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“That’s not what I meant. Are you seeing a woman? Are you dating anyone?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s kind of new, but she’s everything. Her name's Joy.”

“That explains a lot.”

My lips twitched. Yep, my father was one smart bastard.

“Tell me about her.”

And just like that, we were talking. Really talking. I told him about Joy, about Miss Laverne. Fuck, I even told him about Little Grandma and how she had me married off. He laughed his ass off. He told me about retirement, about a small house he’d bought in Florida that he went to in the winters, and a boat that he got that he named after Mom.

“I love you, son,” he said finally. “I should have said that more when you were growing up.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“When can I meet this woman of yours?”

I glanced toward the bedroom, where Joy was probably engrossed in the good parts. “Soon. She'd like you.”

“If she can put up with your stubborn ass, I already like her.”

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “She's got plenty of practice dealing with difficult men.”

“Like I said, I like her. You better not screw this up.”

“I'm trying not to.”

“Good. Now tell me more about Jasper Creek. I’ve got to know the lay of the land before I come out for a visit.”

“Would you just pick something?” I asked Joy.

I winced. I hadn’t meant for those words to come out of my mouth, and certainly not in that tone.

We'd been walking through this maze of overpriced couches and chairs for two hours, and Joy was no closer to making a decision than when we'd started five hours ago at the first furniture store. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled that she had so much energy after all she’d been through, but this? Seriously, now I wanted to be shot.

“This is only the third store,” Joy said cheerfully, running her hand over the arm of yet another sectional sofa. “And this one's nice. Good fabric, solid construction.”

“It's beige.”

“Oatmeal.”

“It’s not leather.”

She arched her eyebrow at me. We’d been having this same conversation for hours.

I stared at the couch that looked exactly like every other couch we'd examined today. Neutral colors. Plush cushions. The kind of furniture that screamed suburban family life and weekend trips to Home Depot.

“I thought you had opinions about this stuff,” I muttered.

“I do. I have very strong opinions about not buying the first thing we see.”

“We're not buying the first thing we see. We're buying the forty-seventh thing we see.”

Joy laughed and moved to the next display. A sectional in what the tag called “charcoal gray” but looked suspiciously black to me.

“Joy, come look at this lamp!” The voice carried from three aisles over, followed by the sound of heels clicking on polished concrete.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “Did you have to bring Emmie?”