Mister, can you pretend to be my mommy’s date the little girl asked, what the single dad did

An Urgent Emergency at Morrison’s Books

“Mister, can you pretend to be my mommy’s date?” the little girl asked.

What the single dad did next changed everything. Before we continue, please tell us: where in the world are you tuning in from? We love seeing how far our stories travel.

Grant Morrison was restocking the children’s section of his bookstore on a Saturday morning in October. A kid he’d never seen before came barreling through the front door like she was being chased by something terrifying.

She ran straight up to him with wild eyes and grabbed onto his flannel shirt like he was her last hope on earth.

“Mister, please, you have to help me! Can you pretend to be my mommy’s date? It’s a huge emergency, I’m not kidding!”

Grant just stood there holding a copy of Charlotte’s Web, completely frozen. In eight years of running Morrison’s Books, nobody had ever asked him anything even remotely close to that question.

His own daughter, Holly, looked up from the reading corner where she’d been organizing her favorite picture books.

“Dad, I think that girl needs help with something, like that wasn’t already extremely obvious.”

Grant knelt down to the kid’s level because she looked genuinely panicked. He had that dad instinct that kicks in when any child seems distressed, even if they’re a complete stranger.

“Okay, slow down. What’s your name, and where’s your mom?”

The little girl took a huge breath and the words came tumbling out at approximately 100 miles per hour.

“My name’s Kennedy, and my mom’s Simone. She is at the cafe next door with my dead dad’s parents. They brought mom’s ex-boyfriend—well, not really her ex-boyfriend, he was my dad’s friend from college.”

“They’re trying to make mom date him. Grandpa Frank and Grandma Patricia keep making mom cry. I heard them talking about wanting me to live with them, and I’m really scared.”

Grant’s brain was trying to process all of that information. He was also dealing with the fact that this seven-year-old had just dropped the phrase “dead dad” into casual conversation.

Before he could even formulate a response, the bookstore door flew open again. A woman came rushing in looking absolutely mortified.

“Kennedy Anne Fletcher, you do not run away from the table like that! I’m so sorry, sir. She’s been watching too many rom-coms lately. We’re leaving right now!”

The woman grabbed for Kennedy’s hand, but the kid dodged behind Grant like he was a human shield. She was probably mid-thirties with dark hair in a ponytail and crooked glasses, looking like she was holding it together by her fingernails.

“Mom, please just listen! I found someone who can pretend to be your boyfriend so Grandma and Grandpa will stop trying to set you up with boring Mike, who talks about golf for a million hours!”

Kennedy was pleading now. Simone looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Grant saw movement through the window and spotted an older couple walking toward the shop.

The way Simone’s face went pale told him everything he needed to know about how much she did not want to deal with what was about to happen. Something in Grant’s brain made a split-second decision.

“How long do you need me to be your date?”

Simone’s jaw literally dropped open.

“Excuse me, what?”

Grant shrugged, trying to act like this was a totally normal thing he did on Saturdays.

“Your daughter asked for help. I’m offering. How long do we need to sell this?”

Kennedy’s entire face lit up like Grant had just told her Christmas was coming early.

“Just lunch! They’re buying! Please, mister, please! My mom really needs this!”

Holly popped up from the reading corner with her book still in hand.

“Dad, can I come too? I want to help. And also, I’ve never seen you on a date before. This sounds interesting.”

Grant rubbed his face, thinking about how his eight-year-old was now invested in this absolute chaos. Simone looked between Grant, Kennedy, and the older couple who were now walking into the bookstore.

“Okay, fine. Yes, thank you. We’ll explain everything later, I promise.”

She grabbed Grant’s hand and plastered on a smile that looked only slightly deranged right as the older couple walked through the door.

“Oh, there you are, Kennedy. We were worried.”

“And who’s this?”

The older woman asked with polite suspicion. Simone squeezed Grant’s hand so hard he thought his bones might break.

“Mom and Dad, this is Grant. He’s my… um… we’ve been seeing each other for a little while now.”