“Dad, I need to go.”
“Decker, I expect you back in the office by the third with that hippie’s signature on a contract or I will empty your desk myself and ship you the contents. I’ve put up with your silliness and flamboyance for long enough. If you can’t muster enough damn masculinity to—”
I hit the red end call button, turned off my phone, and swallowed around the ball of worry stuck in my throat.
“I can explain. Please don’t run off,” I said, holding out my hands, bags of goodies dangling off my fingers, to try to keep him from storming off.
“Why would I do that? I hate it when people in movies just stalk off and don’t talk. I never just storm off.” He said each word with some real venom. I glanced at the old gals in the kitchen, all staring at us, hair in nets, eyes wide behind bifocal lenses.
“But you’ve…” I changed tactics. “Yes, I hate that too. Let’s leave the ladies to their work.” I nudged him along with my elbow, back out the door, and into the main room of the grange. There were too many people here to have the kind of talk we needed to have, so back outside into the cold we went. He was now storming off. I pulled in a lungful of cold air, exhaled through my nose, and trotted after him. “Excuse me, good sir, but you are, in fact, storming off,” I called as I neared.
He hit the brakes so fast I literally rear-ended him. And not the fun kind of rear-ending that had just taken place this morning either. After I recovered my balance, he spun to face me. I planted my boots, folded my arms, and gave him a good glower.
“I am not storming. I’m standing right here.”
“That we are. On the street corner, with everyone and their beagle milling around us.” I waved my hands around. Bags with newly purchased hats, baked goods, and a yarn goatie flying about and nearly clipping him on his sexy nose. “Is this where you want to have this talk?”
“Of course not. You stopped me. Everyone knows when you rear-end someone, it’s your fault for not paying attention.”
“Your brake lights weren’t working! Also, are we now in traffic court?!”
“Traffic court is in the courthouse,” a giant dude in a pretzel outfit informed as he and his pretzel wife and four pretzel kids hustled by.
“Thank you!” I called because I was polite. Acosta took my arm and led me across the street as if I were an old lady with a walker. I let him lead. Sometimes he liked to lead. When we were lakeside again, we made a small left off the shoveled paths to find a tiny little copse of pines that shielded a small bench facing the lake. A lovely place to snuggle in the summer if one wished to do so while watching ducks paddle back and forth. The bench was icy and snowy, so we didn’t sit, we just faced each other. “Okay, so before you go off on a tangent—”
“I don’t tangent.” He crossed his arms over his coat. Long bits of his hair stuck to his cheeks. He’d not had time to shave, what with the early morning rear-ending that had taken place.
“No, you stalk off and pout.” He frowned, pressing his lips tighter, which was a sign that he knew I was right. I’d learned a lot about the gorgeous, irritatingly proud man over my short stay in scenic Miller’s Lake. “Now, before your clever mind can spin things into some nefarious plot to steal your heart and—”
“My heart is not involved.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, well, mine is.” He gaped at me. I plunged on because I had a feeling this would be my only chance to get things aired out. “Now, let me please explain. My father caught me off guard. I thought it was you calling to tell me you had more pretzels for me.”
“Pfft.” He rolled his eyes. “I might never buy you another pretzel ever again.”
Okay, that was sullen and tiffy, but there was a might in there. “You probably shouldn’t. My thighs are growing as we speak. Anyway, eyes up here, please.” His gaze flew from my legs to my face. “So, my father. I assumed it was you. I was not mentally ready to deal with him. He always…” I huffed and then looked skyward. Everything was bright blue overhead. “He always makes me feel so shitty. Like I’m this aberration. For years I’ve been trying to win him over, make him see that I’m just as good as his straight son.”
“Fuck him for making you feel like you have to be someone that you’re not.”
My gaze dropped from a tiny chickadee flying by to Acosta. His grumpy face had grown grumpier, but now the anger was directed at my father. A much better place.
“Yeah, really. Fuck him.” I placed my packages on the snowy bench and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. “I know that. And I was all set to tell him I was coming back home soon empty-handed, but as soon as I heard his voice, the little queer kid inside me lost his courage. I fell back into wanting his praise and love and I just…I panicked.”
“You were going to go back to Pittsburgh without my signature?” He seemed stunned. Honestly, was the man that thick, truly? Did he not realize that I was falling in love with him?
“I was.”
“Oh.” He chewed on that like Bitsy does her cud for a minute. His face scrunched up when he was ruminating. Also like Bitsy. Thankfully, Acosta didn’t burp in my face like my best goat buddy did. “Okay, well, that’s…good. I’m glad.”
“Glad I’m going home or glad that people from Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services won’t be hounding you anymore?” Yes, I knew that was cheeky and pushy. Forgive me to hell, but this man was stubborn as a mule. A mule would be fun. “We should get a mule.”
“A mule? We? When didmyrescue become awerescue?”
“You’re really slow today. Is it the cold air chilling your synapses? It became awewhen I decided to go home, quit, and come back here to help you run it.”
That one he had to masticate a little longer. Bless him. “I’m not sure I’m on the same ley line or whatever earthly course this conversation is taking. Can we back up?” I nodded. “Okay, so you’re going to quit that fancy job of yours and come to live here in Miller’s Lake?”
“Yep.” I rolled up to the toes of my boots, then rolled back to my heels. The chickadee landed on a snowy bough, causing the fluffy white stuff to cascade downward. It was really a lovely moment. Pity Acosta missed it, being confounded.
