Sixth Grave on the Edge(6)
“Dad,” I said, my lungs struggling for air underneath the oppressive sadness and regret pouring out of him, “you don’t have to go.” He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful. But why now? Why after all these years?
He waved off my reservations. “No, this will be great. I’ve always wanted to learn how to sail.”
“So, you start by planning a trip across the Atlantic?”
“Not across,” he said, his smile a ploy to set my mind at ease. “Not all the way.”
“Dad—”
“I’ll take it slow. I promise.”
“But why? Why all of a sudden?”
He released a hapless sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger, and you only live once. Or, maybe twice in my case.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“You had everything to do with it,” he countered, and placed a hand over his heart. “I know it. I feel it in here.”
He swore I’d cured him of cancer, but I’d never healed anyone in my life. It wasn’t in my job description. I dealt more with the other side of life. The after side.
“Don’t leave her because of me. Please.” If he was leaving my stepmother for my benefit, because of how she treated me, he was a day late and a dollar short. He should have done it when I was seven, not twenty-seven. I could handle her. I’d learned how the hard way.
Cookie pretended to be studying the menu as Dad shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m not, pumpkin.”
“I think you are.” When he dropped his gaze to the sugar jar instead of answering, I added, “And if that’s the case, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. I’m a big girl, Dad.”
When he looked back at me, his expression held a desperate passion. “You’re amazing. I should have told you that every day.”
I put my hand over his. “Dad, please sit down. Let’s talk about this.”
He checked his watch. “I have an appointment. I’ll come see you before I leave. We’ll talk then.” When I narrowed my eyes on him, he added, “I promise. Take care, pumpkin.” He bent and kissed my cheek before heading out the back door.
“He seems very sad,” Cookie said.
“He’s lost, I think. Consumed with regret.”
“Are you okay?”
I drew in a deep breath. “I’m always okay.”
“Mm-hmm.” The doubt in her expression only fueled my need to mock her in public.
“So, what made you think fuchsia pinstripes would look good with yellow?”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Duh. It’s what I do. What’s today’s special?”
“True. But really,” she said, straightening. “Does this look bad?”
She looked fantastic, but I could hardly tell her that.
I’d felt Reyes near me, watching the interaction with my dad. I spotted him when I looked toward the board that listed the daily special. He was wearing an apron and had a towel in his hands, drying them as he pushed off the bar and strolled toward us.
Cookie saw him, too. “Holy mother of all things sexy,” she said, her eyes drinking him in.
“Right there with ya.”
“Will I ever get used to that sight?” she asked me, not daring to take her eyes off him.
“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow in an apron?”
“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow period.”
A giggle escaped me before I said, “Well, you know what they say: Practice makes perfect.”
“Exactly. I’ll need lots of practice.”
“Me, too.”
A table of women old enough to be his grandmothers waved him down before he got to us. He stopped and listened to them gush over his cooking but kept his sparkling gaze on me. It stole my breath. Everything about him stole my breath. From the way he dried his hands on that towel to the way he lowered his lashes shyly when they propositioned him.
They propositioned him!
What the bloody—!
“We’re very limber,” one of them said, pulling on the apron string Reyes had wrapped around his waist and tied in front.
Cookie was in the middle of taking a much-needed drink of cold water and burst into a fit of coughs at the woman’s brazenness.
When Reyes looked back at me, he caught me with my mouth open in astonishment. I slammed it shut, hoping I hadn’t in any way resembled a cow. But he turned back to the women as though suddenly interested in the wares they were peddling. As if.
Cookie wheezed beside me, trying to get air through her abused esophagus, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to win my man back from these silver foxes. One of them had a walker, for goodness’ sake. How limber could she be?