“Holley, with all due respect, I know my daughter pretty fucking well,” he responds, and his jaw clenches a little. “And I’m one-hundred-percent certain she’s the culprit.”
Uh oh.
I wince, feeling seriously sorry for the unknown teen now. “Maybe you should…calm down,” I suggest.
Unimpressed with my brazenness—which, quite frankly, I can’t blame him for…I don’t know where it’s coming from!—he spears me with a glare, and I try like hell to speak in coherent sentences as I attempt to explain myself.
“I just…maybe you should read the ad first. Get acquainted with the whole situation before you…” I pause as I backpedal away from saying the words rip her a new asshole. “I have it in my bag.”
Without speaking, he holds out a waiting hand, and I don’t hesitate.
Quickly, so quickly I’m huffing, I run through the thirty feet of sand back over to the spot I left my purse, grab it, and jog back over to him. I open the top flap, dig around, and finally pull out the edition of the paper in which the ads ran for the contest.
Through all of this, he never puts down his hand.
I slide the paper between his fingers, which clamp down immediately, and he begins flipping through the pages furiously.
“It’s on page six,” I say, trying to be helpful.
Clearly, I just can’t help but butt in today.
Once he gets to the right page, the ad is easy enough to find. I have it circled in bright-red pen.
I glance at the paper, and my eyes widen. Okay, so that’s not a circle. How in the fucking bejeezus did I not remember that I put a heart around it?
Embarrassment heats the back of my neck, and if it weren’t for the smeared makeup and sand, he’d probably be able to see some pink in the apples of my cheeks. As it is, I’m pretty sure nothing could make me look out of the ordinary.
“Single Dad Seeks Juliet,” he reads aloud with a slight edge of derision. I suck my lips into my mouth and stay silent. I’m just thankful he hasn’t mentioned my sixth-grade-style doodle that looks like it came straight off Lisa Frank’s production line.
“I can’t believe this,” he mutters to himself as he continues to read, and it’s all I can do not to sneak around and take a peek over his shoulder.
I mean, I’ve read the ad. Several times. But it’s kind of like watching a movie you’ve seen and love for the first time with someone else. It’s all about knowing what parts they’re specifically reacting to.
“I thought it was a really tasteful ad,” I say softly, hoping to shed some kind of positive light on Chloe’s situation.
“Oh, really? Well, I’d like to remind you that Romeo and Juliet fucking killed themselves,” he replies.
Yowzer. I clamp my mouth shut again.
“This just isn’t like her,” he says, more to himself than to me. “To do something like this behind my back. What in the hell was she thinking?”
Now, I know—I know—the question was meant to be rhetorical. But for some reason, I just can’t help myself. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. Maybe she’s trying to help, you know?”
“By entering me into a fucking ridiculous dating contest?” he questions, and instantly, for the briefest of moments, he actually finds a way to come out of his anger long enough to think about me. “No offense, of course.”
It’s surprising—startling, even. I’ve never seen anything like it before. All the men I’ve ever known didn’t know how to pause long enough to consider anyone but themselves.
“Oh,” I say with a wave of my hand and a squish of my lips. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just not something I would do,” he explains further. “She knows that. We’re very close. I’m sure this is great for some people.” He’s being so nice now, I’m actually starting to get uncomfortable.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I shrug one shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m getting paid to be a part of it.”
I shut my mouth immediately after that one. I swore up and down to myself that I wouldn’t go there—that I wouldn’t allow myself to even consider that I’d rather be doing something other than these articles. All that negativity will only make the work ten times as painful.
He takes a deep breath, but eventually types out a message on his phone that I can’t actually read without seeming far too creepy. I’m curious, but it looks like I’m just going to have to stay that way.
He looks up when he’s done typing, narrowing his eyes as he considers me for a moment. “You really want to know what I said, don’t you?”
I shake my head vigorously. “What? Me? No way! I would never dream of invading your privacy like that!”
He snorts. “I just told her to meet me at home because we have to talk.”
I suck my lips into my mouth and nod. Man, it feels so good to know what he said. Even more than that, I’m glad I agree with it.
Not that I need to at all. Obviously. It’s not my business.
Yet you just can’t seem to stop making it your business.
“I think that’s a good move,” I comment. “In person is better.”
He surveys me closely, looking over my sand- and water-soaked, haggard body before landing on my eyes. His are earnest and friendly—and only a small percent amused by my appearance.
I look ridiculous. I know it, and he knows it too. But he’s chosen to be nice.
“Are you going to be okay? You know, to drive and everything? Because—”
“Who me?” I say, far too casually. “Are you kidding? I’m great. Terrific. Totally A-OK.”
I look like a wet rat and I’m going to find a new Bachelor Anonymous for the contest in a crazy short amount of time, but that’s just minor details…right?
“Are you sure?” he checks, and despite the internal battle that’s beginning inside me, I nod.
“I’ll be fine.”
He jerks his chin upward, just once. It’s smooth and casual, and… Wow. I’ve never seen a man pull off that move without looking utterly ridiculous before. But he’s done it.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
I shake my head. “I’m good, promise. You have important things to get home to.”
He nods and then chuckles a little. “She is my kid. She’s probably going to join an animal shelter and pick up forty-five hours of volunteer work in the next two days, just to have a good excuse to avoid coming home.”
“I’d be practicing my crying if I were her.” I giggle. “Heck, that’s what I was doing when I was her.”
Jake smiles, and it feels like a reward. I keep going.
“I was a teenage girl once. I know the feeling of impending punishment. I have many years of training for an Oscar. Can’t believe I didn’t use it to make buckets and buckets of money.”
Mouth still curved toward his eyes, he holds up the paper between us and asks, “Mind if I keep this?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I have another copy.”
“But do they all have a heart drawn on them?” he teases, and I almost faint.