Page 4 of Enemy Daddy Next Door
“Yeah, yeah, come with my brain already stormed, I got it,” I say with a wry smile. My publishers never actually want to be creative with me. They just want me to be creative and to pretend they are part of the process.
Fiona continues, “And then we have book signings on Wednesday and Friday, so –”
I shut the door behind me and shout, “I can’t hear you!”
Fiona laughs and shakes her head.
I hold up my phone. “Just text me.” Then, I turn around and head into the house, my smile immediately replaced with a labored sigh.
Life takes it out of me these days. Unless I’m majorly distracted with family things or aggravated by the next-door neighbor, I’m sluggish at best.
Doesn’t help that my sleeping schedule comes and goes as it pleases.
Time to unwind, Amy. You earned it.
I drop my bag on the front stairs and head up to my room; I don’t call out to let my dad know I’m home. He’ll figure that out on his own. I just need a moment to myself.
It’s a balmy July day and the afternoon sun is just starting to soften. Perfect time to go tan by the pool.
I slip on a bikini, grab my Kindle, and head down to the pool to sprawl out on a lounge chair and read the latest mystery by one of my favorite authors.
The second I settle in, though, I hear the sliding glass door of the kitchen open up and my dad call out. “Ames! Didn’t know you were home!”
I put my Kindle down on my bare stomach and sigh. “Hi, Daddy.”
My dad sidles up to the lounge and holds out a plate of strawberries and watermelon. “Snack?”
I can’t stay annoyed for too long. He didn’t know I wanted to be alone anyway. I slide my sunglasses up onto my head and take the plate with a meaningful smile. “Thanks.”
“How’d the reading go?” my dad asks as he sits on the neighboring lounge chair.
I eat one of the strawberries, juicy and fresh beyond belief. At least I can still enjoy fresh fruit. “It was great. They loved it.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s a good one.”
I glance at him carefully to see if he’s lying. The first people who read my books other than my editor are my dad and four older sisters. I tried to keep Petunia’s Parental Predicament from them until Kira swiped a copy of it from my room and read it herself. She then encouraged me to let the rest of them read it. I’m glad I did. “Thanks. I think it’ll be mixed with reviewers at best, but –”
“Fuck ‘em,” Dad says, snatching a strawberry from the plate.
I laugh. Dad was always the picture-perfect parent when we were growing up. But once we matured and started having our own lives, he loosened up a bit. If there was ever a “cool dad”, Kent Solace would be it.
“What are you doing with the rest of your day, babycakes?” he asks.
I gesture toward the pool. “This.”
Dad grins. “Well, don’t let me interrupt something important, then.” He gets to his feet and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I was thinking we could do shawarma for dinner.”
“Kira working late?” I ask. Kira and I are the only two who still live at home. The middlest and the youngest. She’s got a high-powered tech job and, being one of the youngest people and the only woman on her team, she’s always trying to prove herself. Plus, she hates shawarma. The only way Dad would ever suggest that is if she’s not going to be home for dinner.
Dad sighs. “Yep. I wish she wouldn’t work so hard, but…”
“Maybe I should be working that hard,” I say with a half-laugh. “Staying up late into the night sketching or something.” I’ve never been able to do the long-suffering artist thing. I like to work during the day, during regular working hours. Nighttime I can never get anything done.
“Are you kidding? You work your butt off. I’m so proud of you.”
I can’t help but get a little teary-eyed at that.
“Look at how far you’ve come. A famous author and artist, and you’re not even twenty-five.”