Something flickers in his expression. “Maybe.”
“You excel at cooking.” I slump back, exhausted all over again, voice cracking as I continue. I can’t seem to hold the words back. Not now. “I’ve never excelled at anything. Never done anything for them to take seriously. I know they love me, and I know not everyone gets that, and it is something to be grateful for, but coming down here, doing all of this—I’m hoping they’ll finally... see me.”
He nods, eyes unwavering, serious. His forehead presses to mine, and my chest cracks wide open. “You deserve that.”
Chapter 36
Café Con Leche
Jack
The pop-up is tomorrow.
Today is Sal’s birthday.
I wake before Poppy, dressing quietly. The sheet covering us slipped down around her naked waist sometime in the night, showing off the lines of her body in a tableau so lush, it reminds me of the famous painting of Venus emerging from the seashell. She’s all creamy skin and sunshine hair and soft, feminine curves. I rub my breastbone as I stare. There’s a pang in my chest, deep and sweet. I’m afraid to examine what emotion it represents.
It’s been like that ever since we left the hospital. On the way back to Diamond Bay, I drove one-handed, my fingers entwined with Poppy’s. I didn’t want to stop touching her, even for a moment.
I’d never felt panic like that before. Never felt stripped raw quite like that, my universe narrowed to a singular point. I counted every breath she took. I sprinted the moment they let me in to see her. I kissed her, once I saw those blue eyes, bright and alive andokay. Slashed our no-kissing rule to shreds without hesitation.
I listened to her talk to her parents and envisioned a future that previously felt impossible. Me at Green Street. Poppy at the Winfield Group. An apartment with windowsills for Gator to lounge on and a kitchen big enough for us to cook in together.
The picture is so tempting, it scares me.
I called Douglas the moment the nurse came in to discharge Poppy. Went to the nearest elevator, stabbing the button with my thumb until it opened.
“Jack,” he’d said, picking up immediately, his voice still tinged with relief. “Thank you again. Are you sure I shouldn’t—”
“I’m done.” I stared at my funhouse reflection in the elevator doors, feeling like a caged animal. “If you want to hear more about your daughter, you call her yourself.”
“I’m glad that she’s doing better than I expected,” he said, a placating tone in his voice. “That both of you are, son.”
I stayed silent, refusing to give in to the invitation to keep talking about her. I couldn’t do that to her anymore. Not when she knew my past, and I knew hers. Not when I learned just how deeply she’s needed this space from her family. Not after I’d let her into my bed, and kissed her, and...
“Come to opening night and see if I deserve Green Street.” I slumped against the elevator wall, my stomach turning sour. “If not, then fuck it. I don’t want it at her expense. And don’t call me son ever again.”
I’d hung up before he could get in another word.
I shake my head to clear it. Gator eyes me from his typical place on the couch when I emerge from the bedroom, dressed and trying to find my wallet. I finally locate it underneath a couch cushion, for some reason, and crouch to give him a scratch behind his good ear.
“Hey, buddy. Keep her company, yeah?”
He arches his back, yawning, and trots to the bedroom to join Poppy.
Although we didn’t speak about it beforehand, I see Kiara as soon as I’m above-deck. She’s sitting on the edge of the dock, worrying something between her fingers, bare feet swinging over the water.
She looks young. I swallow around the lump in my throat as I join her.
“Are we getting birthday donuts?” I ask quietly.
I was only around for a few years of it, but I know the tradition well: Sal got a gift for himself on his birthday, half a dozen sugar and cinnamon donuts from the tiny shop downtown, along with a café con leche. He modified it for Kiara’s birthday with a box of herfavorite cupcakes, and twice for mine with croissants. The coffee was a mainstay, even though back then Kiara didn’t even like the stuff. I wonder if she does now. It’s one of a hundred things I don’t know yet about this new version of her.
She looks up, tucking what seems like an envelope into her bag. “Do you want to?”
“Of course.”
“He’d want us to take them to the beach.”
