Page 50 of One Wild Wish

I had to find the strength to mute my father’s last words and trust my own judgment. Stop revolving my life around my mother’s preferences, worried she’d cut me off again for dating the wrong guy.

I snuck a glance at George. What was left of his gray hair had frizzed up, giving him that old-and-wise look. “So…George,” I ventured tentatively, “if your son dated a girl you didn’t like, like really didn’t like, but he seemed happy, would you be upset?”

As he was about to answer, he stubbed a toe and tripped over his feet. I jumped off my treadmill and slammed my palm onto his Stop button. 911 wouldn’t eat dirt on my watch. He gripped the handrails until his erratic breaths evened out. His eyes were glassy, though, the exertion too much.

“Maybe you should walk slowly awhile.”

He nodded, his hand still over his heart. He pressed Start on his own and resumed a leisurely gait. I returned to my treadmill, walking beside him, ensuring he was okay.

I assumed my question had been forgotten, but a moment later, he said, “Children are impulsive. They do not think ahead. As parents, we must be firm. If my boy dated the wrong girl, they would not be welcome in my home.”

It was my turn to stumble over my feet, his harshness tripping me up. My hackles rose, along with my indignation. “That’s ridiculous.”

He tutted me. “Lust can be confused for love.” Then, although I’d asked a theoretical question, George added, “This man in your life may not be what he seems.”

Our conversation had veered from hypothetical into oh hell no territory. “The guy, for your information, is one of the most caring, thoughtful people I’ve met. He’s smart and funny, and I’d be lucky to have him, even if my mother disagrees.” My vehemence surprised me, and part of me wanted to slap George for being so old-fashioned and stubborn, but I’d asked his opinion.

He grimaced, probably unsure why I was gifting him with too much information, but a drum pounded in my chest, the tune confirming my decision. My reaction to George’s overprotective, and frankly dictatorial, comment had been nothing but pure emotion. The heart of my heart. And my heart wanted Jimmy.

On the outside, Jimmy may have read tabloid, scandalous and tempting, provocative but lacking substance. Inside he was all romance novel, thick with sweet words and sweeter kisses, tortured hero and all. He irritated me, but in that adorable I want to jump your bones way, and my need to defend his honor to this crotchety old man surprised me in its ferocity. Jimmy and I laughed together, and our chemistry was off the charts. My smile grew, my list of things I loved about Jimmy growing with it, topped off with the most important point: he’d always been honest with me.

My father’s final voice message still looped in my mind, but Jimmy wasn’t Gabe. He may not have been the man I’d imagined for my future, and my mother might stroke out at the sight of him, but pretending I could keep away was a full-time job. Another career I was thinking of quitting. Our Napa Valley trip was in two days. That gave me forty-eight hours to buy something cute (that didn’t belong in an ensemble), and figure out the best way to tell Bad Boy I was ready to claim him.