Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
My girlfriend had come over an hour ago, and as she’d spread the garlic and rosemary butter compound on the beef, she’d told me about her day.
“I always forget how easy Stella is,” she said, “until Drew stops by.” She was talking about her client’s new boyfriend. “He is the pickiest eater ever. Seriously, he won’t let anything green come near his plate.”
As I’d predicted, Sydney had aced her audition, and for the last six weeks she’d been Stella’s personal chef. She worked four days a week and was fucking loving it, but she was also looking forward to her apprenticeship that would start after the first of the year.
She’d told me it was sort of like a culinary bootcamp. The apprenticeship would be challenging and hands-on since every week she’d work for a new chef in the Nashville area. She’d get to experience different kitchens and techniques.
As the tenderloin rested, she put a lid on the green beans she was sautéing and turned her attention to the mashed potatoes, adding another pad of butter as she stirred. But her gaze darted to the clock on my microwave and her brow furrowed.
“Should I slow this down?” She was worried about timing.
“No. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.” My dad was usually only late if he was on call, and he wasn’t tonight. I’d made sure of it when I’d invited him over for dinner earlier this week.
The words had barely left my mouth when there was a knock at my front door.
“Speak of the devil,” I teased, strode across the living area, and pulled the door open. “Hey. Come on in.”
My dad’s gaze roamed over the space as he stepped inside. The place looked a lot better than the last time he’d been here. Along with Colin, he’d helped me move in, but I’d needed every day of the last week to unpack and figure out where I wanted to put my shit. The one-bedroom apartment was not as nice of a setup as I had at my dad’s place, but it was my own.
I felt more like an adult than I ever had, especially since I’d invited my dad over to my apartment for dinner. He even brought a bottle of wine.
Sydney smiled when we made our way toward the kitchen, which was open to the living area.
“Hey, Sydney,” Dad said. “Wow. It smells great in here.”
“Thanks.” She picked up a pair of scissors and began to cut the twine free from the cooked roast. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
I took the bottle from him and got to work on opening it. “Do you want some, Sydney?”
When she nodded, I reached up into the top cabinet and pulled down three glass tumblers since I didn’t have wine glasses yet. He watched me pour them and . . . his expression was weird.
“What?” I said. “She turns twenty-one next month.” Plus, when had it ever bothered him before?
When he had arrived, I hadn’t noticed it right away, but my dad was nervous. Like he’d anticipated me dropping some bad news or something. But as I set the glass of wine on the counter beside her, his face changed. Why did he look relieved?
Oh.
When I’d asked him to come over tonight, I’d said I needed him to come alone because I had something important to talk about.
I handed him his glass, picked up mine, and led him into the living room so we’d be out of her earshot as much as possible. I also kept my voice low. “Were you thinking I was going to tell you she was pregnant?”
He let out a heavy breath. “It might have crossed my mind.”
“Don’t worry.” I smiled. “I haven’t made you a granddad yet.”
“That’s . . . good.” He rubbed the pads of fingers on the center of his forehead like he needed to massage away the crease that was forming there. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Cassidy.”
All the worry that had dissipated flooded right back into his expression, but I waved a hand, wordlessly telling him to calm down.
“Do you want to marry her?” I took a sip of my wine and studied his reaction. A range of emotions played out on his face. Surprise. Confusion. Guilt.
“I’m not trying torture you.” I needed to approach it from a different angle. “Would you ask her to marry you if I didn’t exist?”
“But you do exist, Preston.” His tone was strong and genuine. “I’ll always be ashamed of the years I treated you like you didn’t.”
I shifted on my feet, trying to fight the uncomfortableness his words caused. We didn’t talk about it much, but I’d forgiven him for being selfish, and he knew that. I understood it was a disease we’d both recovered from.
Something we had in common.
“What I mean is,” I said, “if you want to marry Cassidy, then you should do it.”