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I know it was him. I just can’t prove it.
“After everything I’ve done,” I say. “Spying on you, lying to you…”
He turns a spoon around in his fingers, not saying anything, just watching me.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I whisper.
“I know that you could have had sex with me last night and got the money yourself, but you didn’t. Look, I’m sure whoever paid it did it for your Dad as much as for you. Cancer sucks. Nobody deserves it. And if someone is offering help, they can obviously afford it, so you should just take the money and run.”
Overcome, I put my face in my hands.
“Aw,” he says. “Shit.” I hear his chair scrape on the tiles. He walks around the table to sit in the chair beside mine. And then he pulls me into his arms.
For a few seconds, I’m so full of emotion that my throat clamps shut and all I can do is sit there, rigid, as the realization dawns.
Dad can have his treatment. I know there’s no guarantee of a happily ever after, but it’s the best chance he’s got.
Then the wave washes over me, and I turn and bury my face in his All Blacks shirt.
“Sorry,” I squeak, trying to hold back the tears that are soaking the fabric.
“It’s all right.” His arms are warm around me. He lifts a hand for a second, I think to gesture to Jack or someone else behind me, and then it returns to hold me tightly.
The tsunami of emotion is brief, and then it retreats, leaving me tired and exhausted and all mixed up. Mack’s leaning back in the chair, legs stretched out, looking out of the window, but as I stir, he turns and kisses my forehead before releasing me. I push back a little, wiping my face, and glancing around, embarrassed, but nobody’s paying us any attention.
“All right?” he asks, caressing my hair with the hand of the arm that’s still around me.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s just a hug,” he says.
“I meant for the money.”
He doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t denied it outright. But I can see he’s not going to admit to it.
There’s no point in pushing him. For whatever reason, he’d rather not own up to it. Maybe he thinks doing so will make me feel more obliged to him, although his refusal to admit it won’t change that.
“Are you going to go and see your dad now?” he asks.
I nod and blow my nose on a serviette. “We’ll need to get a courier to transport the drug and get it made into a bag ready for infusion, to organize the clinic, that sort of thing, but we should be able to get him in this week.”
“Okay. What are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight? It’s my night off. I have major plans to flake out on the sofa in my pink PJs and eat ice cream out of the tub.”
“Aw. Don’t do that. Come to dinner with me.”
I smile. “You’re going to wine and dine me?”
He pulls at one of my curls. “Maybe.”
He still wants me. Despite the fact that I’ve had no sleep and must look like Shrek’s lesser-known cousin.
I lean forward and press my lips to his stubbly cheek. “You don’t have to.”
I wanted this guy before he paid for my father’s cancer treatment. I’m hardly going to say no now. I know it’s only going to be for one night. But I’m more than okay with that.
“Dinner,” he says firmly. “Then we’ll see.”
