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"Well, you and Ronan are closer than most men would let the world see," Dad continues, a hint of mischief in his tone.
My eyes widen, and I protest, "Oh god, no! Not Ronan."
"Sorry! I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to know," Dad apologizes, quickly realizing his error.
I hesitate for a moment, then decide to share a bit more. "Uh, well, I guess there is someone."
His green eyes, mirroring my own, light up with anticipation. "Oh?" he prompts, eager to hear more.
Sure, here's an improved version of the conversation with added flow and description:
"Yes, ah, this girl I'm friends with," I admit, my voice laced with a touch of uncertainty.
"Friends?" My father raises an eyebrow, prompting me to elaborate.
"Friends for right now," I reply, my thoughts drifting to the unspoken desire for more.
"But…you want it to be more," he observes, a knowing look in his eyes.
"So much more," I confess, my voice filled with longing. "It is so much more already, but I'm used to avoiding things, not facing them head-on."
"If you beat around the bush, she might think you don't want her," my father offers, like a seasoned adviser, although it's advice I'm already well aware of.
"I understand that," I respond, a bit defensively. "I'm processing, okay?"
"What's her name?" he asks, his curiosity piqued.
"Sutton Parker," I reveal.
"Parker?" His eyes narrow in recognition. Little does he know that he watches that name on TV every week.
"Like Elliott Parker," I add, helping him connect the dots.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Ha! You're messing with me?"
Sighing, I admit the truth, "I wish. I really wish I was."
"Elliott is older than you, so how old is she?" my father inquires.
"Ah, she's eighteen, a freshman," I answer.
Nodding thoughtfully, he continues, "Hm. What's she like?"
"Smart, beautiful, but nervous," I reply with a smile that betrays my affection for her.
"Nervous about what?" he wonders.
"Life, everything," I say, my voice softening as I talk about her.
"Did something happen to her?" Confusion creases his features.
"Yeah, her parents," I explain. "She won't tell me much about them, but from the bits I have heard, they're not very good people."
"I'm sorry to hear that," my father responds sympathetically.
"Well, I can't do anything about it," I conclude, with a hint of frustration.
My father slaps me on the back in an encouraging way, his words carrying a sense of support. "You can support her."
