What do I want him to say? Sorry? I know he’s sorry. If anyone should be apologizing for being a giant brat it should be me. But when I try to speak, nothing comes out.
Mable makes herself scarce, coming up with some excuse about piecrusts, leaving Daren and I alone.
“Hey,” he says, breaking our silence.
“Hey,” I say back.
He clears his throat. “Ellen told me about the e-mails from your mom… and everything.” His eyes fill with sympathy, searching my face with his lips parted like he wants to say something. But instead, he slowly wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. I hesitate only a moment before letting myself fall into his embrace with my cheek against his shoulder.
It’s just a hug. But the gesture is so sincere I could almost cry. Here in Daren’s arms, I feel significant. Safe. Visible.
Loved.
He exhales slowly and rests his cheek on my head, like he has no intention of releasing me anytime soon. I haven’t felt this cared for since the last time I saw my dad.
It was the summer I was fifteen and he took me pretend fishing. I thought it was dumb at the time, because I was too old to go pretend fishing, but I played along because he seemed so excited about it. We sat by the river and talked about my mom that day. My parents had been divorced for nearly a decade at that point, but I’d never asked him about it.
He told me that he loved her very much, and missed her every day, but she had made a decision to be without him and he wanted to respect that. He seemed heartbroken when he spoke so I asked him if he regretted marrying her.
He smiled and said that if he’d never married my mother he would’ve never had me, and I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He told me that being my father was the highest honor he could imagine and he’d go through heartbreak a thousand times over if it meant having me.
I bite my lip. That was the last real conversation I ever had with my father. He tried to call a few times after mom died, but I was too grief-ridden and heartbroken to return his calls. Now I’ll never hear his voice again.
A single tear rolls down my dirty cheek and lands on Daren’s shirt. I swallow and pull myself together, lifting my head with a sniffle. “I was wrong about my dad. He didn’t abandon me. He didn’t stop loving me.” My voice cracks. “I was wrong.”
He looks at me sympathetically. “You were lied to.”
I nod, scoffing as I stare at the floor. “You know the worst part?” I look back up at him. “I can’t fix it. I can’t apologize to my dad or yell at my mom. I’m all alone. I have no family. I’m just completely alone.”
He slowly releases me and presses his lips together. “You’re not alone. You have me.”
I look at him hesitantly. “I do?”
“Absolutely.” He nods sincerely. “I’m so sorry about your mom, though. That’s awful.”
I nod and try to break up the tension. “I’m sorry about your Porsche.”
He softly laughs. “Monique.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What?”
“That was my car’s name.” He nods. “Monique.”
“You named your car?”
“Yep.”
I sniff. “You’re weird.”
“I am.” He nods once. “Have you eaten yet?”
I shake my head.
“Can I make something for you?” He pulls back to look at me. “I want to feed you.”
I nod. “Sure.”
Turning away, he starts grabbing ingredients from the fridge and knives from the butcher block. I’m not sure if we’re exactly on full speaking terms yet, so I don’t ask any questions. But he looks so happy, moving around a kitchen. It’s kind of adorable.
For the next half hour, Daren skitters about the kitchen and whips up a gourmet lunch of prime rib sandwiches and a strawberry fields salad. Mable scolds him a few times for getting in her way or using too much salt, but I see the amusement in her eyes. She likes that Daren enjoys cooking.
When he’s finished, Daren makes plates for Ellen, Mable, and me, then insists on watching as we take our first bites. It’s so delicious that I make an orgasmic noise. Daren’s eyebrows raise in appreciation. “You like it that much?”
I nod. “Oh yeah.”
“Good.” He smiles at me, but then looks unsure. We’re not totally broken anymore but we’re not yet healed either.
“This is incredible. I had no idea you were skilled in the kitchen, Daren,” Ellen says, swallowing a bite. “Now that Pixie’s gone, I’m looking for a prep cook, you know. It might be time to change your job title.” She smiles.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Daren was blushing. “I don’t know. I’m not that great. Cooking is just something I do for fun.”
Mable makes a noise of approval. “This sandwich is pretty great.”
“We’ll talk,” Ellen says to Daren. “When you come in for your shift on Monday, we’ll talk.”
He nods. “Okay.”
She adds, “And hey, maybe you can bring Kayla back with you on Monday to help serve lunch.”
It’s suddenly awkward, since neither of us knows what’s going to happen between us later today, let alone on Monday.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, glancing at me. Then he makes an excuse to leave the kitchen and quickly darts away. I stare at my food for a minute, confused and wishing we could just fix things between us, then decide to go for a walk to clear my head.
Leaving the kitchen, I head for the lobby, hoping I don’t bump into Daren. Just as I reach the front desk, where Ellen is staring at something on a computer, the inn’s front door bursts open.
“Frankly, I’m impressed we made it this far without me killing you,” says a pretty girl with long, black hair and tattoos covering her arms as she carries in a duffle bag that looks too big and masculine to be her own. She looks vaguely familiar.
The guy behind her grins. “What’s with all the death threats? Is that how you handle all of life’s problems? By committing murder?” He’s handsome and looks like downright trouble.
His dark hair is almost as black and the girl’s, but where her eyes are golden and sharp, his eyes are gray and playful. I know I’ve seen the girl before, somewhere.
Dropping the duffle bag, she spins around and sneers, looking up and down his tall body. “Just the really big ones.”
Oh man. She’s clearly attracted to this guy. His smile goes crooked. And wow. He’s knows it.
“First of all, there’s no need to take your frustration out on my luggage.” He points to the bag on the floor then leans down so their faces are close together. “Second, is that your way of telling me I’m big?”
They lock gazes and the air between them sizzles. Good God, there’s a lot of sexual tension in the room.
Ellen, who’s been silently watching from behind the front desk, clears her throat.
“Jenna.” She smiles. “Welcome to the inn. I didn’t know you were stopping by. Pixie’s not here, though.”
Jenna! That’s right. I met her at the Fourth of July Bash at the lake a few weeks ago too.
Jenna whips her eyes to Ellen. “Oh, I’m not here for Pixie,” she says. “I’m here to drop off this bozo”—she points to the handsome guy beside her—“so I can be on my way to New Orleans.”
“Jenna’s not big on road trip buddies,” he explains. “And she has a hard time being enclosed in small spaces with me. I’m Jack, by the way.” He holds out his hand and Ellen slowly shakes it.
Jenna throws her hands up and growls. “You infuriating man.”
He keeps smiling at her. “You’re adorable. I’ll just take my bag back to the car and wait for you until you’re done throwing your temper tantrum.” He nods at Ellen. “It was so nice meeting you.”