“Hey, I thought you liked those muffins. Didn’t they have icing?”
“Liked them as doorstoppers, you mean. And no, the white stuff was unsweetened, shaved coconut.”
“At least I brought you back something.”
“Yes, daughter. I am so thankful for your foresight. When you go on Monday, perhaps you can bring me somethingwithoutartificial sweetener.”
“I think I’d rather stick with Sweeter Things. Their iced coffee has enough caffeine to keep me awake for thirty-six hours. I don’t need the added stress of some guy who gave me a pity invite and probably won’t even show up.”
“And people say my diet is bad,” Dad teased as I made a left turn into the neighborhood. “But seriously, you won’t know one way or another unless you go.”
I thought about his words as I pulled into the driveway and hurried out of the car to help him stand. His healing was slow-going, but as his snark returned, so did his strength.
“I’ll think about it, okay? The last thing I need right now is some guy thinking he has a right to interfere with my life.”
“That’s a pretty shitty outlook when the doctor has done nothing to warrant you feeling like that.”
“Oh, Dad.” I followed behind him as he trudged up the steps and onto the front porch, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation and disappear into my makeshift office with a large coffee and Double Stuf Oreos.
“About time y’all got home,” a gruff voice said, throwing open the front door before I could even put the key into the lock. “Girl, I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, marrying that idiot.”
“Wha—” I murmured, barely registering the large presence that had overtaken the doorway. Thinking about one guy was enough. The last thing I needed was to throw this alpha male into the mix.
“Listen here,” I said, slipping my purse higher on my shoulder and putting the hand holding the keys on my hip. “As much as I’d love to stand here and debate my life choices with you, Cinnamon Roll, Dad needs to get inside, and I need to start dinner.”
His eyes widened, and he stepped back, uncrossing his arms from his barrel chest and glaring at us before his face smoothed and he motioned for us to come inside—of our own damn house.
“Nice of you to let us in, son,” Dad said, slapping him on the back and moving toward his recliner in the living room. “And nice to know you care so much about the wellbeing of my daughter. I’ll keep that in mind as you fix up this damn place.”
“Shit,” Maverick said, dropping his head to his chest.
I smiled, all traces of annoyance gone, before I gently elbowed him and leaned closer. “Welcome to the world of meddling parents. Our meetings are on the third Tuesday of the month and there’s a two-drink minimum.”
“Oh please. I’m the president, vice president, and executive chair of the Southern Chapter of Meddling Parents.”
“Then you’re slacking on your duties,” I said, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge. I scowled at the contents, then grabbed several salmon filets, lemons, broccoli, and fresh dill, laying them on the counter. “I haven’t received the quarterly newsletter or the commemorative button.”
He chuckled and sat at the small round table, groaning as his back cracked. I knew that feeling well. There was a time I could stay up until four in the morning and be ready for the day with nothing but lip gloss and coffee. Now, I could take myself out of commission for a week from sleeping the wrong way.
“I’ll have to check with the club’s secretary, ma’am.”
“You do that.”
I filled a medium-sized pot with water for the broccoli and grabbed a pan, putting it on the burner and adding lemon infused olive oil. My shoulders slumped, and I sighed from the stress of the morning, massaging my temple and listening to Dad switch between television channels.
“Oh, wow. Look at that. You finished the cabinets and countertop. They look great.”
“Yeah? Thanks,” he said, as his voice went higher at the end, like he wasn’t sure of how I’d react to the partially completed space.
“Yes, chastising me for my incompetent ex-husband is worth it if the rest of the house will eventually look as good as this.” I gestured to the completed countertops, running my fingers over the gray speckled granite. “This really is fantastic, Maverick. I hadn’t realized how outdated the place was until you and your brothers started tearing into it. This is going to help Dad so much.”
“Well, this is my job, you know? Meddling exes cost extra. Maybe double for that slimeball formerly known as your husband.”
“Great Prince reference,” I joked. “Now, you might as well rip the Band-Aid off and tell me what Trey wanted.”
“What he demanded, you mean?”
“Whatever. Way to build the tension, Cinnamon Roll.”
