Chapter 7
Piper Grimsay
DO NOT GO TO DAD’S PLACE!
Me
Gas leak?
Piper Grimsay
What? No, I just walked in on his new boyfriend naked in the kitchen!
Me
Lucky you - the guy is smokin
Piper Grimsay
NOT HELPING JAZZ!!
Well, it looks as though the visit I paid to Deacon yesterday did the trick.
I guess he and Dad have talked things through and now everything’s rosy again.
Really, really rosy, apparently. Maybe I should be a little more concerned considering Dad’s pushing fifty, but it’s his life—if he wants to over-exert himself banging a super-hot guy half his age, I say go for it.
My sister, however, still seems to be having a little trouble adjusting to the new reality. And I guess walking in on Deacon naked—as impressive a sight as it must have been—isn’t going to help matters.
Me
Calm down, you’re overreacting
Piper Grimsay
I saw his penis, Jazz! I saw our father’s boyfriend’s penis!
Me
Did you take a pic?
Piper Grimsay
You’re such a creep
Me
She’s so fun to wind up. Although, to be fair, I’m only half-joking. If there really was a naked picture of Deacon Stapleton floating around, I doubt I’d be able to resist looking; my dad’s a very lucky man.
Me
You told me to sort Dad out, so I did
Piper Grimsay
I don’t remember the part about naked men in the kitchen!
Me
Doesn’t RJ ever walk around naked in your house?
Piper Grimsay
Yeah but we’re practically living together. We’re in a serious relationship
I sigh at the text and try to think of the best way to tell my sister she’s starting to sound like an ignorant bitch without upsetting her.
Ah, fuck it. Diplomacy’s never been my strong point.
Me
You’re starting to sound like an ignorant bitch
Piper Grimsay
WHAT?
Me
They love each other. It’s serious. Deacon’s here to stay so get the fuck on board. If you don’t want to walk in on him naked then just fucking knock
Piper Grimsay
Ouch
Me
Sorry
Piper Grimsay
No, you’re right, I’m overreacting. If Dad’s happy, I’m happy
Me
Well it sounds as though Dad’s very, very, VERY happy
Piper Grimsay
I seriously hate you
I let out a breath of wry laughter and put my phone back in my pocket.
I know it’s going to take a lot more than some tough love from me for Piper to get herself adjusted to Dad’s new situation, but I also know her reservations aren’t actually due to ignorance, regardless of how she might come across.
This is all very new and unexpected, and after what Dad went through with Natalia it’s understandable that she might be a little wary.
“How’s it going, beautiful?” I ask Izzy, who’s currently having a blast finger-painting at my kitchen table.
She glances up and grins at me through her adorable rainbow-framed glasses. “See my picture.”
I stride toward her so I can peer over her shoulder, taking in her masterpiece.
Finger-painting has been one of her favorite things to do ever since she tried it out at kindergarten a few months ago, and she’s actually pretty good at it.
I mean, I can’t really tell what exactly she’s trying to paint—there’s a yellow thing that looks like it might be a sun, and a gray smudge with a line sticking out of it that I think might be Piper’s dog, Rufus—but she’s a hell of a lot more careful with her color selection and application than I ever was at her age.
Pretty sure my biggest goal when finger-painting was to smear as many colors together as possible.
“Wow, that looks great, Iz,” I gush. “What are you going to do next?”
“Tree,” she says matter-of-factly, carefully dipping her yellow-tipped fingers in the water bowl next to her and drying them on a towel before reaching for the green paint.
I watch affectionately as she smears the green onto the top corner of the page. It’s going to be a pretty tall tree, because the leaves are higher in the sky than the sun, but I’m not about to comment. Besides, who’s to say it’s not getting close to sunset?
I watch for a bit longer, then brush a kiss to her hair and walk back to the kitchen. “You want a snack, princess?”
She pauses her artwork for a moment and looks at me thoughtfully, turning the question over. “Messy snack.”
“You’ll have to take a break from your painting if you want to eat something,” I say gently. “You don’t want to get paint on your food.”
She nods and smiles. “When I finish?”
I grin in return. “Of course.”
I climb up on one of the kitchen stools and open my laptop, returning to the work I’d just started when Piper texted: working out my set list for the upcoming week.
The past three weeks is the longest break I’ve taken from the bar in years and I’ve really missed playing.
I definitely want to make sure my return is a rousing success.
Of course, thinking about the bar leads me to thinking about our new bartender. Damon Forrester. Such a sexy name.
That encounter last night was…interesting, to say the least. Gia only hires staff she knows will be able to handle what my Grandma likes to call my “authentic self” and Dad calls my “abrasive charm,” so last night when I sauntered up to Damon and made certain he knew exactly what I thought about him, I was expecting to get an eye roll or maybe a raised eyebrow for my trouble.
But discomfort and awkwardness and confusion?
That was most definitely not expected. And it was so, so hot.
But it was just that one interaction. I kept an eye on him for a little while after that and he seemed completely at ease. Confident. Capable. Laid back.
And I know it’s probably wishful thinking but I can’t stop my mind from going there anyway…because, damn, he has that look about him. The one that’s my fucking kryptonite—a strong, confident guy who seems toppy but desperately wants to submit.
“Finish picture, Jazz,” Izzy announces. “Snack time.”
I shake away my dirty thoughts of Damon and close my laptop again, sliding off my stool and striding over to Izzy so I can check out her painting.
It now has two very tall trees, and a figure at the bottom of the page near the gray thing that I’m guessing is Rufus.
It’s a vertical swipe of pink with a brown cloud on top; I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be Piper.
“Wow, it looks awesome, Izzy. Is this Piper and Rufus?” I ask, gesturing at the figures and praying I’m right.
Izzy nods, grinning proudly. “Piper’s birthday.”
I blink in alarm. I’d totally forgotten it’s Piper’s birthday next week. Damn, I hate her birthday, she’s the worst person to buy for.
Snapping my brain back to the present, I offer my baby sister a smile. “She’s going to love it. Once it’s dry you can write a birthday message if you want.”
Izzy nods eagerly. “Need to hang up. Deacon hangs paintings up.”
My lips quirk in a wry smile at the open adoration in Izzy’s voice as she talks about her teacher. Yeah, it’s sure going to be interesting to see how Dad and Deacon explain this whole situation to her.
“I don’t have anything to hang it on, princess. But don’t worry, it’ll dry just fine on the table. We’ll move it out of the way so it doesn’t get anything spilled on it.”
“Deacon hangs up,” she insists, her usually sunny face forming into a frown.
I sigh and rub a hand over my face. Despite all her challenges, Izzy is usually pretty easy to manage.
She finds happiness in really simple things and her smile is contagious.
But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get sad, or angry, or frustrated, and she can definitely throw a doozy of a tantrum if she’s in the mood for it.
Sensing a meltdown on the horizon, I pull out the chair next to her so I can explain the reasoning behind the two different approaches.
“The reason Deacon hangs your paintings up is because there are so many of you. If you left them around the room to dry someone might accidentally tear one or spill something or sit on one and get paint all over their bottom.” I grin at her and am glad when she laughs, her eyes lighting up with amusement.
“But there’s just the two of us here and we know to be careful. ”
She nods. “Okay, Jazz. Very careful.”
“Absolutely.” I grip the edges of the newspaper I laid out underneath her masterpiece before she started and use it to slide the painting to the middle of my ten-seater dining table. And finally, this giant table has actually come in handy.
I stand up and help Izzy down from her chair. “Alright, let’s get those hands washed properly and then we can get your snack. What are you thinking—apple? Cheese? Yoghurt?”
“Cheese and apple,” Izzy says. “And Goldfish.”
Well, that went without saying. I smile wryly as I direct her into the bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s the taste or the shape, but Goldfish crackers have been Izzy’s favorite pretty much since she could chew.