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“No, Quinn.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “I’m your father, it’s my job to protect you.”
I want to laugh, cry, and shout all at once but choke on the conflicting emotions trying to express themselves. I gasp and he squeezes my hand. My dad, the protector. I swallow hard and force the lump from my throat.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be magical.”
“You are magical,” he says. “You always have been. That’s your mom in you.”
“I miss her.”
“Me too. Everyday. Well, except the past months when I was going crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” I say.
“So.” He smiles, making it clear he’s transitioning the conversation. “This boy.”
He speaks with his “Dad” voice, studying my face, ready to catch me out on anything I try to hold back. I instantly blush under that gaze just like I always do and I haven’t done anything to be embarrassed about.
“Dad,” I plead.
“Don’t you ‘Dad’ me,” he says. “This boy, Duncan. He’s a good man?”
I smile as I nod. “Yeah. He is, but, well you know.”
“And you care about him?”
“I do.”
“And you think he’ll take good care of you? Provide for you?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t even know if he survives the battle. It’s a rough time and things don’t go well for the MacGregors.”
“When I met your mother,” he says, his face changing and his eyes looking at some long gone memory. “I knew instantly. She was the one. There was never a woman more perfect. She was the moon, and I was hers.”
“You’ve told me this before.”
“But I never told you how we met.”
“What about it?” I ask, leaning closer.
His eyes focus and he grimaces. “She didn’t want you to know. It was something she refused to talk about, but you know she was from Scotland.”
“Of course. I remember all the stories she told me. It’s where I got my love of history.”
“When I met your mother I was on a college trip, like yours, but I wasn’t an archaeologist. It was more of a, uh-hum, well you’re old enough,” he shifts in his seat uncomfortably, “more of a drunken tour.”
“Dad,” I say, feigning shock. “You mean you were young once?”
He laughs and shakes his head, running a hand over his carefully slicked back hair.
“I was.” He laughs. “Some friends of mine and I were together and one night after a, ahem, series of adventures,” he shades a soft pink and coughs while avoiding my eyes.
“Go ahead, Dad, I get it,” I say, patting his hand on the table.
He takes a sip of his coffee before nodding.
“Quinn, you’re my daughter. This isn’t a story I thought I’d ever share with you.” He takes another sip before continuing. “I was more than a few sheets to the wind and decided I wanted to get some fresh air. We were in a small town, the name escapes me, but we’d closed out the pub.”
“Wow. Go, Dad.”
