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“Dad?”
The guy looked up and smiled, and it reached all the way to his dark eyes. He looked a little older, and he’d gone a little soft around the middle. There was more gray than brown in his close-cropped curly hair, but Nick could see back through the years to the man he hadn’t talked to in nearly two decades.
Ronnie stood and offered his hand. Nick shook it.
“Son, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too. Thanks for coming all this way. Are you hungry?”
Ronnie nodded. “I could eat a bite. But where is your lady? Isn’t she coming with us?”
Nick glanced around the quaint sitting room, at the white wicker furniture that looked more decorative than comfortable despite the bright floral-patterned pillows that covered the seats and backs.
He was suddenly exhausted and couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain the accident. Becca and the babies were fine. He and his dad had so many other things to discuss.
“She couldn’t make it tonight,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow, though. We’ll see. We’d better get going. Celebration rolls up the sidewalks at ten o’clock. Are you up for walking? The place I have in mind is just down the street.”
“I’ve been sitting so much today, a walk would do me some good.”
The inn was located right across from Central Park. As they walked out the front doors toward the restaurant, the lit Christmas tree caught Nick’s eye. His thoughts tumbled back to the night of the tree-lighting ceremony and how right Becca had felt in his arms and how happy their friends had been learning the news.
Everyone seemed to be taking the news well, actually—not that it should matter if anyone didn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s business but his and Becca’s. Why was it, though, that Nick still couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around parenthood and fatherhood? What was wrong with him? But the even bigger question was, how come every time he allowed himself to get close to someone, tragedy struck?
He was a scientist. He wasn’t superstitious. But sometimes you just had to look at the writing on the wall.
The accident was his fault. He shouldn’t have insisted that they go to Southwestern. The fact that Becca and the babies had escaped unscathed was making him think that maybe they’d be better off if he took a more hands-off approach.
Maybe he just needed some space to think and to figure things out. But first, he needed to catch up with his dad.
“That’s a nice Christmas tree over there in the park,” Ronnie said. His deep voice was a little gravellier than it used to be. He hoped his dad had kicked the cigarette habit. He hadn’t smelled like smoke, the way he used to—Ronnie’s aftershave had always mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke, creating a close, almost suffocating calling card that had permeated their whole apartment.
“Yeah, this is a nice, close-knit little town. The residents take a lot of pride in doing things like that. In fact, the foundation that Becca works for was instrumental in organizing the tree lighting. The whole town turned out for it.”
Ronnie nodded. “That Becca of yours sounds like quite a woman. I hope I get to meet her while I’m here. I don’t know when I’ll make it back for a visit. Then again, maybe the two of you could come and visit me in Florida.”
Nick’s first thought was maybe after the babies were born, but he didn’t know what their situation would be. But things seemed to be going well with his father, and Nick was hesitant to introduce any bit of negativity.
Instead of answering, Nick gave a noncommittal nod. By that time, they’d reached Taco’s, Nick’s favorite restaurant in downtown Celebration.
Nick approached the hostess stand. “Are you still seating for dinner?”
The blond smiled at him as she gathered up two menus. “Yes sir, we are happy to seat people until 10:00 p.m. I have a table available for you. Please, follow me.”
The place wasn’t very busy, so they’d no more than settled in when the server came over and took their drink orders—cold draft beer for both of them. Then they were both quiet as they perused the menu.
Taco’s was located near the square, and it was his default restaurant when his refrigerator was bare or he was short on time and needed to pick up something quickly—which was most of the time.
He ordered the chicken enchilada platter. His dad, the same. It struck Nick as a little odd that Ronnie, who had always been so full of strong opinions and my-way-or-the-highway stances, seemed to be deferring to his son. It was only beer and enchiladas, but Nick couldn’t remember a time when the guy he’d always butted heads with deferred to anyone.
