Maybe she was wrong.But I don’t think I am.
She walked down the long hallway and into the kitchen. Her father was at the sink, rinsing his plate and loading it into the dishwasher. He looked up with his usual welcoming grin. He quickly dried off his hands and walked over, taking her in for a hug.
He gives the best hugs.
“This is a surprise. Keeping your old man on his toes, huh?”
Roxanne chuckled and stepped back. “Always. But I had an ulterior motive. I got the final report for the gala. Thought you’d like to check out the numbers.” She handed him the paper and watched as he read. Most people would’ve looked at the total immediately. Not her dad. A minute later, his lips spread in a wide smile.
“Never had donations this big.” He arched his brow. “Thinking they’re going to ask you to do it again next year.”
“They already did.” She’d gotten the call just before she left the office along with the final numbers. It’d exceeded everyone’s expectations, including her own.
Roxanne couldn’t wait to share the news with her family. But she wanted her dad to hear it first. Her parents had always been huge supporters of the organization. It’s what brought their family together.
“That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” He folded his arms around her for another hug. “And your mom would be too.”
Roxanne inhaled a breath and tightened her hold. He never missed an opportunity to remind them all how proud she would’ve been of her kids and their accomplishments.
Her father patted her on the back and gestured to the breakfast bar. “You hungry? I can heat some leftovers for you.”
Roxanne rounded the counter, making her way to the fridge and grabbing a soda. She’d sworn off sweet drinks years ago but always made an exception at her dad’s house. It reminded her of her childhood. Growing up, sodas were meant for special occasions. Family barbecues and holidays only. For that reason alone, it always tasted better when she had one at home. There was something very comforting about nostalgia.
“No, I’m good, Dad.” She sat on the stool, cracking open the can. “Heading over to T and Cassie’s for dinner.”
He smiled. “That’s right, family dinner. I like that you kids do that.”
Roxanne sipped her soda and placed the can down. She rested her elbows on the counter, eyeing her father.
“Well, can we really call it a family dinner if the entire family isn’t there?”
He stilled but recovered quickly and conveniently changed the subject. “I bet with all the accolades you received from the gala, you’ll be raking in more business. How’s that going?”
Roxanne inhaled a breath, and her shoulders slumped.
“Uh oh.”
Roxanne smiled, shaking her head. “New client. Melody Rollins. She’s …” Roxanne paused, searching for the right word. It was important to stay professional.
He cocked his brow. “A nightmare?”
She slapped her hands on the counter, unable to contain herself, and blurted, “Yes!”
Her father chuckled, and Roxanne rolled her eyes. “I get it, Dad. I’ve done enough weddings to know that it’s one of the most important days in a couple's life. I understand wanting it all to be perfect. And I know some people, mainly brides, have been thinking of this day for most of their lives. I get it.” She sighed. “But this one? Demanding, particular, and isn’t opento hearing anyone's thoughts, including her parents, who are footing the bill for this obnoxious monstrosity.”
Roxanne would’ve arrived thirty minutes earlier at her dad’s had it not been for a call from Melody. She spent thirty minutes trying to convince the bride that while having doves released at the ceremony was a beautiful idea, dyeing them pink wasnot. She felt a migraine coming on just thinking about the bridezilla. It was Roxanne’s turn to change the subject.
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.” She smirked and lifted her chin toward the foyer. “Saw your luggage by the door. Going on a trip?”
Her dad smiled, shrugging his shoulder. He was trying to play it off, but she saw right through the facade. He would’ve been more convincing had he not looked away.
“Just a long weekend getaway.”
Roxanne took another sip of her drink. Her father was going to continue the charade. Or at least, he was going to try. She had other ideas.
“Are you driving?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be flying.”
