daddy one day. He was selfless and principled. Brave. Loyal.
He’d make a good husband to someone too.
I thought about how he’d given me his French toast earlier, and I had to clutch my heart through my dress.
“You okay?” he asked, watching me squeeze my chest.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
It’s just that you’re perfect, and my heart hurts.
“Hey…” His eyes narrowed at my hand, and he reached for it over the table. “How’d you get this?” He ran a thumb along the purple mark just above my knuckles.
The touch gave me butterflies.
“Oh, it was a freak Pop-Tart accident while you were at work.”
His thumb stilled, and he looked at me like I was about to tell him I was kidding. “A Pop-Tart accident? You got injured making a Pop-Tart?”
I pulled my hand back and feigned indignation. “Yes, I did. The middle of those things are like molten lava when they’re hot. And me and this particular Pop-Tart had a run-in.”
His eyes danced with amusement. “We really need to keep you out of the kitchen.”
I shrugged. “So I cook the way you drive. Whatever.”
He laughed.
“Hey,” I said, after a moment. “I’m sorry she was insulting. It was meant to hurt me, not you.”
He held his glass on the table. “You’re very different around her.”
Yes. Because she has the key to every room.
I’d never been able to keep her out.
Or lock her in.
I let out a long breath. “It’s like the second I’m in her presence, I’m six years old, disappointing her at her dinner party with my Mozart concerto.”
“How long did you play the piano?”
I reached down and pulled the backs off my heels. “Fifteen years. Every day for three hours, six days a week. Sunday was for tennis and whatever other activity she made me do.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Why did you stop?”
“I stopped because she forced it on me.”
He took a drink. “Were you any good?”
“Well, I’d hope so. You spend three hours a day doing anything for fifteen years, you better be good at it,” I said, eating an olive.
I would play for him if he asked. And I didn’t play for anyone.
Piano was symbolic for me. The shackles of my childhood, the chain I cast off when I finally had some control of my own life. Picking it up again, even though I was good at it, felt like acknowledging that her tyranny had merit. So my stilled fingers were my rebellion.
But for Josh? To have him look at me with admiration? I would play for Josh.
It was such an odd feeling wanting him to be impressed with me but simultaneously hoping he didn’t like me too much.
“You got into Harvard? And you were in law school?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yes. I didn’t see why I had to leave Sloan to go to Massachusetts just to get a degree I didn’t even want. So I went to UCLA. I was in my first year of law school when I dropped out. Obviously my mom was pissed about it,” I mumbled into my coffee cup.
“You didn’t want to be a lawyer?” He gave me a dimpled grin. “Arguing for a living? You? You were born for it.”
I smirked. “I prefer to argue for fun.”
Plus it had been too hard sitting in classes as my periods got worse and worse. The cramps, the anemia. Working from home was just easier on me. And I enjoyed having my own business. I was finally having fun with my life.
“Your mom is older than I pictured. How old is she?” he asked.
“Sixty-seven. She got pregnant with me when she was forty-three. A complete shock. She didn’t think she could get pregnant.” She’d had the same issues I did but less severe. “I basically ruined her life. Her career, her retirement plans—all put on hold.”
I’d been a twin. She’d lost my brother in the fourth month of her pregnancy. If she had to be stuck with a baby, at least it could have been the boy so my dad could pass down the family name. But no. She’d gotten the girl instead. I disappointed her before I was even born.
How differently Josh and I had grown up. His parents had tried for a boy. He was exactly what they wanted when he came. And he was probably loved and cherished by every member of his family.
Like he was loved and cherished by me.
We were watching each other. Enjoying one of our comfortable silences. He was adorable. His hair was a little messy, his T-shirt tight