“Hey, bug.” He didn’t look up. “How was work?”
“I have a date tonight.” I blurted out before I could lose my nerve.
He paused. Blinked. Lowered the knife. “What?”
“It’s casual. Or — it’s not. I don’t know. It’s new.”
He turned to face me, not saying anything. An eyebrowquirked upwards, along with the corner of his mouth. “Is he — she? — coming here?”
“Yeah,” I was blushing. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “He should be here soon.”
“Who is he?” He lowered his readers, knife still in his hand.
“Just some guy.” I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “You don’t have to wait up.”
The doorbell rang, and I about jumped out of my skin. “Is that some guy?” My dad asked with a huge grin, pushing past me.
“Maybe put the steak knife down?” I shouted after him, burying my head in my hands.
“Absolutely not.” I heard his voice in the hallway. “I did a piss-poor job of protecting you from the last jackass. I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt again.”
Tears pricked my eyes. He was a man of few words, butGodwas I lucky to have him.
“Good evening.” He swung the door open. “Welc?—”
Silence.
Awkward, stilted silence.
I knew I should save him —bothof them — but I would let them stew, just for a minute.
“Holy fuck. You’re Eryk Moonstrider.”
“I go by Ansel these days, sir.” I peeked around the kitchen door, and there they were — Ansel Barlowe and my father, shaking hands like some deeply cursed crossover episode.
“Junie,” my dad’s voice rang out. “Your caller is here.”
And in Ansel’s other hand?
A bouquet of sunflowers.
Bright, golden, hopeful.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” he said, catching my eye. “But I looked up what flowers weren’t toxic to cats, and apparently sunflowers are safe for Lance.”
My heart didn’t stand achance.
Dad let out a low whistle under his breath. “I like this guy,” he muttered, stepping aside to let Ansel in.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already heading toward the kitchen, knife still in one hand, patting Ansel on the shoulder likehe’dinvited him.
And then Ansel turned to me with that crooked little smile, holding out the flowers like they were a peace offering and he was still hoping I might forgive him for being exactly what I wanted.
“Hi,” he said, quiet.
I reached out and took the bouquet, fingers brushing his.
“Hi.”
