Chapter 30
“So, Tuesday’s the big day, right?” Dad asked, holding his empty coffee cup up and arching a brow from his recliner.
I smiled, standing from the couch and taking his cup and mine to the kitchen to refill. “Yeah. I have to be at the courthouse at ten.”
“You? I know you don’t think you’re going there alone, do you?”
“Of course not,” I said, adding creamer to my coffee but leaving his black before bringing them both back to the living room. “Maverick is coming with me, and I hope you are too.”
“Goddamn right I’m coming with you. I wouldn’t miss your lawyer giving Trey the old one-two.”
“This isn’t a ringside fight, Dad.”
“It might as well be with all the hoops he’s making you jump through.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, making a face as I took a sip of the bitter coffee before getting up to add more creamer. “I wasn’t expecting him to have character witnesses and subpoena our joint bank statements.”
“He can’t honestly think he’ll win though?”
“Who knows what he thinks, Dad. I’m just trying to stay positive.”
“Good for you. We’ll stop for breakfast before court and make sure you’re getting there with a clear head and full stomach.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me,” I said, wincing as I sat down, the motion making my thighs ache.
I knew I wasn’t in shape, but it was pathetic how sore I was after the latest round of naked yum-yum time with Maverick.
I’d used muscles I didn’t know I had and still felt the pleasant stretch days later.
I turned back to the morning news, frowning as the weatherman updated the county on the tropical storm heading our way. By the time it made landfall outside of Savannah, the storm would become a tropical depression, and Charleston would feel the outer bands of heavy rain by Tuesday.
“So, you and Maverick?” Dad said as I side-eyed him from the couch, furrowing my brows. “That’s a thing now?”
I hadn’t expected that question, so I snatched a slice of toast from Dad’s plate on the table and took a bite before drumming my fingers on my thigh to buy some time while I chewed and thought of an answer.
“Yeah. I think it could be. He does too.”
“Are you happy? I mean—” Dad sighed and muted the television, turning to face me. “Does he make you happy?”
I wanted to answer with an immediate yes, but I paused, weighing his words and thinking about our short but intense time together.
This thing with Maverick wasn’t simply a fling waiting to run its course.
And with that simple question, I knew that not only was I happy, but I was excited to have finally found someone who saw me.
“I’m happy, Dad. Happy and terrified and hopeful of what’s to come.”
“Okay. Then I’m happy for you,” he said, rubbing his chin and taking the last piece of raisin toast from his plate. He hummed around the bite, for once not complaining about the low-fat cream cheese spread.
“Thanks.” I held my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop—I knew this man way too well to think that was the end of things.
“Yeah. Before you get too filled with gratitude, I should warn you… I, uh, might have made a mistake.”
And there it is.
“What did you do?” I asked, tamping down my irritation and regretting not grabbing that block of cheddar cheese from the fridge when I was in the kitchen. A cheese coma was much preferred to whatever drama was about to fall on my lap.
“I didn’t do anything. I simply went to my regularly scheduled doctor’s appointment yesterday.”
Why me?
“Yes. I remember your insistence on going alone. I’m going to be regretting that now, aren’t I?”
“Come on, Summer,” he griped, throwing his hands in the air so it rained breadcrumbs. I rubbed the spot between my eyes and counted to five, waiting. “Dr. Lucas is a great guy. And since he was disappointed that you weren’t with me on Friday, I invited him to come over this morning.”
“Wait. What?” I said, glancing down at my oversized sweatshirt, yoga pants, and slipper-covered feet. One hand desperately tried to smooth down my hair, while the other pressed against my cheek, feeling it flame with embarrassment. “He’s coming here? This morning?”
“Yeah. Any minute now.” Dad chuckled nervously, popping the last bite of toast in his mouth and wiping more crumbs off his pants.
“Have you lost your mind?” I hissed, standing from the couch and throwing my half-eaten slice back on the table, missing the plate completely.
I paced the living room before spinning to face Dad with one hand on my hip and a finger in his face.
“Not only am I not interested, but I haven’t even brushed my teeth! ”
“You look fine.”
“Fine? Fine? I need a shower, several quarts of coffee, and a vat of under-eye concealer, and then, maybe, perhaps, I’ll look fine.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I really thought you were just playing hard to get.”
I froze, dropping my head forward so the loose strands fell around my face, obscuring Dad from view. I ignored the fact that his idea of playing hard to get was me flat out telling him I wasn’t interested and instead tried to remember that he truly believed this nonsense was helping me.
“Dramatic would be stomping my foot before running upstairs and slamming the door. This—this is simply my frustration knowing the conversation I’m about to walk into.”
“I can talk to him.”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but hell no.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll make myself scarce.” Dad turned the volume on the television higher as I rolled my eyes, standing beside him and putting my hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on mine and squeezed, tilting his head and smiling.
“You don’t have to do that either,” I said, keeping my irritation in check as I clenched my fists to release the tension I felt. “I’ll make sure there’s no way for him to misinterpret my words.”
A sharp rap on the front door had me groaning and Dad pulling his hand away, halfway out of his chair before I motioned for him to sit. He listened—thank goodness—so I schooled my features, plastered on a fake smile, and walked through the front hall, opening the door.
Tom had one hand braced against the door frame and his designer sunglasses tucked between the buttons of his pressed, collared shirt. He just needed a blazer slung over his shoulder and one foot crossed over the other to complete the look.
“Well, good morning, Summer,” he said, the picture of arrogance.
I didn’t roll my eyes, choosing to keep the smile going and slow blink before responding.
“Hey, Tom. How are you?” I opened the screen door, but didn’t move to let him in, wanting to get this over with.
“Better now. I’m sorry I missed you Friday and was hoping we could go out this weekend.” He shifted, removing his hand from the door frame and placing it above where mine rested.
“No, thank you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear at the bakery.”
“What? Come on now. I know I can change your mind. We’d have a good time. See the city. Maybe make late reservations at a restaurant.”
“Tom. Really. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in going out.”
“What can I do to change your mind?” he cooed, straightening his posture and crossing his arms.
“Nothing, but I’d love it if you respected my decision.” I mimicked his pose, crossing my arms while keeping the door propped open with my foot, my anger spiking.
“You know what, just forget it, Summer,” he said, yanking to open the door all the way and leaning in. My eyes widened as I backed up, his overpowering musk wafting into me like a tidal wave. “It’s your loss.”
“I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
Tom glanced behind me, and I did the same, seeing that Dad had gotten up and was eyeballing us from the living room.
“Fine.” He grabbed the door handle, but I yanked it closed, barely missing his foot.
Unwilling to give him the last word, I jerked the door open, huffing and almost vibrating with anger.
“Real mature, Doctor Idiot,” I called, stopping the screened door from slamming against the frame again.
I scowled, watching as he stormed down the front steps and almost tripped over Malibu, who was standing next to a very grumpy-looking Maverick with his hackles up and his fists clenched by his side.
His eyes darted between us, and I shrugged, crossing my arms. I wasn’t expecting him this morning either.
But unlike my anger at seeing Tom, Maverick had me giddy, wondering why he was here, and looking so handsome I could scream.
“I wouldn’t waste my time on that one,” Doctor Idiot said, aggressively unlocking his car and sliding into the front seat.
The engine started with a growl that made me think he was overcompensating for something as he rolled down his front window and pointed at Maverick. “She’s nothing but a tease.”
He sped away, and I would have laughed if I weren’t still vibrating with rage, regardless of Maverick’s impromptu visit. How dare Doctor Dingus show up, assume my initial rejection was a mistake, and then storm away because he didn’t get his way? Seriously, how much of a man-child could you be?
Malibu, sensing the threat was gone—speeding away in a car that gave away his dick size—trotted up the front steps and yipped for attention.
“Well, come on in,” I said, opening the door and shaking my head as she padded inside like she owned the place. I heard Dad talking to her and smiled, motioning for Maverick to come inside as well.
“What was that about?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding my forgotten sneakers from the other night in the other.
I took the shoes and smiled, understanding the reason for his visit, before setting them down in the front hall and letting my hand linger for an extra moment beside his. Our fingers barely brushed against each other, but it still sent sparks through my system and made my brain feel like static.
His features stayed tense, so I leaned closer and kissed his cheek. That made his eyes widen, and I did a happy little internal shimmy, hoping to help with the lingering doubt I saw in his gaze.
“Just some cocky jackass who got the wrong idea in their head,” I said, shrugging before threading my fingers with his and tugging him further inside.
“What kind of someone?”
“Dad’s doctor,” I scoffed, surprised I hadn’t lost my voice with the harsh way I exhaled.
I squeezed his hand, and he grimaced, shaking his head but then lightly swatting my butt as he stepped into the living room. “This wouldn’t be the same doctor your father was trying to set you up with, was it?”
“Same one, alright,” Dad called, turning in his recliner to salute Maverick. “And I stand by my assessment that a doctor would be good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, old man. Didn’t we just talk about this? And you still don’t want to admit that you were wrong? Drink your decaf, would you. I need to finish lunch.”
“Damned decaf,” he answered in what would be the only apology I’d get for our unannounced visitor.