Scarlett: Go slow.
I stare at that last message from Scarlett for a beat longer than I should. Go slow. Yeah. I can do that. Even if everything in me wants to barrel forward like I usually do.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on the shelf across the room. Me and my old man at some charity gala years ago, both of usin suits that cost more than most people’s cars. Blood doesn’t always make family. I learned that a long time ago.
Lucy.
I pull up her contact and save her as just “Lucy.” I’m not playing games here, I already know she’s important to me.
Then I close my eyes, still smiling like an idiot, and let the exhaustion finally pull me under.
SEVEN
LUCY
I wakeup smiling before I even open my eyes. My room is still dim as early light slips through the curtains in pale lines across the wall. My hand brushes against my phone where it’s lying beside my pillow, and the memory of last night comes back all at once. Tiny’s messages. His ridiculous comments. The way he somehow made me laugh after one of the most uncomfortable dinners of my life without even knowing how badly I needed it.
I roll onto my side and unlock my phone. Our conversation is still there, and I read through it slowly, even though I remember almost every word. It shouldn’t make me smile this much. He was sick and dramatic, and most of what he said made very little sense, but I can hear his voice in every line—rough and playful and easy in a way I’m not used to. Tiny does not seem to measure every word before he lets it leave him. He just says things. Maybe that’s why I keep rereading them. Maybe that’s why the last message makes my stomach flutter all over again.
Goodnight, Lucy.
It’s just my name. Two simple words. But seeing them on the screen makes me feel like he placed something gentle in my hands and trusted me to keep it.
The feeling lasts until guilt slips in beside it.
Dad would hate this. He would hate that Scarlett gave Tiny my number, even though she asked first. He would hate that I said yes, and he would hate that I’m smiling at my phone before I’ve even gotten out of bed. I know exactly what he would say. But I don’t delete the messages. I lock the screen instead and set my phone on the nightstand, because I don’t want to pretend yesterday never happened just because it would be easier for everyone else.
Downstairs, breakfast smells like bacon and coffee. Mom is at the stove in one of her faded aprons, moving eggs from the skillet to a serving dish while Dad sits at the table with the newspaper spread open in front of him. He barely glances up when I come in.
“Morning,” Mom says, giving me a tired smile over her shoulder.
“Morning.” I pour myself a glass of orange juice and sit at the table, trying to focus on buttering a piece of toast.
“I spoke with Daniel last night,” Dad says after a sip of coffee.
My knife stills against the toast. Tiny asked me. The thought flashes through my head before I can stop it.
“He enjoyed dinner,” Dad continues. “He’d like to take you out Friday evening. He called to ask my permission, and I told him Friday would be acceptable.”
I look up slowly. “I’m sorry, you already told him yes?”
Dad frowns like my confusion is unreasonable. “He asked my permission, Lucy. That’s what a respectful young man does.”
“I understand that, but he didn’t ask me.”
The kitchen goes quiet except for the faint hiss of the stove as Mom turns off the burner. She keeps her back to us. Dad sets his coffee down. “He doesn’t need your answer before he asks mine.”
The words land hard. He means it. In his mind this is natural. Daniel asks my father. My father approves. Then I step into the plan.
“It’s me he’s asking out,” I say quietly.
“And you’re my daughter.” Dad’s answer comes without hesitation. “As long as you live under this roof, men approach me first. That is proper, and Daniel showed respect by doing it the right way.”
I glance at Mom, but she stays facing the counter. I have a test, I want to say. And work. But I already know how that conversation ends.
“You’ll make time,” Dad says, opening the newspaper again. “Daniel is a good man from a respectable family. You should be grateful he’s interested in you.”
I look down at my plate. Tiny asked Scarlett to ask me. Daniel asked Dad. I can’t stop thinking about the difference.
