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It took Connor longer to get the insinuation than it might have had he been talking to anyone other than his daughter. When he did, he let out a gasp. “Oh my god. I so do not need jokes like that from my little girl.”
“C’mon, Dad. I’m not so little anymore. Seriously, though, this is very quick.”
“Yes, yes, I know. But really, as I said, it’s more like a coffee date, nothing more.”
“Okay. I hope you have a good time.” She sighed and Connor wondered what was coming next. Sometimes, the two of them had an odd relationship, where the parental role shifted back and forth. “Listen, why don’t I come by? Just to give a second opinion? I know how it can be when you’re excited to meet somebody new, especially when you’re fresh out of a relationship. You can tend to either see things in a way that’s too good…or too bad. But either way, maybe you don’t see things objectively.”
“Of course. Drop by. We’ll have a drink here before we go out. I’d love to get your take.”
They firmed up plans for her arrival shortly before Trey would arrive and then said their goodbyes.
What Connor didn’t admit was that he was terrified. Not of this new person, but of any person coming into his life in this context. Yes, he was flattered Trey had sought him out. Yes, it was affirming, especially when he’d not only been dumped, but exposed to his ex’s new love on an almost daily basis on Facebook.Are you sure you’re not doing this just to show Steve you’re just fine without him?He knew the truth was a complex thing and, if he said it to no one else, it was true—he hoped this would work out not only for himself, but as bigfuck youto Steve, who would regret so much that he’d left behind such a catch. Of course, Connor would be snatched up quickly by someone much better than Steve.
That’s what he believed, anyway.
In any event, he could always change his mind. There was nothing heavy or immutable about this meetup. It was casual.
What did he have to lose?
Chapter Four
“I DON’T LIKEhim,” Miranda said the minute Trey disappeared to use the half bath off the living room.
Connor’s smile vanished as he looked away from Trey’s retreating figure and into the face of his daughter. “What? Why? You barely know him.” His brows furrowed in confusion. “How can you say that?”
Miranda’s gaze shifted toward the powder room, as though Trey was not inside, but standing there, right in front of them. “I wish I could put my finger on it. Something’s off. I’ve learned to trust my gut, just likeyoutaught me.”
“Ah.” Connor waved away her impression. “You’re just being protective of your old dad.” He leaned close and squeezed her arm. “And I do love you for it.”
Miranda’s face looked as though she was trying out a new expression, groping for plausibility. She shrugged. “You’re probably right.” She took a sip of her white wine and turned her head to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling living room windows where the sky was a stunning mix of color and clouds—gray, tangerine, lavender. Soon it would vanish into the dark, but for now it was breathtaking. Across the steely dark waters of Lake Union, the Eastlake neighborhood rose up, and behind it, silhouettes of the Cascades.
“I never get tired of this view,” she said softly and took another sip of wine. Connor followed her gaze and watched as a seaplane splashed down. The engine noise reached them dimly.
“Me neither.” He recalled when he’d first entered the small condo with his realtor, now two decades ago, just before he’d met Steve and flush with his first six-figure advance. He’d gotten the home for a ridiculously low price in a depressed market. It was now worth well over a million dollars, even though it was small—two bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a little over fourteen hundred square feet. He could afford something else, something more extravagant, but this was home. He adored it, especially because of the ever-changing city, lake, and mountain views. Just to the left was a tip of land where Gas Work Park sat, and it always looked to Connor like some rusting steampunk castle.
“It’s certainly a million-dollar view,” Trey said.
Connor hadn’t heard him come back and judging by the way Miranda jumped at the sound of his velvety, raspy voice, neither had she.
Connor watched him move to the sliders and then step out on the small balcony. He gripped the wrought-iron railing, taking in the panorama. As he stood there, the night sky encroached and the dusky lightshow receded, leaving in its wake the warm yellow lights of homes across and in the water—houseboats. In the distance, traffic moved sluggishly on I-5, their lights like insect eyes. A fingernail of moon, yellow gold, rose behind the craggy mountain range.
“I should go,” Miranda said. “It’s getting late and I have a short story to finish for my creative writing class.” She stood.
“Really? Do you have to?” Connor asked. He glanced over at Trey, who seemed unaware of their conversation.
“Don’t you want me to?” She smiled. “You guys have plans. I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
Connor realized, and was surprised, that he wanted her to stay. His daughter was his security blanket. She filled in the gaps in conversation. Although she was more than two decades younger, Connor felt she had the more level head. He’d always been the dreamer—impulsive, willing to ignore looking before he leapt. Sometimes, most of the time really, this approach to life worked out. But he’d also learned that intuition and impulsiveness weren’t always the same thing.
But when his impulsiveness didn’t work, it failed spectacularly. He shrugged. “Have one more drink with us. Then we do have to skedaddle.”
“Dad, no one says that anymore.”
“What?”
“Skedaddle.” She chuckled.
“Well then, that’s all the more reason to use it. Colorful.” He cocked his head. “Sure I can’t pour you just one more glass?”
