I lift to my toes and press a kiss to his cheek.
“I won’t go anywhere without you today.”
He nods, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
Then he rubs the back of his neck. “Have you talked to your dad yet?”
Speaking of shitty parents, my father has been MIA since the whole Tony thing at the last festival. My texts to him go unanswered, and when those texts ask for updates on Tony, he tells me to call the station.
It hurts.
He’s my dad.
He’s the only family I have left here in this town, and now he’s slowly stepping away, too.
And each time I’ve called the station, there is no update on Tony either. Between Dutton punching him and learning my father is the sheriff, he clearly got the hint to leave town and not return.
Kimmy says that unless they find him or he’s arrested again, there is a high chance we will never see or hear from him again. She told me that, oftentimes, people like Tony enjoy either the thrill or the stakes of stalking, and once their game is revealed, they stop. I should always be aware of my surroundings, but I can breathe a little easier knowing the chances of me seeing or hearing from him again are extremely low.
That’s great, I guess.
Dutton gently reaches under my chin and forces me to look up and at him.
Right. He asked me a question.
I shake my head.
Instead of replying, he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.
“He’ll come around, Books. I can try to keep my distance in public if you think it might help.”
I pull back, keeping my hands on him. “No. I don’t want that.”
I'm not stupid. I know my dad is upset about me seeing Dutton, but this is crazy. To shut me out completely. It’s just wrong.
“I know, but I don’t want to be the reason he’s not speaking to you, and we both know I am.”
“And that right there is why my answer is still no.”
Like before, I push up to press my lips to his. The kiss lingers longer than the last as Dutton’s hands grip the hair on the back of my head and he slips his tongue inside of my mouth.
Someone whistles, and we pull apart.
Like most times when we kiss, I'd forgotten we aren't alone.
Dutton quickly kisses my forehead and disappears into the bakery. When I turn to clean off one of the tables that just became vacant, I glance up to see my father.
“Dad?” I say as if I’m not so sure he’s standing in front of me.
“You’re still seeing him?”
My heart sinks. That’s the first question he’s asked me in more than a week.
I nod. He clearly saw our kiss, and even if he didn’t, I wouldn't deny it.
“Goddamnit, Brooke. He punched a man right in front of you.”
“For me,” I add.
