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But that was only because I’d discovered her real age right after I’d been a heartbeat away from taking her home to my apartment and sinking inside her.
I stumbled for an answer other than the aforementioned internal thought. “It just took me by surprise. We talked for a while and I never expected to see her again.”
“Right. Makes sense.” She breathed out a laugh like the notion was absurd. “Sorry. The mood just got tense or something.”
Nothing made sense.
I was fucked.
Tara’s footsteps clamored down the wooden staircase a few seconds later, graciously tearing through the moment. “Dad!” she chirped.
The tension momentarily rolled off me at the sound of her voice. I sent her a small wave as she trotted toward us in an oversized T-shirt secured at the waist with a hairband, and a genuine smile lifted on my mouth. “Hey, Squirt. How’s school going?”
“Oh, you know, learning about quadratic equations, the anatomy of frog guts, and Shakespearean insults. Stuff I’ll surely use in daily life after graduation.” Then she made a face. “Don’t call me Squirt. I’m not five anymore.”
I was about to respond when Halley interrupted, emerging from the kitchen with one arm linked around a salad bowl, the other encased in a neon-pink cast.
“Thine face is not worth sunburning,” Halley quipped.
“Thou is a scullion!” Tara shot back.
The girls giggled.
Halley glanced at me and her smile fell.
And when she sat directly across from me at the dinner table, looking far older than her actual age and more beautiful than I last remembered, I snatched the glass of wine Whitney handed me and chugged the whole thing, while the devil on my shoulder leaned in and whispered in my ear:
Thou is royally fucked.
I was marginally buzzed on red wine when dinner wrapped up and Halley shot up from her chair like a fire had been set underneath her ass.
Clearing my throat, I dabbed my mouth with a napkin after inhaling the best manicotti casserole I’d ever eaten. “That was great. Thanks.” My gaze trailed to Halley as she dashed into the kitchen, her hair bouncing mid-back. “I’ll help clean up.”
Tara snickered. “So domesticated, Dad. Can you do my laundry, too? I have, like, seventeen piles in my bedroom.”
“Nice try.” I pushed my chair back. “No.”
Whitney reached for my shoulder. “You don’t need to clean. I’ll do it.”
“I can be useful on occasion.” Sending her a tight smile, I stood and headed toward the kitchen.
Halley was eyeing me from the sink, but quickly returned her attention to the pile of dirty dishes when our eyes caught.
With her arm buried in soapy suds, she attempted to scrub a dinner plate one-handed with a yellow sponge. I tentatively approached, searching for something to say. We hadn’t spoken much at dinner, but her light-hazel eyes had burned holes into me whenever she thought I wasn’t looking.
I noticed.
She was impossible not to notice, and that was a problem.
“You’re a good cook,” I said, coming up beside her. “Best manicotti I ever had.”
A smile flitted across her lips as she kept her eyes on the sink water. “Thanks. I love cooking.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Keeps my mind busy. Besides, it feels good making other people feel good,” she told me. “My Nana always said that the best way to a person’s heart was through their stomach.”
If she was trying to breach me, it was working. All I could do was pray there was no deadly takeover and I’d come out of this in one piece.