“Yeah?”
“I wasn’t expecting a gift. I’m not used to them.”
Called it. “Get used to them now. You’re dating me.” I check the time. I’ve got a few minutes to spare, and giving a gift isn’t always enough. “I’ll hang it up.”
“I can do that.”
“But it’s what a good fake boyfriend would do.” I’m not losing this battle with her—I intend to show her what she deserves.
She gestures to the porch. “I’ll be sure to add it to my spreadsheet for tracking our dating history—hung up a hummingbird feeder after our first date.”
“Good idea,” I say, even though it’s not the fake boyfriend in me that’s doing this.
Not one bit.
* **
When I return home, my arms are laden with hardbacks, the well-worn scent of old paper from the library books drifting past my nose. Ironic, since my sister runs a bookstore, but it’s a romance shop and my dad’s still into the hard-boiled mysteries he’s always loved.
“Got your latest Damon Cross right here,” I say, patting the new release, as a big, burly Siamese cat leaps from who knows where onto the middle of the table, his white paws skidding across the wood, hellbent on the almost-done puzzle.
“Thor,” I call out to the little shit, who clips the edge of the puzzle, knocking loose a corner piece and some friends.
Dad chuckles. “He’s such a turd.”
“He’s a cat, so yes,” I say, then bend to pick up the pieces, but Dad’s already waving me off.
“I got it.” He doesn’t like me to help him with things he can do for himself.
I step back and let him. “Almost done,” he says, grabbing the remaining pieces that my asshole cat knocked off.
“Has he been bad?”
“Course he has,” my dad says, but it’s with affection. Dad sits back down and in no time Thor leaps onto his lap and proceeds to play the piano on my dad, like he’s sayingall is forgiven, right?
Dad pets him like yes, he’s still the best boy, then he looks at me. “What have you been up to?”
“Just went to the store,” I say evasively, since I don’t want to get into the details of the Remy situation. It’s far too complicated. “Got some cereal and mini pizzas.”
He arches a dubious brow. “You don’t shop.”
“But I know how to.”
He scoffs. “Was there a woman involved?”
“Dad,” I warn, but inside I’m thinking how does he see through me like that?
“It’s been three years.”
I want to tell him it’s been a while for him too. Mom left a long, long time ago—when Clem and I were in high school—and Dad dated some after that but not much. There’s no need to point out the dearth of dates for him since it’s not like he’s going to go on a date here in the house. “I’m fine,” I say.
“You should date again, Lake,” he says, and there’s a twinkle in his blue eyes—a twinkle I haven’t seen in ages. He was fond of Heather, or really, fond of Heather and me. He’d even venture outside on the ranch with us to say hi to the horses or check out the egrets—even to look for the owls. A pang of missing lodges into my chest for those days, those moments of sunshine and fresh air for him. “Really, you should,” he adds, just shy of plaintive.
I flash back to the moment in the car earlier with Remy, to my own reticence about what to say to my teammates or to her boss about dating. Would it make Dad happy if I was dating? Maybe, just maybe, it would. I like that spark in his eyes.
It’s not a lie, really, to say, “There’s someone I’m kind of into.”
He pats the chair. “Tell me about her.”
