Daddy Crush - Adriana Anders Page 0,28
slow nod. “Which one is sh— Are they?”
“The brown-haired one, who looks like a painting.”
Something about Harper’s tone draws my eye sharply in her direction. Is Mikey more than a friend? I give the person sitting there one last look, catch their eye and smile, with a nod.
“What can I get you, Sir?”
I step up and order my coffee and her mocha whatever with a couple muffins, turn and take in the rest of the room, which I can honestly say I hadn’t noticed in the slightest.
Even now, I barely register the faces I scan, until I reach Harper…and her friends.
They’re both a few years older than her, maybe. Mikey is slender, with long, dark hair and a long face. There actually is something ethereal about them, like they stepped out of some old-fashioned painting. The other is shorter and plumper and blonde with pink and red and purple streaks. They both look like art students.
“Karl!” My name’s called. I grab the stuff and head over to my daughter, just as the door opens, letting a whirlwind inside. I swear the barometric pressure changes. All eyes swing to the front.
Jerusha.
A can’t help the grin that splits my face in half. She turns, looking for someone—not me, since we hadn’t planned to meet here, but a part of me wants her to light up the way I have. And she does. Just not at me.
She’s looking at Harper. No, the people with Harper.
“Hey, you guys!” she squeals from the across the room, then barrels towards us. Maybe five feet from where I’m standing, she sees me and comes to a dead stop.
If this were a movie, someone would drop a tray of glasses. The music would scratch to silence. All eyes would be on us.
She’s not smiling at me. Not the way she did for them. She’s watching me, wary.
“Morning, Jerusha.”
“Hi.” The smile she gives me is completely different. A little hesitant, a little shy. But it’s all for me, and I like it. “Karl.”
My heart picks up speed at the sound of my name in her voice. I take an unconscious step toward her, she draws closer. The hum around us becomes nothing but a backdrop.
“You sleep okay?” It’s all I can think of to say. Here I am, the father of a practically full-grown human, and all I can do is grin and ask dumb questions.
“Yes.” She nods, mouth compressed, cheeks bright pink.
Her eyes slide down to the coffees and pastries in my arms and back up. I should put this stuff down so I can touch her.
No. No, I shouldn’t. My daughter’s here.
“You, uh, meeting someone? Or you want to…” I turn to the table where Harper and her friends have sat down.
“Well, that’s my date. Mikey.”
Date. I blink, feeling slow. “Mikey?”
“The person next to Harper. The other is Alba.”
Understanding dawns. “Oh. Okay.” Should I be jealous? Because I am. And should I be angry for my daughter’s sake?
From the table, their low voices carry.
“My dad,” I hear Harper say in her not-so-quiet secretive voice.
“Well, now. He is a stone cold—”
“Don’t say it.”
“He knows Jerusha?”
“You know Jerusha?” Harper asks.
“The three of us do grad work together,” says Mikey.
“You gonna bring me that coffee, Dad, or do I need to stand up and get it?”
It’s my turn to blush, which is ridiculous. The whole thing’s ridiculous. I look at the little round table—my daughter, her friends, Jerusha hovering, the four of them half my age. I can’t do this. “Gotta go.” I nod, hand the shit over to Harper, mumble some kind of goodbye to Jerusha, and make a beeline for the door.
“Wait! Dad! Stop!”
Out on the sidewalk, I pause, breathing hard. A scalding sip of coffee does nothing to improve my mood.
“What the hell, Dad?”
“It’s… This place is too damn small.”
“This place?”
“Richmond.” My mouth closes, out of self-preservation more than anything else. I can’t tell my daughter what I’m doing. They’re the same generation. The same fucking friend group. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Dad.” Harper slaps my shoulder and holds it. “Seriously. If you’re gonna date her, you’re gonna have to get used to this.”
“We’re not dating,” is all I manage. It sounds immature and feels wrong. “We’re…”
“Way-way-way-way-wait. I can’t express the extent to which I need no information about what’s going on with you and my new mom.”
I get a snort out before she goes on, closer now, but still semi-shouting, like she’s trying to get her words through my thick, dumb skull. “I’ve never seen you into