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Taking a step back, then another, I separate myself from the wobbly energy he exudes. “Well, if you need—”
“Are you Shelly?”
Every instinct in me screams to not answer him. Is he some kind of stalker? It wouldn’t be the first time a customer obsessed over the way I arrange flowers. Odd as it is, it has happened. To both me and Elizabeth.
“Uh…”
The man twists to face me head on and extends a hand my way. “Sorry. James Templar.”
For the love of all that is holy in this world. Someone, please rescue me from the never-ending surprises.
James Templar… for a beat, I take him in. Brown locks trimmed neat and close to his scalp. Familiar angular jawline. Same height. Same build. Same glass-green irises. Without question, this man is Devlyn’s father.
But why is he here?
Reluctantly, I place my hand in his and shake. “Shelly. But you already knew that somehow.” I quickly withdraw my hand.
His hand goes back to his pocket and he takes a step back, granting me room to breathe. Time ticks by and neither of us says a word. And in this momentary blip of time, I acknowledge that James Templar is nothing like his wife. Quite the opposite, actually. While she demands attention, he seems content with disappearing. She is the spotlight and he is the shadow. How odd.
So why is he married to her? Why does he allow her to verbally and emotionally abuse their only child?
“Is there something you needed?” I ask, my tone as neutral as possible. Although this man has not garnered my respect, my parents would berate me for weeks if I spoke to a stranger without courtesy.
“I, uh…” He glances back to the mural before meeting my eyes once more. “It’s not my place or position to do so, but I came here to apologize.”
My forehead tightens as my brows drop. “Apologize?”
The only person who should apologize is Karen Templar. She has inflicted one wound after another. This man, Devlyn’s father, has not slighted me. As for Devlyn… I don’t know their history or how often he speaks with his dad. I honestly can’t recall a time when Devlyn mentioned his father.
He swallows, then nods. “Yes. For how Devlyn’s mother has behaved recently.”
Seriously?
Not sure what it is, but this man driving an hour to come apologize for his wife’s actions pisses me off. Try as I might, calming my rising blood pressure proves challenging. But with each throb and whoosh of my pulse, I remind myself I need to find my zen. I need to relax. If not for me, for the baby.
But I swear, as soon as this baby is born, these people will hear my wrath.
“Why?”
He tilts his head and eyes me for a beat. “Why?” he asks and I nod. “Shelly, I don’t know you. Don’t know anything about you, but you seem like a nice person.” He smiles and it instantly makes me think of Devlyn and the identical smile he doesn’t grant many or often. “For Devlyn to be so taken by you…” His eyes avert to the mural for a breath. “With his past, it must mean you matter to him. Very much.”
“So, you’re apologizing because Devlyn and I are together and I seem like a nice person?”
What a strange reason.
First off, he shouldn’thaveto apologize for his wife. She should apologize. Not that I’d listen after her degradation. That woman believes she is the epitome of perfection, when in truth, she wouldn’t know real courtesy if it slapped her in the face.
Second, and still, why? Why is he here? What has he heard in regard to our recent interactions with his wife?
Last, and probably most importantly, why does this feel like a bandage over something that requires surgery to fix?
This whole interaction feels like one big clusterfuck of confusion. Maybe James Templar usually skirts around the truth. Maybe he is always the fixer-upper. The one that steps in after hurricane Karen wreaks havoc on whatever upsets her and rebuilds the broken structures.
I don’t get it. Why he is here and what he hopes to resolve with this conversation. But if he doesn’t get to the point soon, I may just ask him to leave and walk away.
On an audible exhale, he shakes his head. “Not just that.” His head hangs forward, his eyes on his dress shoes. “I haven’t spoken with Devlyn for months.” Slowly, he lifts his head and our eyes meet. “Our relationship, mine with Devlyn, isn’t the same as with his mother. Since he left for college, we talked less. That’s just our personalities. But we always talked. At least every couple of weeks, if only for a few minutes over the phone.” He works his jaw in a nervous jitter. His eyes crinkling at the corners slightly. “I haven’t spoken with him since November. Not since the day before the art exhibition.”
More than six months. Didn’t he spend time with them during Christmas?Maybe his father wasn’t there. Devlyn attended a holiday party his mother hosted, but perhaps it was more of a schmoozing event than actual time spent with family.
