“I’m not second-guessing you, I’m ... trying to help, and I like looking at your ass in those jeans.”
Rolling her eyes—even though he was trying to be playful—she retorted, “Good Lord! You trusted me with your heart again, yet my hanging a priceless painting makes you sweat, and all you can think about is my backside, amazing.”
Climbing back down the ladder, she strolled to his smiling face.
“There. Perfectly straight. Museum quality, expertly hung by a professional and her pain in the ass assistant.”
“What if it falls?” he asked.
“Then we’ll probably both faint before it hits the ground, and your fabulous investment would make a pretty bird cage liner.”
He looked horrified. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s alittlefunny.”
Gazing up at the painting, he didn’t say anything, just admired it.
It really was an exquisite choice and perfect for the room. Yes, she would spend a lot of time in here.
“It’s definitely off,” William said, suppressing a smile.
“It is not!”
“It’s perfect,” he softly said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. “You’re perfect.”
“We’reperfect. Trust me.”
THIRTY-TWO
Thursday, July 10—Lunch
“Howdy, Daddy,” Lizzy said, planting a kiss on “Big Tom’s” cheek when they hugged. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
“Howdy, ladybug. Anything for you, darlin’.” Setting her back from him, he pushed his cowboy hat back on his head, stating, “You look the picture, as always.”
“Thank you.”
“Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my little pigtail-wearing mutton buster.”
“Sometimes I miss her too, but I’m a big girl now,” she said, having new confidence and finding the inner peace she’d been missing for far too long.
“Big girl, alone, in the big city.”
“I’m not alone, and I’ve been here for ten years! It’s not that big,” she laughed.
Guiding him to a table in her favorite Italian restaurant she said, “Let’s sit. Jane’ll be joining us shortly.”
“This sure is fancy.”
“Not really. It’s just not Roy’s greasy spoon diner.”
“True. I might be a little underdressed, though.”
“Don’t worry. Trust me, no one cares about blue jeans and boots. You can even keep your hat on if you like.”
Feeling uncomfortable because too much time had passed without a real conversation between them, she sat across the table from her husky father. He looked old and weather-beaten—or maybe beaten down by his wife’s thirty-five-year emotional abuse and enslavement. “Are you well, Daddy?”
Smiling tightly, he said. “As well as can be expected. I just spent three hours in a silver tube, crammed into a tiny seat beside a mouthy woman who didn’t stop talkin’ about her cats the entire trip.”
