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“Okay, then.” Miranda laughed.
The screen was now populated with thumbnail portraits of dozens of local gay men.Good Lord, what have I done?Miranda got up from the computer. “I should be getting home. I have a paper to write.” She nodded at his laptop screen. “Check things out. Have fun. Be careful.”
“I’ll keep you posted on what happens.”
She planted a little peck on his cheek. “You do that.”
“I won’t expect a miracle.” He laughed. “I amsoover the hill.”
“Are not. You’ll be surprised.” She pointed to the monitor. “This right here could change your life. You never know what could happen.”
“You never know.”
She turned and looked back at her dad, who’d sat back down at the computer, scrolling through the rows of pictures. She could see, though, that he did it with a kind of resignation, rather than anticipation.
She wondered if maybe he wasn’t rushing things, if she should have done more to dissuade him from this idea.
“Bye, Daddy. I’ll call you.”
He waved over his shoulder. “Talk soon.”
Miranda left him in his office and went into the living room. She gathered up her coat from the back of the couch and put it on. She moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows and sliders that overlooked Lake Union. She watched as a seaplane landed on its dark waters.
She stared for a while, trying to convince herself that her last glimpse of her father wasn’t a face filled with yearning and sadness.
Chapter Three
IT WAS JUSTafter New Year’s when Connor called Miranda to tell his daughter the news. He was disappointed when she didn’t pick up but figured she was in class or studying at the library. Maybe she was even working on that novel she talked about, yet refused to show him.
He was so proud of her and the hard work she’d put in getting her bachelor’s, which she’d claim this coming spring. At first, he’d tried to dissuade her from following in his footsteps, even though her genre—horror—was a lot more bloody and edgy than what he wrote. But he came around to the idea and knew he’d lean on any connections he had in the publishing world, shamelessly, to give her a start. The rest was up to her. He knew, with maybe a little jealousy he’d never voice, she was much more talented than he. She had a way of making serial killers and werewolves sympathetic, even as they ended lives. There was an emotional depth to her writing that he had never achieved in his popular but paint-by-number mysteries. The irony? She’d most likely never be as successful as he. Sadly, he thought the public said they wanted literature, but his sales proved they wanted escapist dreck more.
Although he hated to leave a voice mail, he was too excited to wait to share his news.
“It’s your dad. Guess what? Wingpeople has delivered! I have a date set up for tomorrow. Just drinks and apps. Early, like six, and then I’ll keep it brief. But, sweetie, he looks great. I’m thinking maybe we’d go to Joule.”
He hung up and glanced over at the pic on his laptop screen. Trey Goodall. Connor had thought his libido had faded into near-nothingness as he got older, assuming it was the natural order of things. Sure, he still enjoyed looking, both in real life and online, but the desire to actually touch another man had faded.
Until now.
Simply seeing Trey’s pic on wingpeople.com changed his whole perspective. Before even reading the guy’s profile, he’d been enraptured. And no, that wasn’t too strong of a word. The guy was hot…and the first thing Connor thought was that he must have meant to send his friendly message to someone else. Trey, surely, was way out of his league.
Then he just about slapped his own face for thinking so little of himself. Come on! This guywasinterested. The proof was right there in his message:
I don’t get online often…and these sites? Well, I hardly ever use them. But I have to tell you, I saw something when I looked at your picture. And no, I don’t just mean I was attracted (although I was—in spades!). I saw a certain depth in your eyes. Kindness that couldn’t be hidden even behind those sexy, nerdy frames you wear. You remind me a little of Eugene Levy, but so much better-looking. Do you think I’d have a chance to get to know you better? Could we maybe meet? Casual is fine—coffee or a drink. No expectations. No strings. No need for a friend to bail you out if things go south. LOL. If you’re interested—and I hope you are—hit me back.
Connor still had trouble believing the message—self-effacing as it was—could have been intended for him. Miranda would scold him, remind him what a catch he was, but she was his daughter, for cryin’ out loud. She was honor-bound to support her dad. But this Trey almost seemed a little shy about approaching him.
And why? Trey was gorgeous. Thick black hair, a chiseled jawline dusted with dark stubble, blue eyes that contrasted so wonderfully with his olive complexion and dark hair. His profile said he was close to Connor’s age, in his forties. His profile ticked all the rights boxes too. He was a professional who, Connor assumed, made a good living as an attorney at one of the more prestigious law firms downtown. And they had so much in common—they both loved old black-and-white horror movies, like the stuff Hammer studios put out; they were both crazy about craft beers, reading, and loved hiking in the mountains. Trey had lived in Seattle almost his entire life, just like Connor. And, best of all, he too was looking for something more than a one-night stand, if people even used that term anymore.
Connor had written back, believing this would all be eventually revealed as some colossal error, like Trey had meant to send his message to a different user. Connor had plunged forward anyway, asking if they could meet for drinks at Joule this Friday night. The restaurant, an Asian fusion place and one of Connor’s favorites, was only a couple miles from his condo on Dexter Avenue, in the Wallingford neighborhood. It wasn’t far from Lake Union, and he figured if things went well, they could maybe take a stroll along the harbor after, or wander over to the Fremont neighborhood, check out the Lenin statue and the shops there.
His phone chirped and the screen told him Miranda was calling him back.
“Hey, Daddy,” Miranda said when he picked up. “You’re really jumping back in. Sure you’re ready?”
“Honey, it’s just drinks and maybe an appetizer or two. Just getting my feet wet is really all it is.”
“Well, just make sure it’s only yourfeetgetting wet on Friday.” She guffawed.
