Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,24
the redhead from the office who would normally be off limits, to fuck. To fuck until he’d stop thinking about her. Not Kiersten.
Apparently never Kiersten.
Always her.
“Why’d it have to be her?” he murmured into the room. “Go haunt someone else.”
The next morning Dad made me a champion’s breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, covered with a generous dollop of maple syrup. I couldn’t finish it.
“You can eat more than that,” he protested.
“Dad, I don’t eat like this anymore. I don’t know if you know this about women, but when we hit thirty, our metabolism decides ‘fuck it,’ puts its feet up, and decides it’s done a lifetime duty in twenty-nine years.”
He chuckled. “Who cares? Men like curves.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care what men like, Dad. I care what I like.”
Dad winked at me. “Good girl.”
Shaking my head with a smile, I pushed my plate away. Then I snuck what had been on my mind since I’d woken up into the conversation. Okay, I didn’t sneak it in. I threw it in like a wrecking ball. “So, how do you feel about this separation, Dad?”
His fork froze halfway to his mouth, and he cut me a dirty look.
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” His voice had gone all gruff in that way it did when he didn’t want to talk about something.
“Dad?”
“What about you? You seeing anyone? What happened to that sheriff fella?”
I winced. Why did I tell my dad everything? “That was years ago. You know that.”
“He sounded like a good guy. Never understood what happened there.”
He was lying. He knew what happened there. And it was mean of him to mention it. So, of course, I was mean back. “The sex was too good. I couldn’t take it.”
Dad flicked me a dark look. “Dahlia.”
Exasperated, I shrugged. “Why should I talk about my personal life if you won’t talk about Mom?”
“Do you have a personal life?”
“Dad!”
“Well, do you?” He dropped his fork and looked me straight in the eye, which should have prepared me for what was coming but didn’t. “Mike’s getting divorced. He’s just waiting on it finalizing.”
Pain and longing crushed my chest, and I looked away.
“You’ve both been unhappy for a long time. You need to sit down with him and talk.”
My dad: matchmaker. “Dad—”
“He’s a good man, Bluebell. I care about him. I’d like knowing you had someone like him at your back.”
Michael was a good man. But he wasn’t my man. “He’s not for me.”
“I want you to be happy.”
Staring at my plate, I smiled. “I am happy, Dad.”
“And maybe if I hadn’t known you your whole life, I’d believe that.”
Getting up, I wandered over to the coffee machine, determined to change the subject. “What time is your shift today?”
“Two this afternoon. I finish at two in the morning. What are your plans?”
Relieved he was going with the subject change, I leaned against the counter and smiled for real. “I think I’ll go into the city. I’ve missed it.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll be going anywhere near Bova’s?”
I chuckled. Bova’s was my dad’s favorite bakery. “I guess it’s not far from Quincy Market. I think I can make the trip. Anything in particular you want?”
“You choose.” He grinned boyishly at the prospect.
Laughing, I shook my head. “You know you’ll have to hit the gym to work off a trip to Bova’s.”
“Worth it.” He stood up. “You want to take a walk around town with your dad before I have to get ready for work?”
I couldn’t think of anything better. “I’d like that.”
And so we did walk around Everett, and wave after wave of nostalgia washed over me as we walked. We talked about the past, about almost everything and nothing. What we didn’t talk about was Mom or Michael. I thought that meant Dad was letting it go. But I should have known that if I wasn’t letting it go about Mom, Dad definitely wasn’t letting it go about Michael.
Bailey had called that morning, a call I returned as soon as Dad departed for work. My friend was understandably worried about me, and I kept her on the phone for two hours while I caught her up on what had gone down with my brothers and sister. She spent a good fifteen minutes cursing and being pissed at Dermot for what he’d said.
I was trying to calm her down when a deep, cultured voice asked in the background, “What on earth is happening?”
It was Vaughn.
Bailey stopped yelling. “What are you doing here?”