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He widens his smile and nods for me to sit. He motions at a waiter, and in a short moment I have a snifter of cognac in my hand. I’ve never had it before, but it smells sweet and strong.
“Perhaps we should toast to things to celebrate,” he says, raising his own glass to mine, and I lift mine.
This is clearly the type of world where it’s vulgar to clink glasses, and I take his lead in sipping the sweet liquor. It’s rich and strong, the velvety burn working down my throat comfortably.
“So,” he says, his voice light and conversational. “What exactly are you doing with my daughter?”
I feel my eyes widen, and despite his easy smile and the way his hazel eyes are relaxed, I hear the challenge for what it is.
“We’re seeing each other,” I say.
“Oh, yes,” he says, flapping his hand as if I’ve just given him a bullshit answer. Which, maybe I have. “Of course. Is that all you want? To see her? See where things go until something gets too hard or something better comes along?”
I set down my glass on the side table and lean forward.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, we’re notjustseeing where things go. It’s…” I fumble for words, and I can’t find the right one. They stay out there in the ether, and I struggle to string together the ones I need.
“Well, tell me what it is she does for you.”
I flinch. What the hell kind of question is that? He must see the expression on my face because he chuckles, brushing cigar smoke out of his face, and then takes another sip from his snifter.
“I don’t need to know what I don’t need to know,” he says with a good-natured chuckle. “I see the way she looks at you. I see the way she’s grown into herself when you’re around. I haven’t seen her smile like that since the first time I put her on a horse as a little girl.” He flicks the ash from his cigar into a little brass tray and it gives me the chance to swallow around the warmth that floods my chest.
“I know what you do for her. You give her what she’s always needed, and I’m…” He hesitates, and if I didn’t know better, I would think he was showing emotion. But he reins it in and levels me with a heavy stare. “So, what is it she does for you?”
I nod, understanding his question better, and this time, the words come easy.
“She’s incredible,” I start, and he nods, but waits for more. “She’s so smart, but not just book smart. She’s insightful and patient and she sees the forest for the trees. She’s clever and funny—every day we spend together I walk away happier than I began. She’s my best friend, and I…” Something bubbles up in my throat that I have to swallow hard around. “I would do anything for her.”
He nods, thoughtful.
“I know you probably didn’t picture your daughter with a hockey player,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But I love the way she makes me feel. I love the way she brightens my day and makes me see what’s important. And I would like to think I do the same for her. And if I ever don’t, then I’ll make it right. I’ll always take care of her…” I trail off, noting that he hasn’t so much as touched his drink or cigar for as long as I’ve been talking. And I realize what I’m saying—what this little speech must sound like. I clear my throat. “As long as she’ll let me, anyway.”
He nods, considering. Then he picks up his drink and raises it to me again.
“You’re good people, son,” he says. His tone has changed and I feel it in my gut.
Acceptance.
It tightens around my heart like a bear hug, and I lift my glass to his.
“Just be careful,” he says, with a knowing nod. “Your world is different from hers, and as strong as she is, her heart is more fragile than most.”
“I know,” I say, holding his gaze. “I’ll take care of her.”
He nods again. “I know you will.”
We sip our drinks, returning to the main conversation from the rest of the room, but my head is somewhere else. It’s with Faye and the realization that her father approves. He might even like me, like us together. And he seems to genuinely like the way I treat her.
I excuse myself and turn for the reception hall, anxious to find Faye and pull her away so I can have her all to myself.
“Is someone out there?” I hear a familiar voice from down the hall. It’s dark, probably to dissuade guests from going down there while the restaurant is closed. A splinter of light that cuts a diagonal across the hall.
“Hello?” I call back.
