Lilah was edging toward the door, but he didn’t want to leave it like that, especially with him going out. “Listen,” he said. “It’s great that you went on that trip with your mom. I’d love you to have a relationship with her. I really would.” Deep down he wasn’t sure if this was quite true, but he needed to say it. He dropped a kiss on her head. “I’m on your side, okay?”
She surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and burrowing into his chest. “Okay.”
He held her close.Goddamn Sophie. He had no doubt she would disappoint again. How many more times until Lilah was too bitter to care? Until she grew into an adult who could trust no one.
Lilah squirmed away, ready to move on. “Wear that one,” she said, tossing him the red shirt. “And don’t tuck it in.”
“Won’t it look messy that way?”
“You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
“Tucking in my shirt is trying too hard?” Could that be true? Maybe with the middle school set. He was starting to regret this. He had no hope of impressing Cassie. She was a lawyer who lived in New York. She probably pulled down three times what he did and undoubtedly knew her wines. He was who he was. A beekeeper who drove a pickup with his name on the side. A big night out in the Marsden house was bringing home Thai food and watching a movie on Netflix. No point trying to be something he wasn’t.
But here he was trying on a bunch of shirts with his stomach all wound up. He hadn’t been on a date in ages. He barely remembered how to talk to a woman. He’d gone out a little here and there over the years—a divorced mom from Lilah’s school, then someone his brother fixed him up with. But no one he was very interested in. Anyway, Cassie had made it plain she was a short-timer. She’d be gone in a few weeks or a month at most.
Lilah gave the red flannel a thumbs up and whipped out her phone to take a picture. “You look good.”
“What are you doing?” he said, alarmed. “Who are you sending that to?”
“Just Crystal. I told her you had a date.”
“You better not post that anywhere,” he warned as she skipped out of the room.
She giggled. “Don’t worry.”
“I won’t be late,” he called as he trooped downstairs. It felt beyond strange, heading out on a date with his twelve-year-old daughter waiting up at home.
He gave Charlie a rub and headed for the door. Then, glancing back to make sure Lilah was out of sight, tucked in his shirt again.
At least he would look like a grown up.
...
He and Cassie had agreed to meet at Pascuale’s, a popular Italian place in town. Cassie was already there when he arrived, which made him feel right away that he’d started off badly. He’d wanted to be polite and arrive first, but there she was, waiting at the hostess stand wearing black pants and a pale blue sweater. Heels too. He’d never seen her in heels.
She gave him a friendly wave, and he felt a sudden rush of anxiety. Should he kiss her hello? Shaking hands seemed too formal. What was the protocol with someone you barely knew? And a client, to boot. Wait. Was she his client, or was it her dad?
She rescued him with a quick hug. “Hey, you look nice. I like the shirt.”
He gave a sheepish laugh. “Lilah’s doing. She basically told me I needed to step up my game.”
Cassie laughed and his stomach unclenched a little. “She has good taste.”
“She thinks I’m hopeless.”
She tossed him a smile as they followed the hostess to their table. “Of course she does, you’re her dad.”
Pascuale’s had a bistro feel with tables packed close and waitstaff dashing around, lighting candles. Exposed brick withblack and white photos of Tuscany on the walls. The place was busy, and Glenn’s stomach knotted up again as they waited for what seemed like a long time to order drinks. What if they ran out of things to say, and everything became slow and wrong. He wassonot good at this.
But Cassie seemed unfazed. “I’ve never been here. It’s charming. My dad’s go-to place is Bobby’s—burgers and fries and orange soda. The same thing every time.” Her gaze lingered on the room, which was starting to fill. “These days he wouldn’t know what to do with candles and white tablecloths.” She sounded a bit wistful.
“Believe me, tablecloths are normally above my paygrade too,” Glenn said, and her smile eased the tight feeling he’d been carrying around. She was beautiful across the table in the candlelight, her hair dark and full, the sweater just low enough to be distracting.
When the waiter finally appeared they both ordered a glass of wine, Chardonnay for her, Cab for him.
“I pegged you for a beer drinker,” she said playfully.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do all the beekeepers you know drink beer?”
