Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassidy
“I vetted him, don’t worry,” I rush to add. “Did all the safe things, video chatted my roommate so she could meet him and get a photo of his ID. Knowing her, she ran a full background check. I also corroborated his character with his oldest friend.”
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose, and his eyes fall shut. “This can’t stand. Stacey, get Sheriff Darling on the phone.”
Luke rustles around his pocket, his expression urgent. “Should I get someone on the phone to verify my identity? Or I can pull up my social media, or my sister’s?”
“Sheriff Darling’s in Cabo,” Stacey says. “What about Deputy Forge?”
“Yes, the deputy will do.”
“Dad, I don’t think—”
Stacey has a cell to her ear when my dad bursts into laughter.
I freeze. “What’s so funny?”
Dad’s hair fluffs in the breeze as he catches his breath. “She’s not calling the sheriff, Cass a Frass. We are just giving you a hard time.”
My answer is a weak, “Oh?”
“Yes. You said you vetted him.” He shoots Luke his most disarming smile. “You don’t have any skeletons, do you?”
“No. None.” He scrambles to rescue the burner phone from his pocket. “Should I—do you want to see my LinkedIn?”
“Luke, I would love to see your LinkedIn. Pull ’er up.”
“Dad. I trust my roommate did her due diligence. Let’s not give him a hard time.” I glance at a very sweaty Luke. “He saved my trip. I think I’d still be in that freaking Missouri airport if it wasn’t for him.”
I startle when I feel his hand squeeze my knee under the table. “You saved mine.”
Dad lifts his glass. “Well then. Cheers to every father’s dream, learning his daughter is riding in cars with strangers. Don’t be shy—get that cup up there, Luke.”
Stacey laughs as she lifts hers. “Don’t let him fool you, Cass. Ribbing you about men is his dream.” When she looks Dad’s way, it’s nothing short of adoring. “Though the timing may be a few years too late.”
Dad shoots me a smile. “Never too late.”
A log jams in my throat. I can only nod.
“What do you do for work, Luke?” Stacey asks, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.
He brightens at the topic. “I’m an actuary.”
Dad gestures with his hand for Luke to continue. “Actually what?”
“Uh—actuary.” He draws out the word. “Actuarial science. Data science. Predicting the likelihood of events, calculating risks so companies know how to best spend their money, that kind of thing. I work at one of the largest consulting firms in the Southeast.”
“Actually an actuary,” I reply cheerfully, stabbing a hunk of potato.
“That sounds lovely,” Stacey coos. “And Cass, still dancing?”
“Oh yes,” I reply. “Though it doesn’t quite pay the bills the same way as actually actuary-ing would. And my boss drives me bonkers.”
Luke’s brow furrows. “What boss?”
I smile wryly.
Dad chuckles into his stew. After a second, he adds, “She’s talking about herself. That’s a good one. I’m going to have to write that one down. They gave me an extra shift at The Punchline, so I’m trying to diversify my routine.”
“I thought you were still doing Elvis for hire.”
“I am. But hey, I’m retired. It’s my life’s work to have fun.”
I point at him with my fork. “Now that is a lifestyle I can get behind.”
“Cass has an interview for a new job,” Luke offers, knocking my leg with his. “Tell them.”
“A new job!” Stacey makes a silent scream face. “Tell us more.”
“Head of a new dance team,” I say, face heating. If I don’t get it—I am 99 percent sure I won’t—I am going to deeply regret telling people. I usually keep my untouchable dreams to myself, so they can’t hurt me if and when they don’t come true. “We’ll see.”
“Keep us posted,” Dad encourages. “You are so talented; the world is your dance oyster. Doyster.”
The heat creeps over me further. I’m sure I’m full-on blushing. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You like living in Asheville, Luke? Stacey and I are dying to get out there.”
“I live in Raleigh, actually.”
“Oh! Are the two cities close?”
“About four hours apart,” Luke offers. “Raleigh’s great. Bought a house last year.”
The hairs prickle on the back of my neck.
Luke owns a house. How very…settled of him.
“So, what’s next for you two?” Dad asks.
I fumble my spoon.
Luke clears his throat. “Next?”
“Yeah. Are you driving straight through to Westlake?”
“Right. Yes.” Luke scrapes the bottom of the bowl.
We’re closing in on the end of the meal, and I haven’t even gotten close to broaching the biggest reason we’re here: the wedding. The unsettling weight in my stomach at what’s next for Luke and I will have to wait.
The sound of spinning gravel in the distance hits my ear. “Oh, are you expecting one of the girls home?”
Stacey nods. “No, that’ll be Amazon. The girls haven’t visited in weeks. Can’t blame them though with their schedules. Lisa is head bitch in charge at the Golden Nugget over on the strip. And Priscilla bartends six days a week at the Sapphire.”
Dad lifts a glass, eyes misty. “So fucking proud of all my girls. All of youse. Cheers.”
We clink glasses, and the sound goes straight to my heart.
“Speaking of…” I hover my glass in front of my lips. “Isabelle’s been asking about you. I think you’re underestimating how much it would mean to her to have you at her wedding.”
Dad’s drink lands on the table with a muted thud. “She said it was my choice. There’s really only one way to interpret that.”
“How so?”
“She said, ‘Come if you want to.’ To me, that means she doesn’t want me there because she wants me there. The invite was polite, and God knows it was more than I expected, but I can’t in good conscience show up just to stroke my own ego. Do I want to see my oldest get married? With my whole fucking heart. But I’m not going to intrude and piss off your mother in one fell swoop.”
“It’s possible Isabelle doesn’t know how to communicate what it is she wants from you, Dad. You know she’s a tough nut to crack.”
“Hundreds of unreturned letters isn’t that tough, sweetie. She made her choice a long time ago.”
“I know it may seem like that…” I trace a zigzag on the table, watching my finger intently. “The thing about Isabelle is she’s so single-minded when it comes to just about everything. If she got it in her head that you couldn’t have a relationship—because of reasons that we don’t need to get into, because we both know them—she’s the type to stay the course, even if it’s not what she wants.”
Dad considers this with a slow nod. “I can see that. But she’s what, twenty-nine now? Surely the days of fearing your mom’s reaction have come and gone. As an adult, she still wants nothing to do with me. Can’t pin that on Francesca, even if I want to.”
I bristle at this. “It’s not that simple. It’s hard to go against Mom, even as an adult.”
Dad’s voice softens. “Whoa, Cass a Frass. I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is upset you. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for your sister and me, but I just can’t see a way where I show up at that wedding and she’s happy to see me. I want her to be proud of her dad, not dreading his arrival or wishing he wasn’t the sore thumb in all the pictures, you know?”
The word proud plants in my head and grows roots. “I get it. Completely.”
I’ve never quite gotten something so thoroughly before in my life as I get the need to make somebody proud. The desire to exist and have it be enough to warrant love and affection. No qualifications necessary.
Luke’s hand finds mine under the table. This time he laces our fingers together. A different kind of root twines its way from the point of contact. Enough to make panic bloom in my heart at how right it feels to have him here.
“Well,” I say, and it comes out weak, “if you change your mind, I’ll give you my temporary number and we’ll work out a plan.” I glance at Luke. “Unless you want to take the phone after we get home?”
“No.” His expression is more like are you kidding? “You’re taking the phone. You bought it. It’s yours.”
Tonight. I’ll be taking it tonight when we go our separate ways.
My heart pinches at how very wrong that feels.
…
The house is hot after sitting in the perfectly chilled Utah air.
Stacey hovers and dotes as Dad steps outside to take a call. “You two are welcome to stay as long as you like, though I know you’ve got festivities to attend to at home. If you’d like to wash up, there’s a Jack ’n’ Jill bathroom between Priscilla and Lisa’s rooms. Or if you want to relax, the TV in the living room is fully loaded.”
While I contemplate what a fully loaded television might include, Luke and I wander down a dark-paneled hallway. The walls are lined with pictures in mismatched frames.
“This one’s you,” he murmurs, pointing at a photo of me holding a fish Dad must’ve caught and handed to me. I look about four years old. “So is that one, in the tutu.”
“Good eye. What gave me away?”
“The hair. The face. The way that it’s clearly you.”
I hover close to him to get a better look, my arm brushing his. “I do have a face.”
He moves my hair off my shoulder. “That you do.”
His touch sends a storm swirling across my skin. “I can’t believe he has so many pictures of me and Isabelle hanging all over his house. And we’ve never even been here.”
“He’s your dad. He should have pictures of you everywhere. Comes with the territory.”
I stifle the urge to curl up in that sentiment and live inside it. “It’s like…none of it’s for show. He didn’t hang them because he wanted us to feel loved, since he didn’t think we’d ever see them. Or so people would think he’s a caring dad—he’s got his other daughters who actually lived here to prove that point. He has zero reason to show these off.”
“He wants to see them. He wants reminders of you. We’ve been here, what, an hour? And I can already tell that man loves his daughters. You could’ve told him you rob children of their lunch money for sport and he would’ve been proud. He loves you unconditionally.”
My heart gallops through my chest. I’ve been whispering that wish to the universe for so long it never occurred to me that it could already be true.
“I think I’ll come back here soon,” I say as much to myself as him.
It won’t be the same as a childhood spent with Dad accessible. But just because you hit adulthood doesn’t mean those parent relationships stop mattering. If anything, they’re that much more powerful because you chose them.
Luke brushes my temple with a kiss. “That’s a good plan.”
I stroke a sleek silver frame that’s so at-odds with the wooden one beside it. “Do you ever think about what it would be like if one piece of your life were different? If one particular day hadn’t happened, an event, or even a moment?”
Luke straightens the crooked wooden frame. “Nobody wins the what-if game. It’s always a draw.”
“Sounds like you’ve played it before.”
His gaze finds mine. “Once or twice.”
My stomach turns over like a car engine. Something in his heavy tone suggests I said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. Is this too much for you? The lunch, being here?”
His answer is resolute. “No. It’s not too much for me. Not at all.” He strokes my jaw with his thumb. “And that is what makes it weird. How much I want to be here with you.”
I take a few steps forward, crowding him backward through a doorway into Priscilla and/or Lisa’s room. My hands are on him by the time we reach the tucked-away bathroom, and my lips are on his as soon as the door clicks shut behind me.
He presses me into the wall, pinning me like I’ll wander off unless he uses his whole body to cover mine. He’s big and heavy against me, and I’m suddenly feverish, desperate for his touch. The diffused rays from a foggy skylight illuminate the hunger in his eyes.
“This is becoming a problem for me,” he mutters. “I can’t keep my hands to myself around you.”
“What are we doing?” I whisper into his mouth.
“Personally?” He trails kisses over my jaw, latching beneath my ear. “I’m trying not to think about taking your clothes off and kissing every single inch of you. And failing.”
“Excellent. I’ll be quiet. Or at least I’ll try to be.”
He returns to my mouth and cuts off my giggle with a punishing kiss. “And you called me the tease.”
“Okay, obviously not here. What about the car?” I tilt his chin and drag my mouth down his neck. “We can drive somewhere secluded.”
“I don’t know if the car is going to work for what I want to do to you,” he rasps and palms my ass like he’s starving for it. “I want you on a bed.” He tugs my lip with his teeth. “A couch. The ground. Anywhere flat with a lot of space.”
But—today.
Today is the end of our trip. We’re on track to get back to our towns late this evening. Where exactly does a bed fit into that?
I grasp his hair at the thought of goodbye. Even a temporary one.
I want to ask for more. Unthinkably, I’m the one who wants a plan. Do we see each other in California? What about North Carolina?
But the ghosts of a thousand past rejections fill the room, clouding my vision. The ever-present fear that what I have to offer isn’t enough.
Luke said he wants to try. But not one of his dreams for his future has anything to do with a relationship. He listed them outright, looked me in the eye, and said nothing about the possibility of love or merging his life with someone.
Why would he make any substantial changes to accommodate this thing between us when it won’t get him closer to that ideal life?
He hitches my leg up to his waist, spreading me wider.
His hardness pressing against where I ache for him sure doesn’t feel like a rejection. Could it be this intense, could we want each other like this, if we aren’t meant to last?
I give it a spare second of consideration before my raging need shoves all thought out of the way. I’m spiraling so hard I don’t even know where I am when I’m with him. What I’m supposed to be doing or thinking about.
Today, I will force myself not to worry about what’s next. I want to live in this moment.
Pressing the door with my back for support, I tilt my hips, giving us a better angle of contact. It’s so easy to imagine losing the thin layers between us and doing this for real. The answering pulse in my core intensifies as I think about him deep inside, pushing and pushing. “Would you, could you, in a bed? Would you, could you, here instead?”
“Funny girl.” He grinds against me with laser precision, and my laugh falls away in a rush. I press my mouth shut, trapping my whimper.
I’m impossibly wet, and when he reaches down and swipes one finger over the thin fabric of my pants, he groans and pulls back. “We have to stop teasing each other because we both know we can’t do this here.”
I guide his hips back. “One more?”
“You are so fucking sexy when you ask for things.” He pushes harder against me, nearly penetrating me with our clothes on. That whimper I’m trapping almost escapes.
“Okay. I have to stop.” He pulls back, wiping his mouth. “I can’t think straight when you touch me.”
I release my grasp on his hips and lift my hands in surrender. We stare at each other for several seconds as we recover. I drink him in, memorizing the lines and curves of his face, his plush mouth.
When our frenzy settles, he plants a kiss on my lips, so gentle and tender it’s as if we weren’t just barreling toward the danger zone a minute ago.
He lingers, kissing the apple of my cheek, my lips again, and then my neck, before pulling me in a hug. “What if…and you can tell me to fuck off—”
“The answer is probably yes.”
“—we make a little pit stop? We’re getting home late tonight, too late to be useful to either of our families. Everyone in my house will be asleep, and honestly, if I get in that late the dog will bark and wake them up…” He spears me with a hopeful look. “Wouldn’t be very nice of me.”
I force myself to think critically about the situation, even as my body screams at me to do whatever this man wants. “My family will be asleep, too. Berkeley will be in my bed, probably starfishing and taking up all the space. She did tell me on our last phone call to stop waking her up…”
“Exactly. So if we just push it out a few hours, we’ll arrive in the morning, ready to be helpful.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “What’s a few more hours?”