My jaw clenches. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
He tips his bottle toward me. “It looks like you’re plotting all the ways to turn her boyfriend into a hashtag.”
He’s not wrong.
Camden glimpses at the furry mutt on the other side of the glass. “You could always do what I did . . .”
“That’s cute, sport, but I don’t play hockey. I can’t just steal center ice and make some big proclamation.” It was all over the news when he did it with Jordan. He’s a walking cliché.
“No shit.” He points at Chicken Salad. “I’m talking about a dog, dumbass.”
I chuckle. “I’m not surprising her with a pet.”
“Why not? I did.”
My head rolls to the side. “No, Chicken Salad was already Jordan’s.
You just returned her to her.”
He groans. “Fine, then you get a dog. Hell, you could pick up some stray off the street and she’ll be all over you. She’ll wanna spend every minute with the dog, and by the transitive property, she’ll want to spend every minute with you. Or . . . and hear me out . . . you quit being a little bitch and just tell her how you feel.”
“You realize Kelly and I are friends, right? I don’t have to lure her with animals,” I remind him. “But a dog isn’t the worst idea in the world.”
He throws his hands up, and thankfully, none of the beer in his drink spills on the sofa. “God, you’re fucking pathetic. This whole intimidating, dark vibe you have going on is such a sham. Can’t even tell a girl how you feel. Jesus Christ.”
I smile and take a sip of my beer. He seems genuinely irritated about it, which I find amusing. She’ll know soon enough, but this isn’t something I’m leaving to chance. In order to keep the situation under control, I can’t become hasty and skip any steps. The timing is essential. I promised Clyde I’d let her choose—or at least give her the illusion of choice. She has to come to the conclusion on her own that Jason isn’t good for her . . . but that doesn’t mean I can’t speed up the process.
After Camden left, I was able to finish ordering all the promotional gear for the expo. I went through our quarterly profits to make sure we’re on track and, as usual, we are. When I exit out of the spreadsheet, the last open window is the shop’s calendar.Kelly’s birthday is next week.I’m almost finished with her gift.
My eyes catch on the wooden lockbox along the shelf. Clyde gave it to me about a month before he passed. I stare at it for a moment before pulling it down and turning the six numbered dials to the right combination—his late wife’s measurements. If I were to guess, I’d say they’re probably the same as Kelly’s—fucking stacked.
Clyde had lots of pictures of Nancy in his office, most from before Kelly was born. The similarities between mother and daughter are staggering. Alberto Vargas is probably rolling in his fucking grave that he didn’t get a chance to paint either of the Everhart women. Kelly is all curves with a pretty face, the perfect pinup model.
I open the box to the stack of sealed envelopes. The sight of his penmanship is a heavy blow. He entrusted me with these handwritten letters to give to Kelly as she got older. There’s one for every birthday until she’s fifty. The man squeezed every drop of life out of his time on earth.
He lost the love of his life early, and even through his grief, he somehow managed to raise an incredible daughter on his own. I wish he were here to give these letters to Kelly himself. I flip through some of the non-birthday ones.
WHEN KELLY FINISHES HER APPRENTICESHIP
WHEN KELLY SELLS MY HOUSE
I chuckle. Kelly will never sell that house; it’s her most prized possession, and she sees it as a literal connection to her dad. I read on and my shoulders tense.
WHEN KELLY GETS ENGAGED
WHEN KELLY GETS MARRIED
WHEN KELLY BECOMES A MOM
These are the ones that make me nervous. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when I found a letter from Clyde reminding me that my time with Kelly was finite, that I realized it was time to put my plan in motion. That was when I went out to Bozeman.
I can’t stop her life from moving forward, but I can slow it down and make it work in my favor.
Behind the stack is the open envelope that reads:
FOR LOGAN – WHEN YOU’RE READY TO ADMIT I WAS RIGHT
In typical Clyde fashion, he gave me sage advice at the exact moment I needed it. I pluck out the note and read it again:
