“She was really nice about it, but really serious too. She told me she didn’t understand the nickname. She said you had a great sense of humor and”—she crooked her fingers—“a sharp wit, and she thought it was hilarious to watch you say funny things with a straight face.”
That felt good. Better than good.
Maybe a bittoogood, since he and Rose might not ever be anything more than colleagues and casual friends.
“That’s when it occurred to me.” Bea spread her hands. “You and Mom don’t have the same sense of humor. Like, at all. She likes slapsticky stuff, and you’re more into nerdy references and wordplay. That’s probably why she didn’t think you were funny, but you totally are. Ms. Owens is right.”
He didn’t know quite what to say to that. “Thank you?”
“And then she said how much she’d wished for a dad like you when she was my age. Someone to tell her she was working too hard and that she needed to get enough sleep.”
Again, more information he desperately wanted, but coming from the wrong mouth.
“Ms. Owens hasn’t told me about her parents, and I doubt she’s told anyone else either,” he said as gently as he could. “I would keep anything she says about them in confidence. Even with me.”
Bea thought that over for a minute. “Good point.”
He and Sabrina really had raised a good kid, even in the midst of their own disconnection.
“The last thing she said was that all her students thought their parents were unfair and annoying sometimes. But not all of them had dads who cared enough to make sure their daughters got enough sleep. Which was her roundabout way of telling me to appreciate you,” Bea said. “And after that, I told her exactly what I’m about to tell you. I do appreciate you. You’re a great dad, and I love you, and I don’t tell you that enough.”
How did Rose manage to twist his heart even when she was miles away?
And how was he going to survive dropping Bea off at college?
“I love you too.” He cleared his throat. Then cleared his throat again. “You’re the best daughter I can imagine having.” Another hard blink, and he kept his tone as neutral as possible. “Then again, my imagination isn’t very good.”
She smacked his arm. “Enough with the”—more air quotes—“sharp wit, Dad. I have one more thing to say.”
If he didn’t survive it, he hoped Bea could get herself home safely.
“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again: Ms. Owens likes you. I mean,likesyou, likes you.” She poked him. “I don’t know why you haven’t asked her out yet, but you need to stop messing around. Before some other guy figures out she’s awesome and snatches her up.”
How much could he say without violating Rose’s privacy?
“Ms. Owens isn’t always the easiest person to understand.” He selected each word with care. “Sometimes it can be hard to know what she wants.”
Bea made a sort of unimpressed grunt. “Doesn’t seem that hard to me. Then again, you’re a dude.”
“I am.” He turned into their driveway. “I am a dude.”
“But I have faith you can overcome your dudeness.” As soon as he turned off the engine, she hopped out of the door. “Crack her like a walnut, Dad.”
She thumped the hood in demonstration of said cracking.
His daughter seemed to understand his intentions toward Rose already, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt to make them clear.
“I’m not surecracking her like a walnutis the most romantic simile I’ve ever heard.” He shut the door behind him with a decisive thud. “But I’m certainly going to try.”
With a wide grin, his daughter hummed a few bars of the Nutcracker Suite.
Such a smartass.
Emphasis on the smart.
Eleven
Rose heldout until five minutes before the first bell.
