Chapter 13
Dad tugged on the door handle, then paused, looking at me and smirking.
I rolled my eyes, glaring as he tugged on the door again, motioning with his eyes to the handle and then back to me with a dramatic sigh.
I uncrossed my arms and removed my keys from my pocket, unlocking the door, and refusing to look at him until we were buckled and out of the hospital parking lot.
“Doctor Tom got you flustered?” he asked, chuckling. But I barely heard his words, too consumed with the realization about Dad and the wanted-but-maybe-unwanted attention from the doctor.
“Hm?” I looked left, then right before turning onto Palmetto Blvd and eyeing a bakery. My mouth watered as we passed the store, and I could almost smell the sweetened coffee and sugary treats.
“I knew once I suggested you check for a ring that you’d run with the idea.”
“What?” I glanced at him, slowing down as the light turned yellow, then giving him my full attention once it changed to red. “I wasn’t listening.”
“Well, that much is obvious. Thinking about that hot doctor?”
“Ugh. If you must know, it caught me off guard when he mentioned meeting at the bakery, but—”
“I knew it!” Dad gushed, squeezing my shoulder and smiling so widely he looked like a demented werewolf before a full moon—all wild hair and large teeth. “I’ll even suffer through you bringing back those bran muffins and spinach quiches if it means you finding someone to treat you right.”
“Hey, I thought you liked those muffins. Didn’t they have icing?”
“Liked them as doorstoppers, you mean. And no, the white stuff was unsweetened, shaved coconut.”
“At least I brought you back something.”
“Yes, daughter. I am so thankful for your foresight. When you go on Monday, perhaps you can bring me something without artificial sweetener.”
“I think I’d rather stick with Sweeter Things. Their iced coffee has enough caffeine to keep me awake for thirty-six hours. I don’t need the added stress of some guy who gave me a pity invite and probably won’t even show up.”
“And people say my diet is bad,” Dad teased as I made a left turn into the neighborhood. “But seriously, you won’t know one way or another unless you go.”
I thought about his words as I pulled into the driveway and hurried out of the car to help him stand. His healing was slow-going, but as his snark returned, so did his strength.
“I’ll think about it, okay? The last thing I need right now is some guy thinking he has a right to interfere with my life.”
“That’s a pretty shitty outlook when the doctor has done nothing to warrant you feeling like that.”
“Oh, Dad.” I followed behind him as he trudged up the steps and onto the front porch, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation and disappear into my makeshift office with a large coffee and Double Stuf Oreos.
“About time y’all got home,” a gruff voice said, throwing open the front door before I could even put the key into the lock. “Girl, I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, marrying that idiot.”
“Wha—” I murmured, barely registering the large presence that had overtaken the doorway. Thinking about one guy was enough. The last thing I needed was to throw this alpha male into the mix.
“Listen here,” I said, slipping my purse higher on my shoulder and putting the hand holding the keys on my hip. “As much as I’d love to stand here and debate my life choices with you, Cinnamon Roll, Dad needs to get inside, and I need to start dinner.”
His eyes widened, and he stepped back, uncrossing his arms from his barrel chest and glaring at us before his face smoothed and he motioned for us to come inside—of our own damn house.
“Nice of you to let us in, son,” Dad said, slapping him on the back and moving toward his recliner in the living room. “And nice to know you care so much about the wellbeing of my daughter. I’ll keep that in mind as you fix up this damn place.”
“Shit,” Maverick said, dropping his head to his chest.
I smiled, all traces of annoyance gone, before I gently elbowed him and leaned closer. “Welcome to the world of meddling parents. Our meetings are on the third Tuesday of the month and there’s a two-drink minimum.”
“Oh please. I’m the president, vice president, and executive chair of the Southern Chapter of Meddling Parents.”
“Then you’re slacking on your duties,” I said, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge. I scowled at the contents, then grabbed several salmon filets, lemons, broccoli, and fresh dill, laying them on the counter. “I haven’t received the quarterly newsletter or the commemorative button.”
He chuckled and sat at the small round table, groaning as his back cracked.
I knew that feeling well. There was a time I could stay up until four in the morning and be ready for the day with nothing but lip gloss and coffee.
Now, I could take myself out of commission for a week from sleeping the wrong way.
“I’ll have to check with the club’s secretary, ma’am.”
“You do that.”
I filled a medium-sized pot with water for the broccoli and grabbed a pan, putting it on the burner and adding lemon infused olive oil. My shoulders slumped, and I sighed from the stress of the morning, massaging my temple and listening to Dad switch between television channels.
“Oh, wow. Look at that. You finished the cabinets and countertop. They look great.”
“Yeah? Thanks,” he said, as his voice went higher at the end, like he wasn’t sure of how I’d react to the partially completed space.
“Yes, chastising me for my incompetent ex-husband is worth it if the rest of the house will eventually look as good as this.” I gestured to the completed countertops, running my fingers over the gray speckled granite.
“This really is fantastic, Maverick. I hadn’t realized how outdated the place was until you and your brothers started tearing into it. This is going to help Dad so much.”
“Well, this is my job, you know? Meddling exes cost extra. Maybe double for that slimeball formerly known as your husband.”
“Great Prince reference,” I joked. “Now, you might as well rip the Band-Aid off and tell me what Trey wanted.”
“What he demanded, you mean?”
“Whatever. Way to build the tension, Cinnamon Roll.”
“Hey now. Don’t get all pissy with me just because he showed up and demanded to see you. He tried to push me out of the way to get inside. When I refused to move, he demanded that I give you a message.”
I groaned, dropping my chin to my chest and clenching my fists. “I don’t think I want to know whatever he demanded.”
“Hey,” he said, moving across the kitchen and resting his back against the countertop beside me.
I added salt to the pot set to boil, avoiding admitting how much I enjoyed the closeness—his closeness.
Doctor Tom had nothing on the butterflies that had taken flight in my belly when Maverick’s voice dropped, gravely and deep.
“I don’t know everything that happened between you two, but no one deserves to be treated the way he’s treating you. You know that, right?”
I raised my head and turned, watching like I was in a bad midafternoon soap opera as he reached forward with one hand and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. “You deserve someone who will put you first, always.”
“Can we just compromise with someone who doesn’t think of me as a burden? Someone who I can count on? Someone who sees me?”
“The right man will never see you as anything but a goddess.”
I didn’t mean to show how vulnerable I felt, but once the words were out in the open, something inside me yearned for exactly what I’d said—and how he’d answered.
I faced him, letting my eyes wander over his sharp jaw and the fine lines around his eyes, wondering why he’d say something so sweet.
His hands reached toward me again, slow enough for me to pull away if I wanted, but I didn’t.
He cupped my jaw, tracing his thumb over my cheekbone until I sighed and leaned into his touch.
The intimacy of him being so close made my hands shake.
And as if he knew what I was thinking, he used the other one to trail down my arm and then threaded those fingers into mine.
“Maverick. Please don’t placate me.”
His hand tightened in mine, and he used the one resting against my face to gently touch my lips.
“I think you know me well enough to know I don’t talk to hear my own voice.”
My eyes widened, and I took a step back, but his hand left my face and grasped my hip, pulling me tightly against his body.
The rigid plains of his chest and the supple cotton of his shirt reminded me of his personality—hard and soft, blending perfectly together to create the man I was pressed into.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me since the afternoon I disturbed your shower?”
“Done to you?” I whispered, not trusting myself to say more than a few syllables.
He saw me naked. So what? I passed my prime twenty years ago.
Now? I craved happiness like an unattainable drug. And happiness for me meant carbs, snark, and yoga pants.
“Surely, you’ve seen a naked woman before. You were married too, right?”
Yeah, the comment was insensitive—especially with the little kernels of backstory I’d gotten about his past—but this was a gruff, handsome guy who was good with his hands and put his family first.
Why in the hell would he want anything to do with an almost forty-year-old divorcée living with her father? One who had self-esteem and sarcasm issues, to boot.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes before his grip tightened on my waist and he breathed in, running his nose down the sensitive skin below my ear and toward my throat.
“Yeah, woman. I’ve been married. And even though it was short-lived, from the second I called her mine, I treated her like the queen she was. The same way a man should treat you every damn day.”