15. Chapter 15 #2
I give Dean an I-told-you-so lift of my eyebrows.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, getting up from my seat at the island to give him a hug. “What brings you here?”
“I was just in the neighborhood,” he says.
I hold back an eye roll. “You live five minutes away. The entire town is your neighborhood.”
His eyes move past me to Dean, who’s just picked up my nearly empty plate.
“Which Edna called you?” I ask him, giving him a purposeful smile so he knows I’m not mad.
I mean, I am. But not at him.
Mad is too harsh a word. I’m annoyed.
He chuckles. “Bloomberg.”
“I knew it.” I look to Dean. “I told you.”
Dean just shakes his head.
My dad gives me raised eyebrows.
“Sorry,” I say. “Dean Alden, this is my dad, Daryl Harper.” I turn to my father. “Dad, this is Dean.”
Dean sets the plate down on the island and comes over to the other side to shake my dad’s hand.
“You’re Vivian and Robert’s grandson?”
“I am,” Dean tells him.
“Here to sell the property?”
“That’s the plan,” he says.
Did Edna tell him his age and his relationship status as well? Why am I even asking this? Of course she did.
“Your grandma brought three pies to our house after my wife passed.”
“Did she?” I ask him. I don’t remember that. That was ten years ago, though. Still, I remember so many small details about that time. But I don’t remember pie.
“Sounds like her,” Dean says.
“I was sorry to hear about her passing,” says my dad.
“Thank you.”
My dad looks around the kitchen. I watch as he clocks the open box of pasta, the saucepan on the stove. The plate Dean had set on the island.
He looks at me, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Did you make dinner?”
“Why the surprise?” I ask him.
“Because I’ve eaten your cooking.”
“I can cook,” I say, feeling defensive.
“Yes, you’re very good at using a microwave.”
Dean covers a laugh with his hand.
“Fine. Dean made it,” I say.
He looks at Dean and then back at me, his brows knit together. He’s calculating something, and it’s probably what information he got from Edna B. plus what he’s seeing here.
I see where his math will lead him.
“He asked to use the kitchen,” I blurt. “To make himself food instead of going to the grill or the café every day. And sometimes he shares.”
Every time, actually. I don’t say that part, though. Dean has been cooking me dinner and saving leftovers for me to eat since he got here.
From the outside, it looks very much like we’ve been playing house. Which is not what’s happening.
“But Edna said he’s been helping you out in the guest rooms.”
“Right,” I say, trying to figure out the best way to explain this. “Dean has been renting a room, but he’s had some time on his hands. So, he’s been helping out.”
“My grandparents’ house has a raccoon infestation,” Dean says. “I’ve been trying to find a company to get rid of them. I can’t do much until they’re gone.”
My dad looks at me. “Why don’t you get one of the Walker brothers over there?”
“That’s what I said,” I say, looking at Dean. “Dean wants someone who’s insured.”
“I guess that makes sense,” says my dad. He turns to me. “How much is left to do here, then?”
“Not much,” I tell him.
“Rosie,” he says.
I let out a breath. “Snow White is almost finished. It just needs baseboards, paint, and the tile on the tub.”
“And the other rooms?”
“Only Beauty and the Beast is left. And then I’m done.”
I make it sound easy, like no big deal. Only I had a breakdown about it just yesterday, and if it wasn’t for Juliet taking some of the festival duties off my plate today, I’d probably be rocking in a corner right now.
I don’t know why I want to protect my dad so much. I just do.
“I’ll come help next week,” my dad says. “Put me to work. I can paint.”
Here’s the real problem. If I let my dad see the rooms, he’ll do the math on that too. He knows the loan I took out to buy the inn didn’t allow for any upgrades. He’ll wonder how I’m able to do all this.
And the answer will be the loan and the balloon payment and also the hard fact that I may not be able to do this.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ve got it. Dom is helping too.”
“Well, the offer stands,” he says, giving me a smile that’s tinged with something like hurt. He knows I’m not being honest.
“I’d better get home,” he says, patting his pockets for his keys. “Dean, it was nice to meet you.”
“You too,” says Dean.
“Yes,” I blurt out, and both men look to me. “Yes, Dad. I’d love some help. If . . . if you’ve got the time.”
He smiles. “I’ve always got time for you.”
He comes over and pulls me into a hug. “Love you, Rosie.”
“Love you too, Dad,” I say, trying to blink quickly away the moisture in my eyes so he doesn’t see it.
“I’ll see you Saturday night, right?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but then I remember: It’s my birthday. Mine and Dominic’s. We’re having a little party that Emma wanted to throw together for us. I’d totally forgotten.
Actually, I’d forgotten it was even my birthday.
“Yes,” I tell him, giving him a smile as we pull out of the hug. “I’ll see you Saturday night.”
He shakes Dean’s hand, and then, with a wave, he leaves.
“Can you believe Edna B.?” I ask Dean, who’s gone back to cleaning up our dinner. “She’s not just a gossip; she’s a tattletale.”
“I still can’t believe you were right about your dad showing up.”
“I’m right about a lot of things,” I say.
“That hasn’t been my experience.”
I narrow my eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifts. There it is. The half smile.
I’ve missed it.