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“Fine, so long as you join me in the process.” Getting her out of the house would probably do her some good. My dad always pushed my mom to do the same whenever she was deep in one of her depressions, so I know it works.
Plus, I have a feeling she will be more willing to agree to a working relationship if I play my cards right.
Her gaze bounces between me and the paused TV screen in her room. “I don’t know. I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“Oh, my bad. Feel free to carry on with your pity party.” I make a show of glancing at the mess on her bed. The purple comforter can barely be seen beneath the mountain of used tissues and discarded chocolate wrappers.
Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
I tuck the ring into my pocket. “I’ll send you a video of what I end up doing with it. Hopefully you can make time to watch it in between binge-watching episodes ofThe Silver Vixensand crying your eyes out.”
“I amnotcrying my eyes out.”
My eyes flicker over her face for an extra beat before I turn around.
“You’re a real asshole sometimes,” she calls out.
“See you next Sunday. Or not. I’m sure you’ll be real busy and everything.” I don’t bother looking back, although I throw her one last goodbye wave from over my shoulder.
She mutters something inaudible before saying, “You know what? I’m going with you.”
Gotcha.
I kill my smile before turning around. “What happened to being busy?”
“Consider my calendar cleared.”
I hope this doesn’t blow up in my face.
Famous last words.
“You redid the interior.” Dahlia runs her hand across the leather dashboard of my dad’s old truck.
“Mm-hmm.” I place my hand on her headrest and reverse down the Muñozes’ driveway.
My dad was my hero, best friend, and future business partner, so I had no clue what to do with my grief when he passed. Restoring my dad’s truck was eventually was one of the best ways to process his loss, although it came a few years too late.
She brushes her palm down the smooth leather bench. “How many times did he say he was going to do it? A hundred?”
Maybe a thousand, but he never lived long enough to see it through.
My dad had many dreams in his short life, including fixing up his truck, but he died before he could make them come true.
The same dull ache in my chest reappears, like a wound that never fully healed. Thankfully, Dahlia stops talking about my dad, giving me room to think without his memory distracting me.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, including her silence after five minutes.
“Wait! Stop!” Dahlia nearly yanks my hand away from thesteering wheel.
“No.” I continue driving past thenieve de garrafafood truck located near the Lake Wisteria Park Promenade. Helping her get rid of the ring is one thing, but stopping fornievealong the way? Absolutely not happening.
“Please?” She actually presses her hands together. “I haven’t had Cisco’s in years!”
“It’s October.”
“So? There could be a blizzard outside, and I’d still want it.”
My muscles tense even more. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
