that look like art.

‘Ladies,’ a cheerful woman behind the counter says, smiling at us. ‘You must be Mia. Welcome! We’ve prepared a few samples for you to try.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, my excitement building as we’re led to a small table.

The samples are laid out in neat little rows—vanilla with raspberry filling, chocolate with hazelnut ganache, and a lemon cake that looks almost too beautiful to eat.

Becca takes one bite and moans dramatically. ‘Oh, this is it. This is the one.’

‘Which one?’ I ask, laughing.

‘All of them,’ she says, popping another bite into her mouth.

Taylor nods, her eyes wide. ‘Agreed. I don’t care what you pick, Mia. It’s going to be amazing.’

As I taste each sample, I realize they’re right. Any of these options would be perfect.

And for the first time in weeks, I actually feel like everything is going to come together.

As we leave the bakery, laughing and linking arms like we’re in some cheesy rom-com montage, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. The cake is sorted, the flowers are set, and I’m surrounded by people who remind me that even the craziest moments can be fun.

Then I hear the familiar voice that never fails to derail my day.

‘Mia!’

I stop in my tracks, turning slowly to see Cameron bounding toward me, clutching a bundle of sage in one hand and what looks like a small pouch of crystals in the other. His tie is slightly askew, and his energy is as chaotic as ever.

‘Oh no,’ Becca mutters under her breath, stepping closer like she’s preparing to shield me from impact.

‘Cameron,’ I say cautiously as he comes to a halt in front of us. ‘What… are you doing here?’

‘I heard about your wedding stress,’ he says, his expression deadly serious. ‘So I brought supplies.’

‘Supplies?’ I repeat, glancing at the sage.

He nods, holding it up like it’s the Holy Grail. ‘We’re going to align your chakras. Clear all the negative energy. Create a space for positive manifestation.’

Taylor snorts. ‘Wow, Cameron. Did you Google that, or did you learn it at a drum circle?’

Cameron ignores her, pulling out the crystals and arranging them in a haphazard line on the sidewalk. ‘This is rose quartz, for love. And this,’ he says, holding up something blue, ‘is sodalite, for clarity. You’ve been overthinking, haven’t you?’

‘Always,’ Becca mutters.

‘Exactly,’ Cameron says, pointing the sage at me. ‘So, we’ll do a quick energy cleanse. Should only take an hour.’

‘An hour?’ I say, laughing despite myself.

‘I’ll handle this,’ Becca says, stepping forward. ‘Cameron, why don’t you save the sage for the bachelorette party?’

‘Oh, good idea,’ Cameron says, immediately distracted. ‘Sage and sangria. It’s happening.’

As he wanders off, muttering about logistics, I shake my head, laughing. ‘I don’t know why I still let him surprise me.’

‘Because you secretly love the chaos,’ Taylor says, smirking.

When I get back to Miguel’s apartment later that evening, Felicity is waiting for me in the living room, twirling in her flower girl dress. The soft white fabric flutters around her as she spins, and she looks up at me with the biggest, brightest smile.

‘Mia, look!’ she says, holding out the skirt like she’s showing off a ball gown. ‘Do I look like a princess?’

‘You look like the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen,’ I say, kneeling down to her level.

Her grin widens as she throws her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t wait for the wedding. I get to wear sparkles and walk with flowers, and then you’ll be my stepmom forever!’

The weight of her words hits me, and my throat tightens. ‘I can’t wait either,’ I whisper, holding her close.

Miguel steps into the room, his face softening as he takes in the scene. ‘She’s been twirling in that dress for an hour,’ he says, smiling.

‘She’s perfect,’ I say, my voice catching slightly.

He nods. ‘Yeah, she is.’

The night of the rehearsal dinner, the restaurant is buzzing with energy as both of our families gather in one place for the first time. My brothers, Nate and Josh, are already causing trouble, hovering near Miguel with overly serious expressions.

‘So, you’re the guy marrying our sister,’ Nate says, crossing his arms.

Miguel shifts slightly, glancing at me for help, but I’m across the room talking to my mom.

‘That’s me,’ Miguel says, trying to sound confident.

Josh leans in, narrowing his eyes. ‘You know, we’re pretty protective of Mia. We don’t just let anyone into the family.’

‘Right,’ Nate adds. ‘And we’ve got rules.’

‘Rules?’ Miguel repeats, looking increasingly panicked.

Before they can go any further, I rush over, sliding between them and taking Miguel’s arm. ‘Okay, that’s enough,’ I say, glaring at my brothers. ‘You two are not scaring my fiancé.’

Nate and Josh burst out laughing, clapping Miguel on the back. ‘Relax,’ Nate says. ‘We’re just messing with you.’

‘You’re lucky I love you,’ I mutter, but I can’t help laughing as Miguel lets out a relieved sigh.

The rest of the night is filled with laughter, toasts, and stories from both sides of the family. By the end of the evening, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and I can see the same warmth reflected in Miguel’s eyes.

Later, back at the apartment, I sit on the edge of Felicity’s bed, tucking her in.

‘Tomorrow’s the big day,’ I say softly, brushing a curl from her face.

‘I know,’ she whispers, her eyes shining. ‘Are you excited?’

I nod, my throat tightening again. ‘More than anything.’

She reaches up to take my hand, her little fingers curling around mine. ‘I’m happy you’re marrying Daddy. Now we’ll all be together forever.’

Tears sting my eyes, and I lean down to kiss her forehead. ‘Me too, sweetheart. Me too.’

As I turn off the light and head to my room, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed—not by stress, but by love. Tomorrow, everything changes.

And I’ve never been more ready.