Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,11
it. You don’t have to get up.”
“I need to make my dinner.”
“Don’t be silly. Let me fix you something while I’m here.”
He made a grumbling noise in his throat. “Don’t you try to sneak anything green in my food.”
I stifled a laugh. Although I denied it, I hid vegetables in his food all the time. “Okay, Dad. Nothing green. Promise.”
He grumbled again and I heard the clunk of his cane as he slowly made his way out to the living room. A couple of minutes later, he turned the TV on.
With a glance over my shoulder to make sure he couldn’t see me from where he was sitting, I pulled a butternut squash out of one of the bags. He hadn’t said anything about not sneaking something orange in his food. Besides, he actually loved vegetables. He was just too stubborn to admit it.
Humming to myself, I made dinner for both of us. I ate here with him once or twice a week. My apartment was only a few minutes away so I could come over and check up on him. Although he’d lived alone since I was in college, I worried about him, and not just because he had a hard time getting around. I didn’t want him to be lonely. Mom had died when I was little and he’d never remarried. In fact, he still wore his wedding ring.
When I finished cooking, I brought our plates out to the living room. He sat in his old recliner with his feet propped up. A blanket and pillow were heaped in a pile next to his chair and a little side table was cluttered with prescription bottles, reading glasses, pencils that needed sharpening, folded-up newspapers, and a stack of crossword puzzle books.
My eyes lingered on the blankets and pillow, and there was that tug on my heart again. “Have you been sleeping down here again?”
He waved off my question. “It’s fine. My chair’s more comfortable anyway.”
I handed him his plate. “Dad, you can’t keep sleeping in your recliner.”
The lines in his forehead creased. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not a bed.”
“So?”
Careful not to dump my dinner in my lap, I gently lowered myself onto the couch. “So, if you can’t go up the stairs, we really need to talk about finding you a new place to live.”
“No.”
“Dad—”
“No. My house is fine.”
I let it drop—for the time being. I knew it was more complicated than simply finding him a new house. It had to be something he could afford, and with housing prices being what they were around here, that was a lot easier said than done. But he really needed a place without stairs.
We ate our dinner in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the low hum of the TV. He didn’t mention the presence of the butternut squash in his meal. Either I’d hidden it adequately or he actually liked it.
“You know Mike who lives next door?” he asked, interrupting the quiet.
“I think so.”
“He had someone clean his gutters the other day. Pressure washed the house, too. His card is over there on the mantle.” He gestured with his fork.
I didn’t know if he was telling me this for a reason or just making conversation. “That’s nice. Do you think your house needs to be pressure washed? Because I think it’s probably fine.”
“No. I thought you could go out with him.”
“With who?”
“I told you, his card’s on the mantle.”
I let out a long sigh. “Please tell me you didn’t set me up with the guy who cleaned your neighbor’s gutters.”
“I said you’d call him.”
“Dad, I’m not going to call him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because. I don’t want to call some random guy who was working on your neighbor’s house.”
“He agrees with me about kale.”
“Oh, then he must be the man of my dreams.”
“He might be. Just take his card.” He took another bite. “Unless you’re dating the doctor. What’s his name?”
“Dr. Handsy—I mean, Dr. Shilling. And no, definitely not.”
Dad shrugged. “He was kind of an ass.”
My mouth dropped open. “Then why did you set me up with him?”
“I’m just throwing fuckin’ spaghetti at the wall, Soph. One of these days, something’s gonna stick.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best approach to dating.”
He shoveled the last of his dinner into his mouth. I got up and took both our plates to the kitchen, only dropping one fork. I cleaned up the dishes and checked to make sure he didn’t need refills on any of his prescriptions.