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“It’s settled then. Carter, get with Elena and invite her for dinner as soon as possible and then let me know what night. I’ll need a full run-down of everything you’ve got so we’re on the same page. Cameron, looks like you’re back to working on the restaurant alone.”
Dad claps his hands sharply and strides back around his desk, returning to his chair. I guess that means we’re dismissed.
In the hall, Cameron whistles quietly. “Damn, man, I had no idea that’s what you were working on. Grace kept talking about Elena, and I thought you had a new hook-up.”
“You thought I’d take your daughter with me to a hook-up? I’m not a monster.”
Cameron smiles a small smile. “I trust you with Grace, implicitly. You probably more than anyone else. You won’t try to put her on a motorcycle . . . Kyle.” He holds up a finger. “Or take her shopping—”
“Kayla,” I complete for him, and he holds up another finger.
“Or let her eat her weight in sugar.”
In unison, we say, “Mom.”
“For fuck’s sake, you showed Gracie art and horses, let her sleep with Nutbuster, and fed her ‘shark-coochie’. She thinks you’re the best.”
“Because I am,” I volley back. “To be clear, I’m pretty sure she meant charcuterie.”
“I know, but don’t you dare tell her how to say it correctly. I haven’t had to put a sandwich together in months, and it cracks me up every time she says that’s what she wants for dinner.”
I can see the light of humor in his eyes, and it reassures me in a deep part of my gut. We all worry about him, but finding joy in little things like your daughter’s mispronunciation of a difficult word is a good sign.
“Does she have you playing Royal Family yet? I might’ve gone a bit overboard on the tiara, but she earned it. Not to mention, she negotiated for it like a damn pro. She’ll be interning before she’s eighteen at this rate.”
‘A bit overboard’ is being kind. By the time I took Grace home, she’d talked me into a plastic rhinestone-encrusted tiara with purple silk roses and curled ribbons that hung down her back plus a gold one with rainbow rhinestones for Peanut Butter.
“Yeah, since Peanut Butter left his at our house . . .”
He pauses and together, we say, “Kyle.”
Cameron continues, “That one is mine for now, but I only warrant a loaner and have to share it with the dog.”
I smile but don’t give him a bit of shit because we’d all do the same for Grace, and he says, “Good luck on this Elena deal, man. I think you might need it with Dad acting that excited.”
His expression says I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more than luck. I might need a genie and three wishes, and even then, I may not be able to get in front of the steamroller better known as Charles Harrington the Second.
“Shit. I’m fucked, aren’t I?” I ask, not sure if I want him to tell me the truth or a white lie that’ll make me feel better.
“Completely and thoroughly, six days a week, and twice on Sunday,” he answers.
Yeah, the white lie would’ve been better.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
LUNA
“Luna!”
The yell through my door is accompanied by loud banging that scares the snot out of me. I startle, a squeaking noise escaping as I instinctively try to hide in the corner behind the couch.
Do I have an outstanding warrant I don’t know about? Is the SWAT team gonna bust through my door? Maybe they’ll go away if I’m silent?
“Open the door, Luna!”
“No Luna here!” I call out in a falsely low voice. Ugh, I sound like a voiceover dub for an anime or something.
And they clearly aren’t buying it either. “Not funny. Open the door, wife.”
Wait, what?
There’s only one person who would call me that, but it doesn’t sound like Carter out there. Unless he drank three espresso energy drinks, followed them with enough sugar to make an elephant get the jitters, and then got a case of mad cow disease.
I climb out from my hidey-hole and peek out the peephole. It’s Carter, but not like I’ve ever seen him. He looks . . . shook. Curious, I open the door. “You look like—”
Carter pushes past me, barging into my apartment.
I glare at his back and mutter, “Well, come on in, I guess.”
He pays no attention to my sarcasm as I wave my hands around, mimicking a welcoming host. As I close the door, Carter helps himself to my refrigerator. Grabbing one of the craft beers I keep stocked for Zack, he twists off the cap and takes a long draw from the bottle.
I tilt my head, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow and an intrusive thought of what it would feel like to lick over the stubble on his jaw and down to kiss his neck pops into my head.
