AllFreeNovel
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I smile as I type.Me: Because you’re BA, not me. I don’t have to open the trapdoor to my life. lolJake: Yeah, but…it’s your dad. He seems so fun.Me: Maybe you can meet him one day. When this is all over.Jake: You promise?Me: Sure.Jake: I’m holding you to that.I’m not sure why, but it kind of feels like I just signed an oath in blood.
I drop my phone into the cupholder and start the engine. It’s like an oven in here, and I’m sweating profusely, but when I was texting with Jake, I was too preoccupied to notice.
I back out of the spot and take off. Lord knows, I have to get to the restaurant quick, or I’ll have to risk eating penalty pickles.
Trust me, it’s a long story.The clock on my dash reads three minutes past twelve, so I’m barely even in the spot before I slam on the brakes, engage the emergency brake, shut off the engine, and jump out like my ass is on fire.
My dad is already inside, of that much I’m sure, but I can only hope he has his watch set a few minutes behind the clock in my car.
I bob and weave through the crowd of people at the front entrance, trying to make my way into the restaurant and scan the tables quickly for his big, freckled, bald head. It sticks out in a crowd and I find it fairly quickly, and I’m not all that ashamed to admit, I actually elbow a couple people out of my way to clear a path to the table.
On quick feet, I book it double time and slide into the booth like I’m diving onto the top end of a slip ’n slide.
My dad watches it all, waiting for me to sit up and look him in his faded-gray eyes.
“You’re late.” He turns his wrist and clicks his watch to stop the timer, and my shoulders sag in defeat. Dang it.
“Looks like you owe me four pickles, Holl.”
“Maybe your watch is fast, Dad. I mean, it could be—”
“This is a Casio G-Shock Tactical watch, Holley Marie,” he cuts off my excuses. “It’s a military watch, and the military doesn’t make mistakes.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t argue. There’s no arguing with Phil Fields about time. I know better.
“Four minutes late equals four picks.”
“Will I ever outgrow the pickle penalty?” I whine. “I’m thirty-three, Dad.”
“I don’t care how old you are, doll. You don’t outgrow the penalty. There is a way to beat it, though. You stop—”
“Being late. Yeah, I know,” I grumble, and a hearty chuckle escapes his throat and vibrates his rounded belly.
And right on cue, as if he freaking timed it, a waitress drops off a plate of pickles, and it only encourages more damn chuckles from Phil Fields.
Oh yeah, just yuk it up at my expense, old man.
“I don’t understand why you hate the penalty so much,” he says once he gets control of his hilarity. “You like pickles. It’s why I picked ’em in the first place.”
“I like pickles when I want to eat pickles,” I counter. “They taste different when they’re punishment.”
He shakes his head in amusement. “Girl, there are some parts of you I’ll never understand. Like a four-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, I swear.”
“You like my complication,” I challenge, and his responding grin is affectionate.
“I do. You and your mother, both complex women. Never loved two of ya’s more, though, that’s for sure.”
I smile as he mentions my mom and force myself to start munching on the stupid pickles. They’re good here, I’ll at least give them that. Garlicky without being too much.
“Am I really like her?” I ask, only a hint of sadness tingeing my words. Sometimes I miss the fact that I didn’t get to know her better, but I know what I’ve got in my dad, and I can’t claim to be anything other than lucky.
“Oh yeah,” he answers with a nod, leaning into the back of the booth and stretching out his arm. “She was just a little bit older than you when she passed, and I know you were probably too young to remember, but you act just like her. A little awkward and a little lost sometimes, but a whole hell of a lot more heart than the two of those combined.”
I look down at the table and back up again as he considers me carefully. I don’t know what he’s looking at, but there’s an analysis in his eyes.
“You’re looking less lost today than you have in a good while, though. What’s shakin’?”
I shrug off his question. “Working on a new assignment for the paper. Went to yoga this morning. Nothing too groundbreaking.”
“This that Bachelor Anonymous whosie-whatsit?”
A blush creeps up into my cheeks, but I have to laugh. “Have you been reading my articles?”
