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As I attempt to reboot my brain, he leans down to plant a quick kiss on my slack mouth. “You’re doing fine. Right, Dad?”
My gaze somehow detaches from Cole’s face, flitting over to his father. The stern man’s eyes grow wider, but then he clears his throat and returns to his general expressionlessness.
“It’s no bother.”
The man seems unshakable. Of course, I’ve known him for less than five minutes, so it’s not like I’ve discovered the true spectrum.
“How’s the job?” Mr. Allemand asks his son.
Cole starts talking. Not the enthusiastic babbling I just displayed, but he’s going into more detail than I’ve heard him use most times.
He’s relaxed here.
When I told Cole that I wanted to discover the mystery that is him, I wasn’t completely joking. There’s normally a dark hesitance to him. Whenever I see that in another person, I’m drawn to it. I don’t want to be, telling myself those are the types of people most likely to lash out or leave. These dark people are the ones who will hurt me. But I’m pulled in, curious to discover what the root of the darkness is. Where did the twisted tree grow from?
So I came here, wanting to meet Cole’s dad. Would the man be arrogant and loud, overpowering his son with a booming voice? Pushing the creative man I know into the shadows? Or maybe disapproval would flow off him, eyes catching his son’s piercings and tattoos, judgements dripping from his mouth.
But Mr. Allemand isn’t those things. He’s…quiet. Like Cole. Observant, like his son, too. I notice his sharp eyes take in every movement Cole makes. But not as if he’s judging him. He’s simply noticing it all.
And I also see the way Cole looks at his father. The way he leans toward the man, not exactly eager, but something close to that.
“And you’re still writing?” Mr. Allemand asks when Cole finishes his work stories.
I’m just about to bristle at the question, thinking maybe this is where the man cuts his son down, when I notice Cole’s solemn nod. “Every day.”
“Good.”
Good.
Forget all my previous prejudices. This man is an angel.
“And he goes to the writers groups at the library,” I add, eager to let the man know about the great work his son is doing. “That’s how we met. I kept bugging him.”
Cole looks like I announced I juggle bananas with my feet for fun. “You didn’t.”
“Come on. Of course I did. You and your book fortress? I’m like an evil conqueress, always trying to tear it down at the end of the day.”
“That’s not bugging.”
“Okay then, pestering.”
“No.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I’m right. He never wanted my help putting away his books. Guess I’m lucky my constant asking wasn’t a total deal breaker.
My mind catches on how focused I am on whether or not Cole liked me. Like it’s imperative information. But I shove that to the side and instead focus on the bribe I brought.
Well, bribe is being generous. I like to think of it as an enticement to consider me an optimal choice for his son to spend time with.
“Just forget it.” I wave away Cole’s scowl, turning my full attention his father. “Thank you for letting me join you all. I didn’t want to come empty handed, so I brought a little something. Cole mentioned you like to go fishing.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out a glass jar with red and green ribbon twined around the lid. Inside, the cookies I spent all morning baking in my toaster oven fill the container.
“You made fish cookies?” Cole asks, squinting his eyes at them.
“They’re only shaped like fish. They taste like gingerbread,” I say. When I spotted the cookie cutter in the supermarket, I got the idea.
Cole gentled takes the jar from my hand, staring through the glass like my little desserts carry all the answers to the universe. The intensity of his gaze sets me on edge.
“What’s wrong? Are you allergic to gingerbread? I guess I should’ve asked, but I thought it was only pineapple.” Damn it. I’m terrified I just messed this dinner up.
