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She made a pouting face. “So you’re gonna make me drink alone?”
He smiled kindly. “Make you? Hardly. Does it matter?”
“Daddy!”
“I’m just saying, if you want a drink, have one. I still have work to do this afternoon. I have a phone interview and need to get ready. The last thing I need is to slur my words when I’m rhapsodizing about my writing influences.”
“You hate those things.” Miranda knew her father detested the promotional work that went hand-in-hand with being a full-time professional author.
He nodded. “I do. But they help keep me in the public eye. And with the new one coming out soon, I need to do what I can. Not much choice. Besides, I’ve worked with this woman before, and she’s sweet. No hardball stuff. Just talk about process and plenty of time to tout myself.”
The waiter sat down Miranda’s drink before her, and she took a sip.Heaven. I might just have a couple of these babies. Mother’s milk and all that. I didn’t have a mother, so I can justify it. Miranda chuckled at her rationalizing. “You sure?” She pointed to her drink.
Connor nodded and his frown made her feel guilty, but not guilty enough to prevent another swallow. He said, “I thought you said you had work to do today. On that novel? The one you’re doing for your graduate thesis?”
She took another sip. “It’s nearly done. Just working up to my big reveal of who the killer is.”
“You want to tell me more about it?”
She wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. I learned at your knee not to talk too much about works in progress. It sucks the life out of them is what you said, right?”
Her father was steadfast in never discussing details of what he was working on. He claimed it was because it affected his creative mojo, but she knew him well enough to understand one thing—he hated talking about his writing—period. That would be akin to shining a spotlight on him, and he preferred being off in a corner, always observing. He was the least self-centered person she knew.
Time to change the subject, since he wouldn’t talk about his work, and she was too far behind in hers to let him know about it. She felt a twinge of guilt about her lie. She wasn’t almost finished. She had barely three chapters done, and those were in need of heavy editing.
“You saw Steve’s post on Facebook?” Miranda almost hated to bring it up, but Steve was the elephant at the table throughout their meal.
Connor smiled, but the expression didn’t rise to meet his eyes, which radiated sadness. “About his engagement to this Rory person? Yeah. I saw.” He took a long swallow of water and stared down at the table for a moment. When he looked up again, his smile was even bigger. And even more forced. “I wish them well.”
“Shut up. You do not.”
“Now, now, I do. What good would it do me to think otherwise? A wise person once said that the opposite of love is not hate; it’s indifference.”
“So you’re indifferent?” Miranda recognized a lie when she saw one.
“I’m working on it. It’ll come because I have no other choice.” He gave her a shaky half smile. “I can either curse them or bless them. If I do the former, I torture myself, and they don’t even know the difference.”
She put her hand over his for a second. He was being brave—and breaking her heart. “Oh, Daddy. I’m sorry. I know it must be hard seeing him getting married, especially so soon after he left.” She knew her father had been cut off at the knees by being abandoned by the one person he’d been confident would never, ever do such a thing.
“Not for you to worry about, my dear.” He sighed. “Iwillbe okay.”
She grinned. “I know you will. Any plans to see anyone?”
“What, like a shrink?”
“No, silly. Like a date. It’s been, what, three weeks, since you had that horrible night out with that creep? Any other prospects?” She didn’t really want to hear that there were. She felt he had a long way to go in his healing and liked it when he said he’d thought about rescuing a cat.
And then he answered.
And Miranda wished she hadn’t asked.
“Well…”
“Yes? Another online Prince Charming?” She sipped her drink.
“Not exactly. You probably won’t want to hear this.”
Lunch churned in her gut. She dreaded what was coming and hoped for something different than what her intuition was telling her. “Go ahead.” She was a little breathless. Where was that waiter? She needed another drink for sure now.
