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“Absolutely not. I found myself without a ride, and he happened to be at the same place, so he gave me a lift home.” My ability to lie to my father has always come way too easily.
He gives a grimace. “I don’t like to put my nose where it doesn’t belong, but if there were something happening between the two of you, I’d like you to think about it seriously. What you went through—”
“Dad, it’s not that at all.” I place a hand on his arm and give a reassuring smile. “In fact, Maisie is moving in with him. He’s very happy with her, and I’m happy with you.”
I tap his nose, and he gives a low harrumph from inside his throat as he shakes out the paper to read another article.
I run my hand over the grain of the oak table, one he made for my mother thirty-five years ago, when they moved into this house. It’s a good table. Strong, sturdy … just like their marriage. When Tyler and I moved, I bought a cheap yet attractive table the kids could destroy and figured I’d buy a better one when they were older. Perhaps I should have upgraded to the Thomasville.
“Not that I was watching you come in and out of the house all night,” he states. “I just happened to be up at that hour.”
“You can admit it, old man; you still care. It doesn’t matter how old your children get; you worry about them when they leave the house at night. Soon, I’ll be the old lady peering out the window, waiting for Izzy and Hunter to come home.”
“Who are you calling old?”
“You.” I yawn and stretch my arms out wide, letting my back arch into the back of the wooden chair.
Dad pats his stomach, which is very taut for a man in his late sixties. “Old in age, but not in spirit. I’m up to two hundred and fifty crunches a day.”
“Damn. Maybe I should join you in the garage.”
My dad’s home gym is in our garage—something he set up after Mom died. It’s one of the many ways he fills up his days, which were once blessed with dinners, dancing, and casual nights of watchingFamily Feudand crime shows with his bride. In the years since she’s passed, he’s kept quite the regimented schedule with a trip to the home gym being first each morning.
“More than welcome if you need a trainer. You’re looking a little wimpy these days.”
I swat him in the arm and stick my tongue out. “I kickbox twice a week. Although Tara thinks I should get in there more.”
“Could be good for you. Help you blow off some steam.”
“When do I have the time? Some of us still work for a living and are single parents during the week.”
“Never underestimate the need for a good workout to get your mind off things you don’t want to think about. Maybe you can pretend the bag is Tyler’s face when you kick it.”
I laugh with a nod and brush down my pant leg, making sure there’s no lint on my black ponte pants. It might be a weekend, but since Tyler has the kids so much, I’m either setting up a wedding or hosting appointments with new clients. Guess I’m filling up my days in a different way from my dad. A loss is a loss and all.
“How’s the new office coming along?” He places the newspaper down and looks up at me.
“Slowly. Jillian hopes we’ll have the keys next week.”
“You sure you need the expense of an office? You’ve been doing very well, operating without one, and the overhead is going to—”
“Dad, it’s time. We’re ready to expand, and an office space is the professional thing to do. I’m tired of using the coffee shop as my office. I’ll miss the lattes and coffeehouse music, but I will certainly not miss the nosy patrons on each side of me.”
When Jillian and I started our wedding planning company, we operated out of her home office and rented a storage space to keep supplies. Two years later, we have a steady flow of business and a well-curated office space to help us showcase our talents better and bring in more high-end clientele.
“Don’t listen to me. I’m just a retired gym teacher.”
Dad’s comment causes me to roll my eyes.
I stand up to start heading out when the open newspaper on the table catches my eye. In the far-right column is a picture of a man in uniform—a wickedly attractive officer with hazel eyes and a concern for divorced women leaving precincts with their ex-husbands. Officer Bronson’s photo is showcased, his handsome face looking stoic and professional.
“I know him.” Leaning forward, I read the headline.
HERO OFFICER RETURNS TO FORCE
Dad clears his throat and adjusts his glasses to read the article. “Oh, this is the officer who was shot this summer when he stopped that robbery.”
I glance down and read some of the article.
