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“No.”

“There you go. Neither of us enjoyed that particular conversation.” He resumes mashing.

“Well, did your dad care that she said that?”

“Fuuuck no. My dad’s…” His head does a funny little shake. “Let’s just say he’s very proud of his oral skills.”

“Like father, like son, huh?”

A smirk in place, he throws a glance my way, saying, “Damn straight.”

I shift on my stool as I scramble to find a different—safer—topic.

“Speaking of dads, mine texted me.”

“Yesterday?”

“No, um, today. Tonight, actually.”

Focusing on his task, he mutters, “Took him long enough.”

“Yeah. Five years.”

“What’d he want?”

“To apologize, I guess.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

“What?”

He peers over at me. “You apologize a lot.”

“I do not—”

“All the time. You say sorry all the fucking time, even when you have no reason to. You say sorry to everyone about everything.”

“I don’t think I do—”

“You do.”

“Okay,” I snap. “I get it. I wasn’t aware I apologized too much, but now that I am, I’ll work on it. Sorry.”

Khaos doesn’t laugh at my sarcasm, only scowls.

“So what’d you say to him?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you want a relationship with him?”

“I don’t know.” I admit after a while, “Maybe.”

“You can take however long you want to decide. He said he’s there whenever you’re ready.”

“He did? When?”

Khaos freezes. “In the text he sent you… Didn’t he say that…or something like that?”