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Nick didn’t want to relive it, but he’d shared far too much of his life with the Becketts to hide something like this. “She literally danced through the place with her boyfriend, and then she was just so flippin’happythat she couldn’t help but share with me how miserable I looked and how that could all change if I couldfind my joyin dancing. Like I could just stand up, cut a rug, and be on cloud nine. So I told her it wasn’t so easy for all of us, and maybe if she didn’t have the boyfriend and the talent and those big brown eyes of hers, the world wouldn’t be all candy and roses for her either.”
Nick saw sympathy on Mel’s face, and he didn’t like it. Sympathy meant she probably understood the situation better than he did. Melanie Beckett had an unnerving knack for seeing what Nick didn’t mean to show—or didn’t want to admit to himself.
“Did Hayley know about the walker?” she asked.
Nick shook his head. “Not until afterward.”
He could feel Mel’s amber eyes on him—not judging, but not letting him hide either.
“And were you miserable?” she asked gently.
Nick focused on stabbing at a blueberry. “It was not a good night,” he said. “But nothing compared to yesterday’s humiliation of helping your husband pretend he’s a Jamaican rapper.”
“Aw, come on,” Gavin protested. “Who doesn’t like that song?”
“Honey, we talked about this,” Mel said wearily. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”
“Too late. He actually made me go up there and sing about getting caught …” Nick glanced at Rosie, who was engrossed in trying to pick up a slippery chunk of strawberry. “Playing Legoswith the girl next door. I had to sing this. I had to sell it.”
“Down, Daddy?” Rosie had lost interest in her food and wanted out of the chair.
“Sure, sweetie.” Gavin started to move, but Mel stopped him with a glance. “She asked you because she knew what I’d say.”
“Which means we’re raising a very smart child.” Gavin smiled at his wife. “It’s Saturday, honey. Uncle Nick is here. Let her eat in stages.”
Mel gave in. “Wash her hands, and keep her in the kitchen.”
“Yep.” Gavin lifted his daughter into the air. “And I will have you know that the bar loved that song.”
“Only because I made it work,” Nick said. He turned to Mel. “Even though he was wearing his Irish gangster hat.”
“Stop it,” Mel scolded. “He looks like a poet in that cap. And it’s not like hemadeyou get on stage.”
“Oh, he totally did.” Nick was chewing as Mel looked at him skeptically, so he tilted his head toward Gavin.
“Those are the rules,” her husband said, wiping Rosie’s hands at the sink. “If I go with him, I get to pick a duet and his backstory.”
Mel tried to squeeze the last of the syrup from a nearly empty bottle. “You should tell people the truth.” She pushed back her chair. “Gav, do you know if we—”
“Stay there,” her husband said firmly.
Mel rolled her eyes. “I can get the syrup, babe.”
“But you won’t.” He swept Rosie off the counter and high into the air. “Ready to fly to the syrup, young one?”
“Yeah!” Rosie laughed. “Let’s go, Daddy!”
Nick watched Gavin pilot his daughter through the kitchen, her arms outstretched like she was a human airplane. “What just happened?”
“Gavin thinks I never sit long enough to enjoy a meal,” Mel told him.
Gavin flew Rosie over the table, Rosie strafed her mother’s hair with tiny fingers, and Mel leaned her head back and kissed her daughter’s cheek. Nick grinned, even as the scene sent wistfulness flitting through him. Rosie put out her hand, and he gave her a high five before Gavin swung her back toward the pantry.
“So,” Mel said. “You feel bad about starting off on the wrong foot with the new waitress, and you want to make her feel better.”
He nodded. “She’s nice. Naive maybe, but nice.” He wiped his mouth. “And I don’t want her thinking I’m a jerk if we’re going to see each other at the bar every week. Just because I told her things were going to go wrong doesn’t mean I wanted it to happen.”
“What went wrong?”
