Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Lot
He doesn’t love me like that.
On Thursday, I pull up to Mom’s with Queenie, eyes scanning, ears perked, like she knows something’s going on.
“I’m not giving you away,” I tell her. “Just testing the waters. Keeping it in the family, so no attitude, okay? Be cute.”
Her meow is all sass like a moody teenager. But here goes.
Mom opens the door wearing an ivory cardigan set, high-waisted jeans, and lipstick.
No scrubs today since she took Maurice to the doctor earlier.
He got the all clear. He’ll be going back to work next week, and I’ll be heading back to New York.
I’ve already booked my flight for Tuesday morning.
I knew the longer I let it lag, the harder it would be to go.
“Hi, Queenie,” Mom coos. “You’re even prettier than your pictures.”
Queenie gives her side-eye that’s filled with caution and suspicion.
“They say pets take on their owners’ personalities.”
“She’s not my pet.”
Mom just smiles. “Put her down and let her look around before we get acquainted.”
I set Queenie on the floor, but she sticks to my ankles like Velcro. “You could try feeding her a treat,” I suggest, grabbing the small bag of chicken pellets from my purse and handing it to Mom. “She’ll do anything for these.”
She crouches, coaxing Queenie forward with a piece. Lured by temptation, she soon budges, sniffs, and takes it from her palm. When Mom strokes her back, she purrs like they’re besties.
“Go visit with your dad while we get to know each other,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“We’ll be fine.” She feeds Queenie another pellet, giving her royal treatment.
I pause in the doorway before heading down the hall. Watching them sends a little dart through my chest. I suppose it’s the routine and familiarity more than anything that I’ll miss. Plus, I can’t think about leaving Queenie without thinking about leaving Dice.
That’s a whole other mess of feelings.
Maurice is in his recliner, papers stacked on the side table, shirt buttoned to the neck like he never left work mode. He glances up as I enter. No smile, but no scowl either. We’ve been getting along better since our “talk.” He’s been less judgy, and I’ve learned to let the small things slide.
“Where’s this Queenie you want us to meet?” he asks.
“In the kitchen. Mom’s playing cat whisperer.” I cross to the sofa and perch on the edge, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “Congrats on getting cleared. All that physio paid off.”
“Would’ve gotten there either way.”
“Still, it’s good news.”
He gives a small nod. “You heading back soon?”
“Tuesday.”
He nods again, thoughtful this time. “You held it together while I was out. Appreciate that.”
“You’ve got a good team. They stepped up to keep it all running smooth. And they look great in the new T-shirts.”
“Hmph. New logo’s not bad.”
“Wait till you see it on the crop tops I ordered.”
He gives a sharp look. Then he catches the grin tugging the corner of my mouth and shakes his head with a grunt that holds no heat.
A short silence falls before he says, “New reports are clean. Clear. Easy to read. You got a good business head.”
“That’s all Dice.”
Maurice’s expression tightens like a drawstring yanked too fast.
“He’s a lot more than you give him credit for.
He’s the one who organized everything. Wait till you see how he’s laid out the stockroom.
It’s easier to count inventory and track what’s low.
He walked me through it yesterday. He takes Docks seriously.
Puts his heart into it. The staff like and respect him. ”
“He does okay with bartending and his music.”
“That’s a huge understatement,” I snap, feeling my temperature rise. “You keep judging him based on his mother.”
“Never liked or trusted that woman. With good reason. Turned out she was nothing but a con artist. Scammed innocent people. You think he wasn’t part of that?”
“He was a child.”
“He didn’t stay one, Charlotte. He lived in that house with her till he was sixteen. You don’t grow up around that and not have it rub off on you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shoot to my feet, voice too loud. Fight too familiar. “Dice is his own man. He wouldn’t steal a thing. And if you bring up that tired story about him taking loose change again—”
“Sit down,” he orders. “Stop getting all worked up.”
“I’m worked up because it’s not fair.” I pace to the window, hands clenched, anger about to burst all the way through. But yelling won’t get us anywhere. I force myself to exhale slowly, then turn to face him with a calmer voice.
“Your perception of him is wrong. When his mother got arrested for that fake charity scam, the defense asked Dice to testify on her behalf. He refused and did the opposite. Knowing it meant she’d go away for a long time.
Can you imagine the guts that took? To testify against your own mother?
” I meet his gaze. “He did the right thing, as hard as it was. Do you honestly believe a man like that would steal from you?”
Maurice stares at me, saying nothing.
“I’m not asking for you to like him. Just give him a fair chance. And stop judging him by his mother’s sins.”
“I believe in honest work,” he finally says, his pride a thick wall between us. “His mother didn’t raise him that way.”
“That’s true. But that doesn’t mean Dice didn’t want better for himself. I know him. And I trust him. I hope that counts for something to you.”
His staunch expression shifts. Small but noticeable. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Same thing he said when I begged him to hire Dice. And he did. “Okay.” I nod, easing up. “Wanna meet Queenie?”
“Suppose I’d better if she’s going to be living here.”
I head back to the kitchen to get her and find Mom and Queenie on the floor, playing tug-of-war with a sock. Queenie’s tiny claws are latched on to the cotton with fierce determination.
“I heard raised voices,” Mom says, glancing up. Queenie, seizing the advantage, snatches her prize and hides under the table.
“I was defending Dice. He’s done so much for Docks. Maurice needs to let go of a past that wasn’t Dice’s fault. I finally cooled down enough to explain it rationally and asked him to trust me. He said he’d think about it.” I shrug. “We’ll see.”
She stands, wiping her hands down her jeans. “I don’t agree with his views on Dice either. But it sounds like you and your father are working through your arguments in a healthier way.”
“I guess. It was less terrible than usual.”
“Progress, even small, is progress.”
I nod.
“You’re in love with Dice,” she says so matter-of-factly, I blink in surprise.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because my darling…” She squishes my cheeks between her palms. “It’s written all over your beautiful face.”
“Well, whatever.” I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Dice doesn’t do relationships. And even if he did, long distance would never work.”
“Have you told him?”
“No.” I scrunch up my nose. “That would be weird and awkward.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t love me like that.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“I bet Dice would say the same thing about you, and he’d be wrong too.”
This week with him has been fast. Heavy. Full of moments I can’t unfeel. Evenings at Docks—Dice behind the bar, charming every customer. Me in the office with Queenie, juggling client projects and designing graphics for his weekend parties.
He loved everything I showed him but picked the sketch of himself wearing shades and an open shirt, spinning behind the deck. Spray-painted graffiti above his head reads Roll up with DJ Dice! Below it, there’s a pair of dice rolled to lucky sixes.
Most nights ended up with us plastered together—in bed, on the couch, on his weight bench, even on the floor—clinging to what little time we had.
On Tuesday, I taught him how to make stir-fry. He nailed it. Smug as hell when I admitted his tasted just as good as mine. Afterward, we drove to the waterfront, watched the sunset, and fucked in the back seat with the sky turning from pink to indigo.
And last night, after closing, I played bartender, experimenting with shots I drank off his body. We didn’t even make it to the back room before he had me pinned to the cooler, pants around my ankles, moaning into his shoulder.
But something’s been off.
Not all the time. Moments. Little drifts. Like something’s tugging at the edges of his thoughts and pulling him away. I wanted to ask. But I didn’t.
I’ve been off too. I can feel the countdown ticking between us. Every smile feels like goodbye. Every kiss tastes like something we’re not ready to lose.
That doesn’t mean Dice is in love with me. No matter how much I wish it were true.