“Yeah,” Dutch agreed.“Listen, you wouldn’t have any copiesofThe Hate U Giveby Angie Thomas that haven’t been shelved yet,would you?”
Duke shook his head.“Not manygivin’up that book.We get one, you want me to call you?”
He could go to Barnes and Noble, easy.
With Tex as her barista, not to mention Indy and her crewall being the subject of those books that had been published, so folks came inall the time, Indy wasn’t hurting for customers, or cash.
Still, Dutch bought his books exclusively from Fortnum’s.
And he had a lot of books.
He had no idea why Fortnum’s was his go-to.It wasn’t aboutbuying local or any of that other millennial shit.
Thinking on it, it was the fact he liked the vibe.
It was the fact that walking in there was like walking intosomeone’s house.
Like coming home.
To family.
Shaking off his thoughts, he agreed, “That’d be cool.”
“Youwannastay for a cup o’ joeand a talk?”Duke asked, and Dutch hid his surprise.
The man hadn’t approached.Not in word or deed.
There were the looks he gave Dutch, the ones he exchangedwith Tex.
But he never said dick.
“No, got shit to do this afternoon,” he lied.
He had no shit to do that afternoon.
Or at all.
Ever.
“Boy—” Duke started.
“I’m not a boy,” Dutch bit.
His temper wasn’t usually short, but these days, it couldbe.
This was why Duke blinked.
He then said, “Son—”
“I’m not your son either,” Dutch returned.
“Right then.”Duke’s voice was no longer a friendly rumble.It was tight.“First, my age can’t have escaped you,considerin’all this gray hair and wrinkles, so you are a boy to me, and you will be untilyou’re sixty and I’m dead.And second, any man’s a man at all, a man that’syounger than him and obviously struggling is his son.A son he looks after.”
Christ, was he not hiding it?
“I’m not struggling,” he lied again.
“Dutch—”
