Page 75 of Older
“Bet I can win you over.”
“I can’t be won. It’s called integrity.”
The side-eyed grin she sent me was as dangerous as it was charming.
“Hmm.” I leaned forward on my forearms, staring at her as she sealed the dough pouches and popped them in a pan, one by one. “A challenge.”
“Don’t waste your energy.”
A new Radiohead song began to play as cheerful voices seeped in from the other side of the house. The song was haunting. Atmospheric.
For a moment, everything else fell away. There was no laughter, no clattering glasses, no high-pitched voices—it was just me, Halley, and this Radiohead song that I was desperate to know the name of. “What song is this?”
She closed her eyes, like she was branding the melodies on her mind. “Talk Show Host.”
“I like it.”
“It’s my favorite.” Her hips swayed languidly to the eerie beats as perogies sizzled in the frying pan, turning golden. Then she twisted around, reaching in front of me to grab a jar of seasoning.
Our arms brushed.
Her eyes lifted.
My attention snagged on the streak of flour dust on her cheek, and instinct took over as I raised my hand and gently brushed it away with my thumb. “You got some flour…” The words trailed off as I flicked the remaining specks of powder off her skin.
She froze, gaze dropping to the countertop as the song breathed a pulse of life into the moment.
A reckless, drawn-out heartbeat.
She swallowed
And then she blurted out on a hitched breath, “Tara thinks Whitney is still in love with you.”
I went still.
My hand fell away from her face.
A frown furled between my brows as her words sunk in, one at a time. Molasses struggling through hairline cracks. “What do you mean?”
Halley blinked down at the counter before returning her gaze to mine, her eyes glassy. She shook her head, just a fraction, as if she wasn’t sure why she’d said that.
“Dad!” Tara shouted from the dining room. “Come meet Josh. My embarrassment awaits, and I know you can’t resist.”
I released a hard breath through my nose, palming the back of my neck as Halley stepped away and returned to the stove. Perogies flipped inside the pan. Sizzling, crackling. The savory aroma unlocked me, and I straightened from the counter, pivoting around.
Why would Tara think that?
Pausing once, I glanced back at Halley over my shoulder, studying her flushed profile. Her eyes were glued to the pan, her grip on the spatula deathlike.
My heart was in my throat as I sauntered into the dining room, smiling tightly at my daughter who was hand-in-hand with Josh.
Whitney looked up from her seat at the table, her fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass as I approached. She took a delicate sip, her ruby-tipped nails matching the color of the wine.
Tara smiled wide and ushered me into the seat beside her mother, candlelight draped across the tablecloth.
My daughter waggled her eyebrows and winked.
Shit.