Chapter 23 #3
I glance down at myself like I have no idea what I’m wearing. “Oh, this? No, I guess they do look a lot alike, though,” I lie.
The nod Natalie gives me says she’s not convinced, but she’s also not going to press the issue.
I return my focus to the chart as if it’s occupying my attention.
It’s not. I ended up spending the entire night with Tre, and when my alarm went off at seven, there wasn’t time for me to make it home before work.
I settled for showering at his place and putting the clothes I wore yesterday back on, hoping no one would notice, which was stupid.
Of course Natalie noticed, because I wanted to impress Tre, so instead of wearing a plain black or white top, I wore a jewel-toned green silk shirt.
But waking up with Tre’s body spooned around mine wasn’t the worst thing ever. It was almost nice enough to make it worth Natalie’s scrutiny.
“We have a gap in patients. I was thinking about doing a coffee run. Do you want anything?” Natalie asks.
“Um, sure,” I agree, even though Tre made coffee while I was in the shower.
By the time I got out, not only was there coffee, but he was in the middle of making pancakes.
They smelled amazing, and I could’ve spent five minutes waiting for them to be done, but I left with a mumbled excuse about stopping by the diner for breakfast this weekend.
Not because I regret last night—I don’t. I meant it when I told Tre it was better than I’d imagined. But letting him cook breakfast for me after spending the night with him felt too intimate, and I’m not sure I’m ready to go there.
Instead, I picked up the folder we left abandoned on the kitchen island and made a break for the door wearing yesterday’s clothes.
“Just a plain coffee is fine,” I finish, remembering the look of disappointment that flashed across Tre’s face as I stepped out of his apartment.
My keys jingle softly as I unlock the front door.
It’s barely after six-thirty, and there’s still plenty of daylight.
I spent the past twenty minutes sitting in my truck, parked in the driveway, staring at the bumper of my dad’s station wagon with a folder full of Tre’s handwritten notes on my lap, trying to decide what to tell my dad so that he’ll build me another bomb.
The past two weeks have been… tense. He’s still not thrilled that Tre knows what I’ve been doing—that Tre has been helping me do it—and we’ve been cautiously dancing around each other since I let that info slip.
I take a deep breath and twist the knob. There’s nothing I can say that will make him like this.
The living room is empty when I step inside, and he’s not in the kitchen either. I open the basement door to find the light on.
“Hey dad,” I call as I start down the steps, receiving a wordless grunt in response.
He’s at his workbench, and I move to stand beside him, making sure not to block the light.
I’ve been chided about that enough throughout the years.
He doesn’t look up, staying focused on the pins he’s soldering into place on a small circuit board, and I stand next to him, silently watching him work.
It’s a deeply familiar experience. I can’t count how many nights during my childhood were spent exactly like this—although as often as not, Ewan would’ve been standing here with us.
Eventually he finishes what he’s doing and turns off the soldering iron, setting it and the board aside before giving me a once-over. He lets out a small, derisive snort when he does.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“No, we’ve been dancing around each other long enough. Just say whatever it is.”
He folds his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows.
“Go ahead. Say it,” I prod.
“Didn’t hear you come home last night.” His tone sounds neutral, but I can feel the judgment rolling off him anyway.
“Do I ask you where you spend the night when you don’t come home?”
“No.”
“Okay then.” I slap the folder down on the workbench in front of him.
“What’s this?”
“What do you think about pissing Rich off?” I ask, and my dad’s eyes flick from the folder back to me.
He tilts his head slightly as if to say he’s not opposed to the idea, then picks up the folder, opening it and flipping through the pages. “Highland Estates?” he mutters, looking at the map Tre drew. “Why?”
“Henley and Montank flew a couple of executives from New York out here, and that’s where they’re staying. Like the asshole he is, Rich cut a deal with them. So I figured we could kill two birds with one stone. I’ll make sure the houses are empty, of course.”
“You figured?” His eyes are still fixed on the info Tre put together.
“Yes, dad. I figured. It’s my idea, but Tre has been helping me.”
“Tre.” He spits the name out like it’s a curse, shutting the folder. “No.”
“I’ll do it without your help then. But it’ll be a lot less well-contained if I do,” I warn.
“Then do it without my help, Fiona.” He slides the folder toward me and picks up the soldering iron.
“Are you—”
“Yes. I’m serious. As long as Tre is involved, I’m not going to help.”
“Fine.” I grab the folder and head for the stairs. “I’ll figure it out myself.”