“Have you spoken to her?” he asks.
“Not since she arrived.” I sigh, dropping my gaze away from where Tate’s talking animatedly to Molly and admiring the rabbit whiskers on her cheeks.
“She’s been popular.” My father chuckles.
“Everyone who meets her loves her,” I mumble, reaching for the sugar.
“Everyone loves her, huh?” my father muses, arching a knowing brow at me.
I shake my head with a frown. “Halliday’s turned you into a romantic.”
“I always was one. It just took Hallie to bring it out.”
I nod in understanding. I know my father never loved my mother the way he loves Halliday. But he tried. For years he was the best husband and father he could be. And my mother gambled with it all by having an affair with Neil. We’ll never know what would have happened if she hadn’t died that day. But I can be certain that my father’s eyes wouldn’t sparkle the way they do whenever he says Halliday’s name.
“Don’t let opportunities pass you, Son. I know something worth fighting for when I see it.” His eyes track to where Sinclair’s wrapped around Denver’s side, whispering something into his ear.
My chest tightens, the way it has every time Tate’s looked up and caught me staring at her. But she’s never come over. It’s like she doesn’t want to talk to me.
“I don’t know what she’s thinking,” I confess, hating that I’m showing weakness. I always get my own way in business. I’m the one that’s in control. The one with the upper hand. The one who always knows the outcome will be in my favor. Because I won’t allow it not to be.
“She’s here isn’t she? She came,” my father says. “And if that doesn’t tell you enough, then just ask her.”
“That easy?” I snort, knowing full well this is one outcome I’m not in control of.
He claps me on the shoulder again. “It’s as hard as you want to make it, Son.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Find a way that speaks to her.”
He moves away and I look up, seeing the reason for his smooth departure.
“The kids are having a great time.” Tate smiles shyly from the other side of the bar, curling her hands around the edge of it and gripping on like she’s glad of its presence. It’s like a barrier shielding her from any more hurt I can cause her.
“They are,” I agree.
“Are you?”
Her question catches me off guard, and I look into her eyes. She isn’t looking away anymore. She’s looking right at me like my answer means something.
“I have a photo of Slade out on display in our apartment.”
Her brows pop up. “You do?”
“A few, actually.”
She smiles softly. “I’m glad.”
“You should come over? See what’s different and…”
I run my tongue over my teeth, unable to finish due to the way her lips part like she’s moments away from thinking up an excuse. But then my father’s words ring in my ears and I take a deep breath, remembering who I am.
“I want you to come back around,” I say, holding her gaze without apology. “I want you to come and cook with us again. Bathe Molly with me. Read to her with me. I want you back in both of our lives. And this time I won’t ever try and make you walk out of it again.”
“Sull—”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to show you how much I mean that.”
