looks like years of receipts, “You want something for lunch?”
“I’m fine.” He doesn’t look at me, so. I step into the room and lean against the door frame.
“Need something?” he ask, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he beams at me.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you enjoy the shop so much.”
“It’s been awhile since I got good news,” he admits to me.
“News?” I repeat. “You didn’t share.”
He leans in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head, “I didn’t have to honey. It’s all over every newspaper in the country.”
It takes a second for his words to sink in, but when I realize what he’s referring to a hollow pang hits me square in the chest. “You mean what happened to Nathaniel West?”
“I know.” He waves a hand at me. “It’s morbid, but for a long time I’d stopped believing in karma.”
“And now you do again,” I finish for him despite my cotton ball of a tongue.
"What Nathaniel West did to this family is unforgivable. Do I have to remind you of that?" His mood slips for a moment, allowing me a glimmer of the hatred he'd wasted on him.
"You were friends once," I say in a soft voice. It had to count for something.
Dad shakes his head, rubbing the scruff on his chin. "You're too young to understand this, but sometimes people aren't who we think they are. Don't let your guard down, honey."
I want to tell him I've been understanding this for a couple of years now, but that I hadn't let hate consume me. I had allowed myself to be bitter, though. If I didn't get that in check would I wind up like him? Practically throwing a party for a dead man?
“You okay?” He studies me momentarily, but the wheels aren’t turning behind his eyes. As far as he's concerned, I'll reach the same conclusion he has.
“Low blood sugar,” I lie. “I think I’m going to go grab lunch.
“You’re working too hard,” he says with a sigh. “This is your summer, you should enjoy yourself. Grab lunch and take the afternoon off.”
I mumble in agreement to this plan and back out of the room. Nathaniel West was my father’s enemy. I’d taken that feud seriously, even when I didn’t have a horse in the race. Now that the man was dead, that hatred had evaporated. Now my mixed feelings toward the West family had a lot more to do with the legacy of his children than the bad blood from before I was born. I hate Monroe, but I like Jameson. I can’t take sides any more, and now, even my afternoon off feels tainted by the macabre joy my dad is taking in these events.
I dig my phone out and call Josie, but she doesn’t answer. I could get an Uber or catch the bus… or I could call my personal driver.
It doesn’t take me long to make my decision.
Chapter Fifteen
There’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s bright blue, and Jameson is happy. I tuck the copy of Wuthering Heights I filched from the shop in my purse as soon as he parks his BMW. At least from where I stand there’s no Heathcliff glower frozen on his face. But just like the wind on the moors, that could change any minute. Before I can shoulder my bag and head toward him, he’s out of the car, opening the door.
“I’m starting to get used to this,” I tease.
“Good.”
“Is there any way we can stop at the store?” I ask him as he pulls out. I guess if he’s going to insist on being my driver than he can help me run errands. “I need to grab some lunch stuff.”
“Already taken care of, Duchess.” He hitches his finger towards the back seat where a wicker basket sits.
“Is that a picnic basket?” I stare at it like it might disappear or transform into an everyday object. Because real life does not include hot guys and picnic baskets.
“I assumed I’d need to feed you,” he explains. He assumed correctly. Somehow Jameson has managed to steadily out-number his mood swings with surprisingly sweet gestures.
“I didn’t know picnic baskets were a real thing.” I hope he didn’t catch the slight break in my voice, even Yogi Bear didn’t cry over picnics. It's been a long time since a guy surprised me with something as sweet as this. Actually, a guy never has.
“They are,” he informs me. “It’s just one of the many perks of living in a