Chapter Three #2
But that doesn’t stop me from bringing Sylvia’s favorite wine and ringing the doorbell dressed in my cleanest pair of jeans and plaid button-down.
I even throw my hair up and out of my face in a man bun that the guys give me constant shit for.
I’d like to think they’re just jealous since most of them have boring buzz cuts, cowlicks, or receding hairlines.
Sylvia answers the door with one hand on her hip. “You know you can come in whenever you’d like, Bodhi. You don’t need to wait out here.”
I extend the bottle of red wine to her. “It’s considered polite not to storm into people’s houses.”
The middle-aged woman smiles warmly. “I don’t recall a time that’s ever stopped you before.
Thank you for this. I was almost out of the last bottle you brought.
” She guides me in and shuts the door behind us.
“Devin is in his study on the phone with God knows who, but he’ll be out shortly. And Honor should be heading here soon.”
My brows furrow. “Does she live somewhere else?” I’ve been upstairs before. They have six different bedrooms; two of them are always locked when guests are over—Coach and Sylvia’s room, and what I assume used to be Honor’s. Not that Coach ever told us explicitly who it belonged to.
We wind up in the kitchen, where a mixture of different aromas fills the air. “She’s staying in the guest house. We thought it would give her more privacy.”
I’d forgotten that was out there because it’s tucked away in the far back yard between the tree line that acts as windbreaker for the back patio where they do a lot of outdoor hosting.
There’s a separate driveway and entry access to the small building that I vaguely remember being shown when Sylvia showed me around the first time I ever came. “I’m sure she appreciates that.”
Sylvia’s smile twitches, and something dulls her eyes momentarily. “Oh, I’m sure. It’s her father who’s uneasy about it. He didn’t like the idea of giving it to her in case there was an emergency.”
My head cocks, and sudden alarm coats my skin. “Like what?”
She pauses what she’s doing by the stove. “I am sure she told you why she has Puck,” she says, gauging my reaction.
I think back to what she told Gemma. “He detects seizures,” I recall, understanding why Coach is concerned. If someone has a service dog, it’s for good reason.
Sylvia nods, stirring something in the pot on the top stove burner.
“She has epilepsy. When she was younger, the seizures weren’t frequent enough for the doctors to connect the dots.
That diagnosis came much later for her. But Puck helps, and he knows what to do and how to alert when one is coming.
I told Devin she’d be more comfortable out there regardless of her condition because no thirty-year-old wants to live in the same house as her parent. ”
Parent. Not parents. Which means I suspected correctly, and Honor isn’t Sylvia’s daughter.
There’s a lot more I want to know about the mystery woman, like where her mother is and why she doesn’t seem close to Coach or his wife, but Honor walks into the kitchen with Puck close to her side before I can prod for more details.
She stops when she sees me, gawking as if my appearance is unexpected. It takes approximately two seconds to realize that’s because it is.
She asks, “What is he doing here?” the same time I look at her and say, “You had no idea I was coming, did you?”
Sylvia’s eyes bounce between the two of us, a small smile on her face that seems a little too knowing.
Honor’s eyes shoot toward her stepmother. “I didn’t know we had company,” she tells Sylvia through gritted teeth. “I would have worn something…different.”
My eyes rake over the black leggings and fitted tee she has on. This one has a band I’ve never heard of on the front. “You look great,” I tell her honestly, giving her a limp shrug. “No need to dress up for me, anyway.”
Her eyes shift from her stepmom to me, giving me a once over. “Is that why you have product in your hair? I’m sure you don’t put that much effort into your appearance for practice days.”
I swipe my palm along the side of my head with an amused chuckle. “I’d sweat it all off it I did that. I don’t like hair getting into my food, so I like to put something in it when I pull it back. Plus, I’m told this style looks good on me.”
One of Honor’s brows arches. “By whom?”
I grin. “My mom.”
The answer must be unexpected to her, because she snorts loudly. It’s a sound that makes my grin spread. I’ll take the small victory where I can get it.
Sylvia brushes both of our arms. “Dinner is almost ready, so I’m going to get Devin.”
When she leaves the room, it grows quiet.
I lean down on the large marble island in the middle of the room and study her. “They didn’t tell you I was coming, did they?” I repeat the question from before, frowning when she shakes her head in confirmation. “Sorry about that. Coach—your dad—kind of swarmed me last minute about this.”
She laughs, but the sound is short. “He doesn’t seem to like being alone with me. That much hasn’t changed over the years.”
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything based on the expression on her face. “If it makes you feel any better, I think he’s nervous around you more than anything.”
Her gaze meets mine, blinking slowly. “I make him nervous?” she asks dubiously, as if she can’t fathom a reason he’d feel that type of way toward her.
I lift a shoulder. “It’s only a theory,” I tell her nonchalantly.
“I don’t know your story, and I’m not going to ask for it.
But it’s obvious that there’s some sort of tension between the two of you that he feels tenfold, or I wouldn’t be here.
Look at it this way, being nervous isn’t a bad thing.
It means he cares what you think of him. ”
Honor’s lips part like she’s about to reply, but they quickly close as two lines appear between her brows in contemplation.
I could be off the mark completely, but I don’t think I am.
And Honor looks like she might believe it too.
Which tells me that her dad isn’t a bad dad; he’s just rusty on how to be a good one.
“He’s trying,” I add, gaining her attention back. “And I’m pretty sure he asked me to come because he thinks we’re best friends now.”
She gapes. “What? Why?”
I’d like to know the same thing. “You must have really sold him on our day out together,” I muse.
I wonder if she told him we traded friendship bracelets like we were at a Taylor Swift concert or bonded over our mutual dislike for the color brown.
Although, I may like it more than I did seeing the shade of her eyes as they roam over me.
Yeah. Brown is okay.
Honor leans her back against the counter behind her. “I don’t buy it. He asked you here as a distraction. If anything, you’re here for him. Not me.”
That may be, but it doesn’t change what’s right in front of her. Her dad wants her to be comfortable here. But I’m not about to argue my point with someone who so obviously has her mind made up about the man I work closely with.
Looking into the pot of potatoes still on a low boil, I turn to Honor. “So what’s for dinner?”
Her gawking stare is amusing, but I don’t show it. “You’re really not going to pry about my past, are you?”
I shake my head. “That’s your business. If you wanted to tell me, you would have. I don’t make it a habit to butt in where I don’t belong.”
For a long while, she stares at me in disbelief.
“You’re not going to defend my father either,” she notes.
All I say is, “Something tells me we know two very different versions of him.”
Sylvia comes back in with a clap of her hands. “Okay, everyone. To the dining room. I already set the table, so I just need to bring the food in.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer, ignoring the skeptic look Honor is pinning me with.
Sylvia smiles gratefully at me. “Thank you, but Devin and I have it handled. You and Honor head into the other room and make yourselves comfortable.”
When I walk into the dining room that I’ve eaten in a handful of times, Honor is already sitting at the spot her father usually takes. I don’t point that out, though. I’m sure reminding her that I have a better relationship with her dad than she does isn’t going to win me any points.
Not that I care about winning her over.
Keep telling yourself that, Hoffman.
I pull out the chair beside her and feel her watch as I drop into it. “I don’t have many options,” I point out, when I see her make a pinched face at my seating choice. “It’s either this or I can sit across from you so you can stare at my pretty face all night.”
She squirms, looking down at the placemat set with the silverware on either side of the plate. And when I study her, I see the faintest shade of pink in her cheekbones that wasn’t there before.
A sense of victory over the subtle flush to her face makes me smile to myself, because now I know she isn’t immune to me either.
In a tone barely audible, she mumbles, “There is fine.”
For the first forty minutes, Sylvia and I do most of the talking. Coach and Honor will interject with polite commentary, then fall to awkward silence afterward.
It isn’t the first time I’ve been a mediator in family drama. Henderson asked me to rescue his little sister when she was stuck alone with their father and stepmother. I’m not sure how I got the role, but apparently, I play it well enough to keep the peace when needed.
Clearing my throat, I pat my stomach. “That was delicious, Syl. Wish I didn’t go for that second piece of cheesecake, but it was great. I couldn’t eat another bite if I tried.”
The woman across from me beams. “I wish I could take credit for the cheesecake, but that’s from our favorite bakery. Have you been to Treats by Marie? If not, you have to go. They have a great assortment of options. Right, Honor?”
My attention shifts from Sylvia to her stepdaughter. “Do you have any favorites?”