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“She doesn’t—” One look at the hope in his eyes and whatever I was going to say died on my lips. “I’d love to.”
“You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic.”
“Why don’t you call her yourself?”
“Because I’m still hurt by what she did. I love her. She’s my daughter, and I would do anything for her. But we keep punching each other in the mouth. I’m afraid one of us is going to take it a step too far.”
I liked and respected Mr. Dixon knew his boundaries. That his relationship with his children was so important to him he had the presence of mind to let things simmer when need be.
“How do you take it? Last night, the things she said, they were awful.”
He had an unwavering faith in her that I didn’t fully understand. Probably because I'd never experienced it firsthand.
“I won’t deny that. I . . .” He paused to collect his thoughts. “It feels like we’re on a collision course. I hope that maybe if you spend some time with her, we might turn this boiling cauldron down to a simmer.”
When was the last time anyone believed in me? I didn’t know what to do with that. “You’re putting too much faith in me.”
“Here we are,” he said, rolling the stroller to a stop.
I looked up at the brick building. Paint peeled off the garage doors. The drain pipes hanging down the side were crooked and rusted. The light above the entrance was busted out. It was rough, no doubt about that, but I understood why Holt bought the place. There was something about it.
I followed Mr. Dixon inside. They had a long way to go to get this in shape for business.
“I thought you were only bringing lunch. Where’d you find this guy?” Holt took one of the bags from me, and we fist-bumped.
The door creaked open behind us.
“Am I late?” Baker asked breathlessly, her heels click click clicking across the concrete.
“Right on time.”
She kissed Mr. Dixon’s cheek and greeted the children.
Holt cupped his mouth. “Yo, Marlow. Lunch is here.”
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. Should’ve known she was here.
“You didn’t want me to waste any time, did you?” I gave Mr. Dixon a tight smile.
“Where’d the chairs come from?” Baker ran a finger along the back of one positioned around the reception desk.
“Guys found them upstairs in a closet with the plastic still on.” Holt looked at the furniture proudly. “Nice, aren’t they?”
“We’re not using them in the lobby,” Baker said and his face fell. “We’re trying to appeal to women.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with them,” I said, wading in where my opinion wasn’t wanted or needed.
“I like them for the loft.”
I’d just witnessed compromise in action. And then the most uncompromising human who’d ever inhabited the planet came out of the office.
My mouth dropped open. Marlow’s old T-shirt and jeans were streaked with dust and dirt. The messy knot of hair on her head fell limply to one side, more strands out than in. Sweat beaded her forehead. She looked . . . real.
“How!” Blake beamed at his mother. For one instant, the hardened exterior dropped when she looked at her son.
That was the woman who had me chasing her out of Dino’s. The one I wanted to know better.
“Hey.” I’d never heard her speak in that soft tone to anyone, not even Blake.
