There were times in my life when I’d had to put my foot down.

“No, Lucy. We are not getting a baby goat.”

“But, Dad! Come on! I heard they can live indoors, and you can train them to—”

“I said no. Not up for discussion.”

“But, Dad!” Lucy tossed her strawberry-blonde, shoulder-length hair and huffed a long-suffering sigh. Her blue eyes, his eyes, sent me an accusatory glare.

“Are you ready to go? The bus will be here in a minute, and I’ve got to get to work.”

Lucy side-eyed me as she grabbed her jacket and picked up her backpack. “You work from home.”

I shook my head. “Not today. I’m going into the office.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“Patrick will be here when you get off the bus,” I said, ever grateful that my nephew didn’t mind spending a couple of hours with his younger cousin a couple of times a week.

“Cool. Hey, Dad, think about the goat idea,” she said as she opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind her.

“Fuck,” I said. “No fucking goats. Jesus.”

I turned to look down at the dogs, who gazed at me with expectation in their eyes. “The two of you are enough.”

I slipped on my fall boots and leather jacket, then hitched the dogs to their leashes and we left. I took a direction opposite to where Lucy would be waiting for the school bus, since she’d probably start talking to me about goats again. It was a good thing that she was so tenacious. It would serve her well in the future. But right now, with only me to win over, it was annoying and exhausting. For about the hundredth time, I wished that Daniel were still here helping me to raise this spitfire of a girl that had many of his physical characteristics and his outgoing personality.

I didn’t regret being a dad. Lucy was my reason for getting up in the morning and for fighting against the grief that had threatened to pull me under those first couple of years. I loved her so much, and it would have been nice to have had someone to help me raise her.

But, yeah, sometimes the best laid plans go to shit. I pushed memories of Daniel and our life together out of my head and took the dogs over to the neighborhood park so they could do their business. This was my morning ritual, and it wasn’t a bad one. I had Lucy and I had the dogs—Cocoa, an overweight chocolate Lab just shy of being a senior, and Eddy, a younger, more energetic corgi cross. I had a job I enjoyed and only had to go into the office two days a week—and my twenty-one-year-old nephew, Patrick, who looked after Lucy for me when he could.

It wasn’t a terrible life.

I was an editor and copywriter at a Toronto-based publisher, and the Ottawa offices were located smack downtown in a sun-filled building on Slater Street. It wasn’t a hardship to be there, but the fact that I could spend most of my week working from home was a godsend, especially as a single parent. Even the two-day-in-person per week requirement could be adjusted if there were events at home that required attention. It did me good to get out of the house. Most of my life revolved around Lucy and the animals, so to be in an adult environment with no distractions was a good break from it all.

My day went predictably well. I was working on a couple of different projects so could switch things up if I got bored. The deadlines were still a couple of weeks away, and I was making good progress, so I wasn’t stressed about getting them done.

When I got back home at five-thirty, Patrick and Lucy were in the middle of a game of Monopoly.

“Who’s winning?” I asked.

“Me!” Lucy stated.

I laughed and met Patrick’s gaze. “You’ve got to stop letting her win.”

“Hey!” my daughter said with indignation.

“I’m not. She’s got good instincts and a way with money. You’d better watch out.” Patrick stood. “Sorry, cuz, I’ve got to go,” he said to Lucy. He looked at his watch.

“But we’re in the middle of a game,” Lucy whined, “that I’m winning!”

“Just leave it, and we’ll continue it Thursday when I’m here again.”

“Fine.”

“I have to drive Patrick to work. See you in about thirty minutes?”

I was only beginning to feel comfortable leaving Lucy on her own for a half hour every now and then. It was possible that, if Daniel hadn’t died, Lucy and I would be further along on our journey toward her independence, but his unexpected passing had affected every part of our lives.

“Yep.”

“Don’t answer the door to anyone, okay? You know the drill.”

“I know the drill.”

Come to think of it, Lucy didn’t answer the door when I was here. She waited for me to do it.

“So how is Maverick Molly’s these days?” I asked Patrick.

He was a server at a relatively new entertainment venue that had set up in a quieter part of Centertown about a year ago. It was called Maverick Molly’s and heralded itself as a kink club and gaming parlor. I’d never been inside but Patrick raved about the place.

“It’s fun. I get great tips,” Patrick said, grinning.

Patrick had told me that the owners, Jacob and Sebastian Moriarty, had the young male servers dress in vintage Victorian undergarments. It sounded bizarre, and I couldn’t imagine it. I didn’t acquaint myself much with historical dress, so I didn’t even know what that meant.

There had been a day when the appearance of a new kink club in town would have been of interest to me, but those times were gone—buried with Daniel and better off laid to rest.

As I drove out of the driveway and down the street, I realized that I should have used the bathroom before we’d left. I needed to piss, but Patrick’s workplace was only a ten-minute drive away. I could hold it until I got back home.

Or could I?

By the time we pulled up to Maverick Molly’s I realized the situation was more urgent than I’d thought.

“Um, Patrick?”

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand on the door handle.

“Do you think I could come in and use the washroom? I should have gone before we left my place…”

“Sure. Of course. There’s one in the staff changing room.”

“Oh, thank God,” I muttered, embarrassed.

I parked in the spot right behind where we’d stopped and followed Patrick up the steps and through the front doors. The sounds of conversation, laughter and light jazz piano, trickled out of a nearby room and into the carpeted hallway. A rack of hangers with jackets and coats on them sat to the left, and I could see doors to another room at the end of the hall.

A tall man with blond hair in a ponytail, holding a bar cloth and wearing fancy clothes from another time that made him look like a Victorian gentleman, came toward us.

“Patrick, hey.” He smiled. The lines on his face spoke of a good disposition and graceful aging.

“Hey, Sebastian! This is my Uncle Fletcher,” Patrick said, gesturing to me.

“Lovely to meet you. Welcome to Maverick Molly’s. Sebastian Moriarty.”

He held out his graceful hand. I shook it and looked around.

“This is…a cool spot.”

Even the entry hall gave off Victorian vibes. The interior design had been expertly done. There were crown moldings on the high plastered ceiling, what looked like hardwood underfoot and pieces of antique furniture against the walls. Replica oil lamps hung on the walls to give the place the soft glow of a decades-old salon.

“Thank you so much,” Sebastian said. “Are you here for a drink or—?”

“He needs the washroom,” Patrick said.

“I’m so sorry. I should have gone at home,” I said.

“I’ll just take him into the changing room.”

“Of course. All the servers are on the floor.” Sebastian nodded to me, then said to Patrick. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Yep.”

“Thanks so much,” I said.

“No worries at all.” Sebastian smiled and went into the other room, above which a sign said ‘Gaming Parlor’.

I followed Patrick through a door marked ‘Staff Only’ into a large, sparsely decorated space with a couple of chairs and a beat-up settee.

“Washroom’s just there,” Patrick said, pointing to a door at the back.

“Thanks.” I hastened into a room with two stalls and a urinal, did my business quickly and washed my hands.

When I came out, I was greeted to the sight of Patrick sitting on the settee in a pair of lacy panties and a garter belt, pulling a black stocking up his calf.

“Better?” he asked, as I stood there, staring.

“Oh my God, yes. Thank you.” I stood there, gobsmacked. “They really get you to dress authentically, don’t they?”

Patrick smiled and attached the top of his stocking to the belt.

“Uh-huh. It takes some getting used to.”

The door to the changing area swung open. A young man wearing white bloomers and a corset over a white linen blouse came into the room. He had makeup on, black nail polish and spiky, shortish hair.

He stopped when he caught sight of me.

“Oh shit. I didn’t know we could have guests in here.” He looked back and forth between the two of us.

“Hi, Toby. This is my Uncle Fletcher.”

“Oh, okay,” Toby said. “That explains everything.”

“He needed to use the washroom.”

Toby put a hand on his hip. “A likely story. Or did he only want to see me in my bloomers?”

“So sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” I said, moving toward the exit.

“Not so fast Mr.…” Toby crossed his arms over his corset and looked at Patrick with raised eyebrows.

“Marin. Fletcher Marin,” Patrick said with an amused look at his saucy coworker.

“Mr. Marin. I need to memorize the way you look standing in the midst of a pile of Victorian undergarments in your”—he looked me over and sighed—“fancy business suit.”

“Toby,” Patrick warned, standing up and pulling on a pair of white bloomers that he buttoned at his waist.

“What?” Toby said, keeping his gaze on me.

I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Ironic that I was the one on display when the two of them were wearing vintage underclothes.

“I’m enjoying the aesthetic,” Toby murmured, his eyes still on me.

“Did you need something?” Patrick asked.

“Oh shit. Yeah. I forgot my choker.”

Why was I still standing there?

“Oh,” I laughed awkwardly. “I’d better get home to Lucy.”

Toby gave me a piercing look. “Your wife?”

“Oh no,” I laughed in earnest this time. “Lucy’s my daughter.”

Toby whistled. “I knew there were daddy vibes.” He looked me over wistfully.

If these were the kind of theatrics that went on at Maverick Molly’s every day, no wonder it was doing so well.

Now Patrick was laughing. “Oh my God, Toby, stop. I don’t want to think about my uncle that way.”

I started for the door.

“Wait,” Toby called.

I turned to see him standing by a row of cubbies, holding something black in his fingers.

“Would you help me with my necklace, Mr. Marin?” He batted his eyelashes at me with a saucy grin.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “How does Alastair even put up with you? I’m gonna tell him you asked a strange man in a suit to dress you.”

Toby collapsed into irreverent laughter and put on the choker, attaching the clasp in the back and meeting my gaze with dancing eyes. “Ah, he’s not that strange. Sorry. I’m a fucking brat. Can’t seem to stop.”

“Cute,” I said. He was very cute. “I’d better go. Thanks, Patrick.”

“You’re welcome. See you.”

I took one more look at saucy Toby and got the hell out of there. Those outfits were incredibly titillating—not so much on my nephew, although he did look adorable.

But on Toby? I didn’t know who this Alastair guy was, but if Toby was his partner, he was a very lucky man.

When I got back home, Lucy was doing homework at the table and feeding Eddie bits of cheese off her plate.

“Lucy,” I said, “you know I don’t like you feeding him from the table.”

“But he’s hungry. And he loves cheese so much.”

Pick your battles. Pick your battles.

I went upstairs to change out of my suit, thinking about Maverick Molly’s and the pleasant atmosphere and good-humored employees. But there was no point, because I didn’t have anyone to take there, and I’d be damned if I’d go by myself. And anyway, I didn’t have time, with Lucy and the dogs and work.

I sat down on the bed in my boxer briefs and picked up the photo of Daniel that I kept on my bedside table.

“You would love that place,” I said, talking as if he were in front of me and not six feet underground in the Capital Gardens Cemetery. “I wish it had been there before you…”

I blinked, thinking I had more tears to shed over the loss of my husband and partner and co-parent. But there was nothing. Only a memory that came to me of holding Lucy for the first time. Lucy, our daughter, who was now my number-one priority, and meant I didn’t have time to go gallivanting around to kink clubs or even to find someone to share a pleasant meal with.

The loneliness of my current existence hit me all of a sudden, but I pushed it away and thought back to that incredible moment twelve years earlier.

“My God,” I said, as Daniel placed our baby in my arms. “She’s so beautiful!”

I blinked back tears as I stared at our daughter’s—our daughter’s!— perfect face.

“She does have my genes,” Daniel said, touching his fingertip to her cheek. “Of course she’s beautiful.”

I nodded, at a loss for words. She was so tiny and miraculous! I thanked the universe for Daniel, for our surrogate, Tamara, and for a world that allowed us to experience parenthood the way we wanted. It hadn’t been easy, but Daniel had wanted a child so badly and I loved him so much, and even though I was scared of the responsibility of guarding and guiding a new life, I’d been a hundred percent on board.

“So…what do you think? Do you still want to go with ‘Riley’?”

“I don’t know. She looks more like a ‘Lucy’.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “So traditional.”

“But everyone’s naming their kids ‘Riley’ these days. ’Lucy’ may be kind of traditional but it’s not common.”

“Lucy, huh,” Daniel said, moving the cloth of the hospital blanket so he could see our daughter’s face. “All right, then.”

As it always did, my gut clenched at these heartwarming memories, and now the tears threatened. I sighed and stood, blinking them back, and got dressed.