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I exhale any lingering feelings of guilt and remind myself that plenty of other florists use wholesalers.
Yeah, but are they lying to their fathers about it?
“Sweetheart, I know you better than that.” He steadies the ladder so I can climb to finish edging the paint on the ceiling in the theater room. “Something’s bothering you.”
Rowan requested that we remove the old wallpaper and repaint before he has the screen and seats replaced, and it’s been a great distraction after our intense therapy session yesterday.
His apology had my mind reeling all night, and it’s not just that I thought he wasn’t capable of admitting when he was wrong, but the way he knew how to get through to me. Biding his time, giving me affection so I’d lower my guard, and then swooping in at the right moment.
That he understands me on such a deep level is unsettling, and I’m not sure where we go from here. Especially when I’m still struggling to understand him.
Dad positions a fresh can of paint on the ladder. “I’ve let you sulk long enough. Out with it.”
I dip my brush and then glide it along the wall beneath the ceiling. Careful to broach the subject without giving too much away, I say, “Me and Rowan had a disagreement recently.”
“That’s it?” Dad chuckles. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re bound to have plenty more of those.”
I know he’s right. He and my mom had their fights from time to time, but at the core of their relationship was the kind of love they built together over time.
At the core of mine and Rowan’s relationship is a lie.
“Want some been-there-done-that advice?” he asks.
“You know I do,” I say as I re-dip the brush.
“Fights happen. If they didn’t, it’d mean you both didn’t care, and let me tell you, that man cares for you, Molly.”
My heart clenches through each painful beat. Dad’s grown fond of spending time with Rowan while he’s here, and that he approves of him in any facet is not only impressive, but softens me toward him all the more.
Losing Mom kept us from trusting people easily because we’re all we have left. Letting another person inside our circle takes a lot of effort, yet there Rowan is, taking up space.
“I see it in the way he slinks around this place, watching you while we’re working, bringing you snacks or water. He thinks he’s being slick when he says he’s just checkin’ in, but I know what that boy really wants is to be near you.” His eyes crinkle. “How could he not? I was the same way with your momma.”
I swallow a wave of grief at the loving way he mentions her. Dan Hart was a man obsessed, and I’ve wanted nothing less for myself in the man I eventually married.
But he’s got a point. We tend to gravitate to each other, no matter where we are, and Rowan’s not the only one sneaking glances or making excuses to check in.
“He apologized yesterday, but he’s so hard to read sometimes,” I admit. “I don’t know how to bridge the gap when he gets defensive or closes up on me.”
“All you need to do is meet him halfway. Even when you’re so mad that you’re seeing double. If you two can be there for each other, no matter what you’re arguing about, then you’ll get through it.”
Meeting Rowan halfway sounds easier said than done, but maybe he’s right. I can offer him a truce. A vow, even if it’s temporary, that I won’t abandon him when he pushes me away.
“All right.” I finish applying another stroke of paint before glancing back at him. “I’ll try.”
* * *
I find Rowan pacing the study as usual, only tonight, he’s wearing his glasses with the tip of a pen between his lips. His plain white button-up is half tucked into his gray slacks, and I can all but feel the stress radiating off him.
“You ever been boot scootin’?” I ask from the doorway, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“Excuse me?” His tired gaze swings toward me, brightening a touch when he catches sight of my snug, flare-bottomed jeans, boots, and a ruched, long sleeve top.
Even though I spent an hour dutifully covering my marks, I fight the urge to fidget beneath that stare.
“You know, the heel-toe dosey-doe. Two steppin’. A good, old-fashioned hoedown.” I show him a couple of steps from a basic line dance and laugh when he scowls. “Oh my gosh. You’ve never been to a honky tonk, have you?”
“Absolutely not, and I won’t be starting now, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
