Page 87
“I’ll hitch a ride from someone.”
The question teeters dangerously at the edge of my tongue, but I swallow it back. He won’t answer it anyway. My sorrow returns at the secrets kept between us, but I take the key fob anyway.
“Take care of yourself tonight, honey,” he says. “You’ve been working unbelievably hard. You deserve a night off. Do something that makes you happy, okay?”
What makes me happy? Being with Dad always did. But now?
A flash of dark eyes and a cowboy hat flicker through my mind. “Sure thing. Thanks, Dad.”
He reaches toward me for a hug. “I love you, Jules. Let’s chat soon. There are some things we need to talk about.”
When he pulls back, he stares down at me, then quickly blinks the moisture away from his eyes.
I’m thrown. Dad never tears up. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Sometimes, you look just like your mom.”
A lump forms in my throat. I reach forward and hug him tightly again. He returns it with his best bear hug, and I have to fight off my emotion even more.
When he pulls back, he looks down at me and kisses my forehead, holding me from the side.
“Noah?”
A voice calls from over by the tables. Sharon waves to him, her eyes soft as she glances between us. Dad signals that he’ll be over soon.
“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
He nods, placing a kiss on my brow. “Remember, have fun tonight. Do something that takes the edge off.”
I promise I will, then walk away, tucking his key into my pocket.
My heart feels less heavy than before, but having him called away by one of his love interests doesn’t sit right with me.
When I look back at him, though, he’s not with Sharon. Instead, a man dressed in a giant chicken suit is singing to Dad, who’s as red as the chicken’s comb. The lyrics drift toward me, something like, “Noah Monroe is the best mayor we know!” and the crowd gathers around with applause and laughter.
I smile to myself. Was that from Archer? Or had the false news caught on that Dad loves singing grams?
Leaving the church behind, I greet a few more latecomers before heading down the side road near the river walk where Dad parked that morning.
Instead of heading directly to the cars, I amble alongside the dark ripples flowing around the bend. It’ll be nice to spend the night by myself in my pajamas. Maybe I’ll watch a comfort romcom. You’ve Got Mail or 27 Dresses.
Or maybe—
“Hey.”
My heart skitters as I spot Archer walking toward me on the walkway, a slow grin on his lips.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says. “You’re not heading in the right direction for food, though.”
He looks happy—thrilled, even—to see me, and for some reason, this knowledge pushes my raw feelings to the surface.
“I didn’t really feel like the potluck tonight,” I say, clearing my throat and averting my gaze to hide the tears rushing to my eyes.
We reach each other, stopping at a bend in the river. The gurgling water sings the bass against the crickets’ soprano, and I watch the light of a nearby lamp glinting in the gentle water.
But Archer’s not looking at the river. He leans forward, his fingers gently resting on my upper arm. “Hey, you okay?”
I blink fiercely, hoping I look normal, but the worry grows on his brow. “What’s wrong?”
