A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,85

Robin’s wish to stay away.

When the doorbell rang, it roused him from a light doze. Dean went into the hallway, squinting at the glass in the front door, trying to ascertain who was out there.

He opened the door, and froze at the sight of Robin’s dad.

“Hey.” Mr. Davis shuffled his feet. “Can we talk?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

For a moment, Dean didn’t know how to react. Then he remembered his manners. “Come in.” He stood aside to let Robin’s dad enter, then closed the door after him. “Would you like to take off your coat?”

“That depends.” Mr. Davis looked him in the eye. “On how long I’m staying.”

“How about long enough to drink a cup of coffee?” Dean was determined to be civilized. Robin’s relationship with his parents was at stake here.

Mr. Davis nodded. “That sounds good.” He shrugged off his coat, and Dean hung it on a hook. He glanced at Mr. Davis’s snow-covered boots, and seconds later they stood on the mat beneath the coat hooks.

Dean pointed to the living room. “Go on in. And I hope you like cats, because you’re about to be investigated.”

“Yeah, I like cats.” He frowned. “Is Robin in there?”

“He’s taking a nap in his room.”

Mr. Davis’s eyes widened. “His room?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s his for as long as he needs it.”

“No, I meant—”

“Yes, I know what you meant,” Dean interjected. “And if you’re here to talk about him, I really think he should hear this, don’t you?” He didn’t break eye contact.

Mr. Davis regarded him steadily. “Can I have my coffee first? We’ll let him sleep a little longer.”

Dean got the message. Mr. Davis wanted to talk ‘man-to-man’.

Fine. He could do that.

“Take a seat and get warm. I’ll be in with the coffee.” Then he left Mr. Davis in the hallway, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. He leaned against the countertop, his stomach clenched. What the fuck do I say to him?

Dean did not want to screw this up.

He set up the machine, his mind racing. By the time the coffee had finished brewing, he’d come up with—and dismissed—several different possibilities for starting the conversation. But as he placed two cups on a tray, along with the coffee pot, Dean realized he had this all the wrong way round.

Robin’s dad had to be the one to get this particular ball rolling.

Dean carried the tray into the living room, not surprised to find Lady stepping delicately into Mr. Davis’s lap. “You’ll take cuddles from anyone who has a pulse, won’t you, Lady?”

Mr. Davis stroked her back. “She’s gorgeous.”

Okay, that thawed Dean a little. “Watch out for your ankles. Loki may be small but he’s mighty.”

Mr. Davis peered at the kitten, who was already approaching in stealth mode. “Loki by name, Loki by nature?” He reached down and scritched Loki under the chin.

“You’d better believe it.” Dean set the tray down on the coffee table. “How do you take yours?”

“Black, thank you.”

Dean poured him a cup, then put it on the side table near him. He poured himself some, then took a seat in the armchair.

“I like your tree.”

Dean glanced at it. “Robin helped me pick it out. He chose it. Then he helped decorate it.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

“I’m Mike.” He sipped his coffee. “This is good.”

Dean had had all the small talk he could take. “You didn’t come here to compliment me on my decorations or my coffee. So why don’t we talk about what’s really on your mind?”

“Right to the point. I like that.” Mike took another sip, then set the cup down. He took a breath. “Last night my wife decided it was time for some ‘plain speaking’ as she put it. What she actually said was that I needed to pull my head out of my ass.”

Dean already liked Robin’s mom a whole lot. “Yeah, that sounds a lot like ‘plain speaking’ to me.”

“Then my son Ryan got in on the act. He didn’t pull any punches either. And I couldn’t rebuke him for it, because he nailed it. They both did.” Mike swallowed, then reached for his coffee.

Dean waited, his stomach tight.

“This is an awkward situation, all right? When I had it out with Robin the other night, I said a few things that have since come back to haunt me.”

“Such as?”

Mike sighed. “My wife—Petra—reminded me of something my father-in-law said, the night she brought me home to meet her parents.” He put down his cup. “I don’t know how much Robin has told