18. Derrick
18
DERRICK
“This is ridiculous.”
Izzy, with a DSLR camera hanging around her neck, fixes the collar of my shirt for the fifth time. The woman is insisting that I let her take photos of me for the website she’s putting together.
I huff. “Nobody cares about what their contractor looks like.”
Her hand stills but stays pressed against my shoulder. It’s so small, her touch so delicate. If I put my hand over hers, it would no doubt swallow it whole.
“Putting a face with the brand is critical. A friendly picture helps tell your story, and your story matters. That alone can entice them to hire you over another company.”
She takes a step back, the warmth of her hand disappearing .
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Her lips fight a smile at the nickname. “Lean against the column there. Yeah, just like that. Hand in your pocket. Perfect.”
It’s cute, the way she directs me. Despite how little I want to do the photos, it’s impossible to say no to Izzy. I would’ve gone just about anywhere she wanted for this photo shoot. Thankfully, she thinks taking them at home will not only show me off, but also several projects I’ve completed over the years. Like the covered deck out back where she has me posing now.
After she’s taken a handful of photos, she steps up close, bringing her sweet vanilla and honey scent with her.
She takes the strap off her neck and holds the camera out so we can both see the display, then flicks through the photos.
“What do you think?”
I look down at her, wishing I could bury my face in her hair or count her freckles.
“I think you’re extremely talented at everything you do.”
Pink tinges her cheeks as she peers up at me through her lashes. “Thank you, but I promise I’m really not.”
I’d beg to differ, but I keep my mouth shut on that matter. “Do you need more pictures, or is that enough?”
She twists her lips and flicks through the photos again. “I think we’re good with what’s here.”
“Good.” I nod. “Now go change.”
Brow furrowed, she studies me, opening her mouth then closing it again before she finally stammers, “I… why?”
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
Her eyes narrow, skeptical. “Where?”
“The beach. There’ll be a big bonfire there tonight. I thought you might like it. ”
It’s not exactly my scene, but she has to be tired of hanging around the house.
“Okay.” She bites her lip in a futile effort to hide her smile.
She hurries inside, with Wonton running after her. I’m slower to go in, and as I pour myself a glass of water, she scurries around upstairs, the boards creaking beneath her feet.
Twenty minutes later, she comes down in an off-white crochet dress that hugs every curve. I physically ache with the desire to put my hand on the soft divot of her waist.
She’s braided pieces of hair, then pulled all of it back into a ponytail, with the exception of a few short pieces that curl on each side of her face.
“This isn’t too much, is it?” She waves a hand up and down her body.
I clear my throat, forcing my heart back to its rightful place. “You look beautiful.”
Her beaming smile makes the churning in my stomach more pronounced.
“Thank you.” She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Can we get slushies on the way?”
With a chuckle, I swipe my keys off the console. “Anything you want.”
It’s only when her cheeks pinken that I realize what my words could imply.
Wonton, not pleased about being left behind, hops up on the couch and pouts while he watches us through the window.
“Look at him.” She nods at the house as she pulls her seat belt across her body. “This is why I take him everywhere. He’s so good at guilt trips.”
“Kids are good for that, too.”
“Was it hard? Raising them by yourself?”
My heart stutters at the unexpected question. Without responding, I back out of the driveway and head for the gas station.
By the time we pull into the parking lot, she’s wringing her hands, and her shoulders are curled in. Like she’s ashamed for asking the question. I can’t blame her, since I’ve yet to speak since she brought it up.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “It was difficult. And in ways I never could have imagined. Between parenting and working, I always felt stretched thin. And…” I lower my head. “Anyone that has to raise their kids on their own is a badass. It’s not for the faint of heart. I’m lucky. My kids were relatively easy. But they were still children. When one or both was sick, that’s when life was hardest. But hey…” I shrug, dropping my hands from the steering wheel to unbuckle my seat belt. “We made it, and I think they turned out all right.”
“I’m not sure I could have done it,” she admits, playing with a loose thread on her dress. “Just continue on after losing a spouse….”
“Trust me,” I say softly, “you’d be surprised the things you can do when you’re forced into the situation. I couldn’t bring my wife back, but my kids needed a parent, so I had to step up for them. You do what you have to.” I clap my hands and point to the store, ready to move on from the topic. “I’ll grab those. You wait here.”
I hurry inside and fill two Styrofoam cups, then rush to the counter and pull out my wallet. It’s getting darker outside, and I want to get to the beach before sunset.
Greg chuckles, his smile amused. “Your girl really likes these things, huh?”
I tap my card to pay. “Yeah, she does,” I reply, not bothering to correct him.
The moment I’m outside, before the station’s heavy glass door has even swung shut behind me, Izzy makes grabby hands where she’s still sitting in the passenger seat.
I shake my head at her antics. I’ve created a monster. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I hand her one slushie and stick the other in the cupholder.
“God, I love these things,” she says a few minutes later, the tip of her tongue stained blue.
“Really? I would’ve never guessed.”
With a huff full of affection, she gives my shoulder a light punch.
Traffic is heavier than usual on the way, but it’s to be expected, since it’s tourist season. By the time I find a parking spot on the street a little over a block away, Izzy has finished her slushie, and she’s buzzing from all the sugar.
“I can’t believe you’re taking me to a beach party.” She hops out with more gusto than necessary and slings her bag over her shoulder. “This is going to be so fun.”
I cross in front of the truck to meet her on the sidewalk and catch myself half a second before I instinctively stick out my hand for hers.
What the fuck are you doing?
It feels natural, to reach for her, and that is a major red flag.
I’m getting too close.
Too comfortable.
I’m silent on our walk over to the beach, but Izzy talks enough for the both of us, rambling about her progress on the website and what she thinks I could do to make things go smoothly when Jessica returns.
At the reminder that this thing with Izzy—living together, working together—is temporary, I find my shoulders curving upward.
I should be looking forward to the day she moves on. Instead, the thought of being by myself again is more than a little depressing.
I’ll get over it, though.
I have to.
I was fine before, so I’ll be fine again.
Even if “fine” is a sad state of existence.
“Are you listening?”
“Huh?” I cock my head and peer down at her. Izzy isn’t short. She’s probably five-six or five-seven. Even so, she’s small in comparison to me.
We’re at the edge of the beach, millimeters from the sand. Music blasts, some catchy, sugary-sweet pop song that Lili probably loves.
Her smile falls. Only a fraction, but knowing I’ve disappointed her feels like a massive kick in the gut.
“Never mind,” she says, her voice bright. She’s generally a happy, bubbly person, but this brightness is pure fabrication. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
She grasps my arm, using it to hold her steady so she can take her shoes off.
And when she loops her finger through the back strap to carry them, I shake my head. “Give them here.”
“I’ve got it,” she says, opening her bag.
She won’t look at me.
Dammit. My stomach sinks.
What did she say?
What did I do?
Maybe the better question is, what didn’t I do?
Now, without her shoes, she surges ahead onto the beach.
I catch up to her easily, shoving my hands into my pockets. “The sun should be setting soon if you want to watch it. ”
“That’s okay.” Her tone is clipped and unfamiliar. “I’m going to grab a drink. You want anything?”
“I’m good, but I can get something for you. What do you want?”
She flashes me a sharp-toothed smile. “I’m capable of grabbing a drink myself. Wait here.”
With a thick swallow, I dip my chin and stay put like a chastised dog.
I keep my eye on her, watching as she walks up to a small group of guys at the cooler. She points, and one of them grabs a beer from the ice, pops the cap, and passes it to her. She laughs at something he says, touching his forearm when she takes the beer.
I look away.
Red-hot jealousy pierces through me. A jealousy like I’ve never felt before. One filled with anger, and with sadness, because I want her laughing and touching me.
But that’s ridiculous. This guy is clearly closer to her age. It makes sense for her to chat and flirt with him.
I’m too old for her. Despite my growing feelings, I have to remember that.
Liking her in any way that isn’t platonic is wrong .
But I’m drawn to her. I can’t fight the urge to watch her. I turn back to where she was, only to find her gone. The guy, too.
Panic surges through me as I turn one way, then the other, taking in every group near me. But I don’t see her.
I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t stop myself as I move down the beach in search of her. I scan the crowd, but with so many tourists here, it’s hard to single out just one person.
This is my own fault. I should have listened to her. I was too in my head, and now it’s bitten me in the ass .
Though maybe this is a good thing. Maybe she should go off with someone else. It’d be a good reminder that I can’t have her.
Under normal circumstances, Izzy wouldn’t ditch me. But I hurt her feelings. Unknowingly, of course, but I did. And now she wants to distance herself.
After ten minutes of searching, I still haven’t found her. Despite how many times I tell myself to let her do her thing, I can’t help but worry.
I make my way back over to the cooler where she went for a beer. Recognizing a few of the guys, I ask, “Do you remember a brunette? About this tall?” I hold a hand up to my chest at about the right height. “She was talking with one of your friends, but now I can’t find her.”
One points his finger. “Your daughter’s over there, dude. Relax.”
I flinch, and my stomach bottoms out. Daughter .
Even these guys know I’m way too old for her.
I follow his finger, though, and find her dancing with the guy she first spoke to. She moves her body sinuously to the music. A song about dancing with your hands tied. Her eyes are closed, and the guy’s hand is on her waist, his eyes glossy with lust.
It’s a punch to the chest—one I very much need.
“Thanks,” I grumble.
I snatch a beer from the cooler and move away, but close enough to where I can still keep an eye on her.
I plop onto the sand and twist the cap off my beer, then take a long swig, sulking in my own misery.
Fuck, I’m pathetic, lusting after a woman almost half my age. A woman the same age as my daughter .
I’ve never been one to stew in self-loathing.
But in this moment, I’ve never hated myself more.