“You don’t want it?”
“No, that’s—” He rubs the back of his neck. “Jacob was right before. Chocolate’s not—I’m not particularly fond of it.”
I frown. “Then why would you…I mean, you always had it at the house.”
“Well, you used to like it,” he says. “But if you don’t anymore, that’s okay. I remember you used to like the kind with mint, but you don’t have to take it if you don’t want it.”
My fingers curl around the chocolate in my hand. Out of all the flavors we tried together, I ranked mint second only to “fruit and nut,” but I’m surprised that my father remembers that. And that he would buy all that chocolate for me, even try all the flavorswithme, if he didn’t enjoy it.
“I still like it,” I say. I clear my throat. “Jacob and I are going to a pub just down the street. Would you want to come?”
“No, I have enough for dinner here,” he says. “You two picked up a lot of food, so I’ll stay back.”
“Are you sure? You don’t want to step out for a little bit? Just for a drink?”
My father hesitates, indecision flickering on his face. “I shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to, not with my health and all.”
I flush.Right. That’s something I should have known, something I bet Jacob knows.
But still, couldn’t he come with us? He doesn’t have to drink anything. Doesn’t he realize I’m asking him to get out of his room? To spend time with us? With me?
“We’d like it if you came,” I say, trying one more time, and for a moment, my father looks stunned.
“I…” He glances back at his room, where his coat’s slung over a chair, and I think I might have him, but when he turns back around, he’s shaking his head. “I’m going to sleep early, I think.”
Disappointment rushes through me, surprising and swift.
When did I go from wanting to avoid my father to wanting to spend time with him?
“Good night, then,” I say, and he echoes the same before closing his door.
—
The Hart is packed, the small pub filled with people and loud, chattering voices, and as we make our way inside, we spot a few familiar faces.
“The bagpiper!” someone cries, and Jacob blinks, incredibly flustered. It’s cute, the way he waves the attention away, shaking hands with a few folks but shrugging off any offers to buy him a drink. One man has an extra pint and tries to pass it to Jacob, but Jacob refuses, lifting a hand and declining with a smile.
“You don’t want a drink?” I ask, rising slightly on my toes to reach his ear.
“I do,” he says. His hand comes to my elbow, and he navigates me forward through a space in the crowd. “Why?”
“I—well, you didn’t take that one.”
We find a bit of breathing room, and Jacob turns to look at me. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright. It’s warm in here, all of us packed in together, the collective body heat making my skin feel dewy.
“It wouldn’t have been right,” Jacob says. “They don’t owe me anything.”
“But they want togiveyou something,” I say.
He opens his mouth, and I place a hand on his arm.
“You gavethemsomething today. What you did—they just want to say thank you. What’s wrong with letting them?”
“Because that’s not why I did it. It wasn’t transactional.”
“I know,” I say. I lean closer, making sure he hears me. “But look!” I wave at Iain and Elsie in the corner, both sitting at a table. Iain has his hands over his ears, blocking out the noise, and Elsie is looking around with a warm smile. “You showed up for complete strangers today, and clearly, it meant a lot to them. They just want to acknowledge that. Even if it’s only with something small.”
Jacob looks away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
