Page 49 of Apparently, I’m Trouble

Right. I was in a trendy Italian restaurant, having dinner with my sister and daughter. I probably should have been focusing on them.

I rubbed my arm and said, “First of all, ow.”

Kira giggled as she wrapped spaghetti around her fork.

“Second, I don’t think I look like an axe murderer.”

Rochelle drawled, “You’re huge and grouchy. Of course you look like you could murder someone. The tattoos don’t help.”

“I like the tattoos,” Kira said. “They’re sweet.”

Rochelle pointed her steak knife at her. “Not everyone knows that the dragon on his back is because he loved Dungeons & Dragons as a kid.”

“My favorite is the math equation.”

I smiled at my daughter. “Not the angel?”

She shrugged. “Working out the probability of my birth took more effort.”

Rochelle went back to cutting her meat. “I think that one’s my favorite too. It’s better than the magical closet thing on his hip.”

Kira laughed, and I reminded my sister that she loved the ‘magical closet thing’ as much as I did. It was from our favorite fantasy series. She ignored me with a roll of her eyes, and I tried to concentrate on my meal. But it was pointless. Between all this talk about tattoos and closets, all I could think about was Mia.

As if she could read my mind, Rochelle asked, “What were you thinking about anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, it must’ve been something, because Kira just asked me if I knew how to ‘fake-kiss,’ and I thought you’d be all over that.”

“It’s for the play,” Kira added.

“Right. The kissing scene.”

Kira rolled her eyes at my tone. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. I’m okay with kissing Miles.”

Both mine and Rochelle’s brows shot up as she dropped her fork and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Kissing? Or fake-kissing?” Rochelle asked.

Kira shook her head, her eyes darting to meet mine briefly before she quickly shoved another forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

I sighed and rubbed a hand down my face. She didn’t get her flair for melodrama from me. Or Tash. That was all Rochelle.

“I won’t be mad, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I told her.

Rochelle and Kira traded a look. The sound of the restaurant buzzed around us–cutlery scraped, glasses clinked, conversations hummed.

Then Kira straightened and said, “You were mad at Miss Walker.”

Rochelle snorted. “I can’t believe you’re not allowed to talk to her.”

I let a breath out through my nose and tried to scowl at them, but it wasn’t easy. These two didn’t know the half of what had happened between Mia and me, and I wasn’t about to tell them.

“Because he yelled at her,” Kira added. “And it wasn’t even her decision to add those scenes in.”

I put my hands up. “Okay, okay. I know. I overreacted.”

“You’re usually so calm,” Rochelle said, eyeing me. “But for some reason, Mia really gets under your skin.”