Page 117 of Once Upon a Fall

How does this work exactly? If it were Dominic or Emma, I’d tell them I was sorry and give them a hug. Unless I hated who they were dating. Then I might tell them they could do better.

Somehow none of that seems to fit my current situation.

“Do you think you might . . . want to date again?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.

He shrugs. “I think so.”

So, not a one-and-done thing. That’s . . . great.

“I know you kids don’t love it,” he says, giving me a smile tinged with something like sadness.

“It’s just weird. That’s all,” I tell him.

He chuckles. “I know. It’s weird for me too. But I’m still pretty young, Rosie. I’m not sure I want to be alone.”

“You have us.”

“Yes, but you’ll all get married someday and have lives of your own.”

Bold of him to think I’ll ever find someone. My track record isn’t exactly stellar.

Maybe I should get a cat.

“You’ll have grandchildren to dote on,” I say. “Or possibly a grand-cat.”

He gives me a strange look.

“Never mind. I’m just saying you’re not alone, Dad.”

“I know I’m not,” he says. “But I’d like something that’s mine too. Someone to come home to. Is that so bad?”

I’d never really thought about what he might want beyond us. Somehow, I’d only ever thought of him as Dad.

“Of course not,” I say, giving him a soft smile.

I go to him and put my arms around him.

“You deserve all the happiness, Dad,” I say, holding onto him.

He kisses the top of my head. “So do you, Rosie.”

We say goodbye, and he turns to leave, but just before he’s out the door, he looks back.

“You got that balloon payment covered next month?”

I go still. “How do you know about that?”

He gives me a look. “I hear things.”

Of course he does. I’ve spent months trying not to tell him because I was so sure he’d worry, hover, and try to fix it for me.

Apparently, he knew anyway. And somehow managed not to do any of those things.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I’ve got it covered.”

Thanks in part to a certain someone who, despite my best efforts, insisted on paying for his room. But I’m not thinking about him right now. Even if his spaghetti is getting cold on my counter.

As long as nothing breaks or springs a leak, I’ll be fine come November.