My eyes flick to Celeste, and her face is a portrait of mischief as she mouths, “Gagey?” with pure delight in her eyes. Focusing back on my dad, he could not possibly be more obvious about how excited he is to find me chatting and playing darts with abeautiful woman.
“I’ll let you two get back to your game, I just wanted to say hi. You’re coming by for dinner this weekend with Wayne, Gina, and the kids, right son?”
“Yep, I’ll be there. See you then.” He gives me another quick hug before turning to the poor woman at my side.
“It was wonderful to meet you, Celeste,” he tells her with a brief pat to her shoulder.
“It was great to meet you, too,” she tells him with a smile. He goes back down the hallway with one last long look at me, and then we’re alone again. I meet Celeste’s amused expression.
“Your dad seems great. Are you close, Gagey?”
I snort.
“Never going to hear the end of that, am I?”
“Not a chance, because I love it so much. In all seriousness though, he seems like a great guy.”
“He’s amazing. It’s just been him, my brother Wayne, and me since I was small.” Her amused expression shutters, concern replacing it.
“What about your mom?” she asks quietly.
“She ran off when I was 4 and Wayne was 9. I haven’t heard from her since, and barely remember her.” I tell her with a shrug. “She left a note saying she couldn’t do it anymore, wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother. It shattered my dad, he worshipped her. They fought, but I think he always believed they could talk through it and work it out.”
Well, that was a fun little tangent of trauma dumping that I did not intend. I’m waiting for her to scoff, or blow me off for still feeling bitter and abandoned twenty-six years later.
“I’m so sorry, Gage,” she says with some emotion I can’t identify. Her eyes have become the dark grey turbulence ofstorm clouds, swirling down to their depths with whatever she’s feeling. “If it means anything, I know how it feels to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to love you the most.”
I swallow hard as she lays her hand on mine to squeeze it. We’ve strayed a little closer together, and she’s looking up at me through her lashes with those eyes that still look haunted.
“It does mean something,” I tell her hoarsely. Wanting to steer things far away from our wonderful, apparently shared, abandonment issues, I blurt out, “My dad is still a romantic who believes in love though, can you imagine? He’s not even going to let me own the bar until I get married.”
She adorably scrunches her nose in distaste.
“What is this, the middle ages? So what if you don’t get married?”
I can’t help playfully shoving her shoulder as I exclaim, “That’s exactly what I said!”
“Sooo, what, if you don’t get married he’s going to disinherit you? That’s fucked up.” Her head is tilted with curiosity. I wave a dismissive hand.
“He feels responsible for making me not want to get married or fall in love. I just never want anyone to shatter me the way my mom wrecked him, so I guess he’s right in a way. Now he’s trying to fix my commitment phobia by forcing me into it if I want this bar, when I’ve been gearing up to take it over since I was a teenager,” I explain.
“What are you going to do?”
“I suppose I’m getting married at some point in the near future. I don’t want to, but I’m not losing this place because my dad is misguided. I’ll make a good show of trying it out,get the bar, and then the marriage will most likely fall apart. Poof, everything will be back to how it’s supposed to be.”
Celeste looks dubious.
“What if your would be wife tries to take half of everything, including the very bar you got married for if it all falls apart?” she asks with an arched eyebrow. Well, shit. Then I snap my fingers as the solution comes to me.
“I’ll get a prenup, lay it all out beforehand. She’ll know going in that she won’t get any of my assets,” I say triumphantly.
“The soaring kind of romance every woman dreams of when she goes into marriage,” she chokes out with a dry laugh.
“Hey, protecting what’s mine does not mean I’m not romantic,” I tell her with mock outrage. She puts her hands up in surrender.
“Whatever you say, Casanova. I’m not here to judge, I have zero desire to get married either.”
“See? You get me.” She cracks a smile and bumps my shoulder before moving slightly away. I try not to focus on how it feels like a loss. I want to keep joking around with her and hear her talk, so I hand her the darts, letting our hands brush again.
