Part 1: The Girls Beneath the Table
The first little girl slipped beneath my restaurant table while I was replying to an email. Seconds later, three more crawled in after her. All four were dressed in matching coats, and the smallest clung tightly to my trouser leg.
“Mister, could you pretend to be our daddy? Just until that man leaves?”
I glanced toward the entrance. Their mother stood beside a well-dressed businessman who seemed set on talking, no matter how plainly uncomfortable she was.
For twenty years, I had built a reputation that made powerful people hesitate before challenging me. Yet four little girls had somehow talked me into something no business associate would ever have dared to ask. I agreed. I assumed it would last ten minutes.
I had no idea that one of those girls would soon find a message tucked inside her late father’s favorite book, revealing a secret that could change her mother’s future.
My name is Nathaniel Mercer, and at forty-six, I had grown used to eating alone. That Thursday afternoon, I was having a late lunch at a quiet restaurant near Chicago’s River North neighborhood. The October sky outside was gray, and people hurried along the sidewalk beneath their umbrellas.
I had picked a corner table because it was private, and privacy mattered to me. I owned a commercial investment firm, held stakes in several properties across Illinois, and dealt with people who rarely accepted an answer they didn’t like. My employees called me demanding. My competitors called me intimidating. Neither label troubled me much.
But nothing in my professional life had prepared me for four children crawling under my table.
The oldest looked about ten. She had dark brown hair, serious gray eyes, and the expression of someone who had already shouldered more responsibility than she should. The second seemed around eight and was holding her younger sister’s hand. The third, maybe seven, kept glancing nervously toward the entrance. The smallest couldn’t have been older than five.
I leaned forward. “Well, this is unusual. Are you girls looking for someone?”
The oldest shook her head. “We’re looking for someone who can help our mom.”
“Is your mother here?”
Four little fingers pointed toward the entrance. A beautiful woman in her late thirties stood beside two businessmen. She wore a tailored powder-blue blazer over an ivory blouse, and her chestnut hair fell neatly to her shoulders. She looked composed, but I noticed how tightly she gripped her handbag. One of the men kept talking while she repeatedly tried to cut in.
“That’s our mom,” the oldest explained. “And the man next to her won’t listen when she says no.”
I looked back at the girls. “What are your names?”
“I’m Harper,” the oldest answered. “That’s Willa, Phoebe, and our little sister, Nell.”
Nell promptly wrapped both arms around my knee. “Please be our daddy for a little while. We promise we’ll be good.”
There was something painfully sincere in her plea. I lowered my voice. “Why do you need a pretend father?”
Harper glanced toward the businessman. “Because Mr. Prescott thinks Mom needs to marry him. He says four girls need a man to make their family complete.”
Willa frowned. “But our family was already complete before he started saying that.”
Something tightened in my chest. My wife had passed away five years earlier, leaving me to raise our son, Owen, now fourteen. I remembered how often people had hinted that our home needed another woman. They usually meant well. But they rarely understood how those words sounded to a grieving child.
I set my phone facedown. “All right, ladies. I can help for a few minutes.”
Nell’s face lit up. “Really? You can be our daddy?”
“Only until your mother sorts things out.”
Harper eyed me suspiciously. “Are you sure? Because Mr. Prescott is very stubborn.”
I smiled. “I’ve dealt with stubborn people before.”
I coaxed the girls out from beneath the table. Nell immediately climbed onto the empty chair beside mine, while her sisters arranged themselves around us as if we were holding a family meeting. Harper was explaining their situation when their mother finally spotted them. Her expression changed instantly, and she hurried across the restaurant.
“Harper! Willa! Phoebe! Nell! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The girls fell silent. I stood. “They’re all right. They were just keeping me company.”
The woman looked deeply embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. They know they’re not supposed to approach strangers.”
Before I could reassure her, Nell announced proudly, “He’s not a stranger, Mommy. He’s our new pretend daddy!”
For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then the woman’s cheeks turned pink. “Nell, sweetheart, you can’t just choose someone to be your father.”
“But Harper said we needed help, and he looked nice.”
I offered my hand. “Nathaniel Mercer.”
Recognition crossed her face. “Eliza Whitcomb. I’ve heard of you.”
“Hopefully nothing too terrible.”
She smiled faintly. “Mostly that you’re very difficult to negotiate with.”
“Only when the other person isn’t listening.”
Her smile faded a little. At that moment, the businessman walked over. He was tall, polished, perhaps forty-five, in an expensive charcoal suit, wearing the confident look of a man who expected the world to make room for him.
“Eliza, we still haven’t finished discussing the proposal.” Then his eyes slid to me, and something in them sharpened. “Nathaniel Mercer. I didn’t realize you were here.”
