“Dad?” A tug at his arm.
He’d wanted to take Rose someplace like this for Valentine’s Day, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t even asked. Ever since that staff meeting in January—where he would have sworn,sworn, she was flirting with him, if only a tiny bit—she’d remained friendly, but hadn’t given him any indication she considered him more than a colleague and casual friend. Someone with whom she could grab coffee occasionally, but no one she’d date.
And he’d decided months ago that he couldn’t tell her how he felt or ask her out. Not if he didn’t know she trusted him. Not if she wouldn’t share her past with him. Or her present, for that matter, which was currently sitting across from her in a restaurant he could barely afford.
Maybe that decision was just an excuse to justify his own self-doubts, but if so, it was a good one.
Another tug. “What are you—oh. Oh, that’s fantastic! Hey, Ms. Owens!”
Motherfucker. He should have known.
By the time he returned his attention to Bea, he’d missed his chance to stave off disaster. His daughter had already waved off the tuxedo-clad woman behind the desk and was rushing toward Rose’s table, as Rose and her parents looked up in startlement.
He followed as quickly as he could, but there was no catching Bea in full flight. The school’s damn track team had done too good a job.
Rose and her parents stood as Bea approached, and they all smiled at her with seemingly sincere welcome. But when Rose spotted him in hot pursuit of his daughter, she froze in place.
“—so I told him I wanted to come to Milano for my eighteenth birthday, because you said such incredible things about the truffle risotto, Ms. Owens, but I had no idea you’d be here tonight.” Bea flung out her arms. “What an amazing coincidence!”
Apparently, his girl had spent some time with Rose, unbeknownst to him.
Next time he saw Rose at school, he was going to request that she rave about Chipotle in the future.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed to her as Bea continued to talk.
She jerked a little, then lifted a smooth, round shoulder in an elegant shrug.
“Are these your parents?” Bea bestowed her best grin on the older couple. “Because I can see where you got your amazing fashion sense.”
Now that he considered it, his daughterhadbeen wearing a lot of black recently. He’d half-wondered whether she wanted to make a last-ditch effort to join the softball team.
The white-haired woman lit up at Bea’s comment. “Thank you, my dear. I’m afraid I missed your name? And the name of your handsome companion?”
Handsome? Obviously, Bea had chosen a truly transformative tie.
Before his daughter could interrupt Rose’s dinner further, he intervened. “I’m Martin Krause, Rose’s colleague in the social studies department.” He placed his hands on Bea’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, Beatrice, who’s a senior at Marysburg High.”
“I go by Bea,” she interjected.
“Anyway,” he emphasized, “we should find our own table and leave you to your meal. I hope you have a lovely evening.”
“Oh, but you can’t go.” Rose’s mom gazed at him in dismay. “You mustn’t.”
Rose’s father spoke for the first time, his narrow face serious. “We’d love to eat dinner with one of our Rosie’s colleagues and his charming daughter. Please join us.”
Rosie?Martin blinked at them both and turned to Rose for guidance.
She stood staring at her parents, mouth slightly agape. So no guidance there, although the poleaxed look on that lovely face did not seem to indicate untrammeled delight.
In her eyes, this was no doubt an egregious violation of her privacy.
He needed to respect that.
With a smile that strained his cheeks, he said, “I’m afraid we couldn’t—”
“That sounds great!” Bea exclaimed. “Do we ask the waiter to get more chairs, or what?”
Rose appeared to shake herself. “We shouldn’t intrude on your time with your dad, honey, especially since you’re leaving so soon for college. I’m sure he wants to get every minute with you he can.”
