Page 97 of Negotiating Tactics

“Well, the one bonus of you two getting all in my business is I don’t have to play canasta,” I said.

“Consider this your one gift,” Aunt Clem said.

I laughed, then left, needing some time to think.

The walk home passed in a blur as I tried to figure out this new reality.

Obviously, I’d have to put my practice on hold, but I could make it work.

As soon as I figured out how I wanted to handle things, I would tell Noah.

Apparently, a conversation that was going to happen far sooner than I had anticipated.

I was both surprised—and strangely not surprised at all—to find Noah sitting on my couch looking like every fantasy I’d ever had come to life.

My stomach flipped, but I tried to ignore the feeling by plastering on an overly bright smile.

“A few weeks, and you’ve resorted to a life of crime. I need to find my umbrella,” I said.

He gave me the faintest smile, but the expression was gone in a blink. “They finally fixed the ceiling,” he said.

I locked the door, stepped out of my shoes, and dropped my keys and purse. “I didn’t have much to do these last few weeks, so I bitched until they got it done,” I said.

I felt weary, anxious, ecstatic, my heart twisting with so many emotions, I didn’t know what to do. So, I simply stood there.

“I’ve been very busy,” he said, looking from the ceiling to me, my heart skidding when we made eye contact.

“You’ve decided what you want to do?” I said, knowing that Noah had felt at loose ends. After a lifetime of work, he was still adjusting to slowing down and trying to decide if it suited him.

He stood, and it took everything inside of me not to throw myself into his arms.

“Yeah. I’ve decided,” he said, his voice low and certain like it so often was.

“And what did you decide?” I asked.

My conversation with Aunt Clem and Birdie, and the realization of how profoundly my life was about to change—all of it left me more raw than I had expected.

I’d known I would see Noah again but hadn’t had time to prepare.

And I had no idea how to handle it.

“Well first, I’m going to make things right with you,” he said.

I snorted. “And how, exactly, do you expect to do that.? Are you going to pay my father to stay in my life or something?”

I sounded angry, disgusted, and I felt it.

But not at Noah.

The realization that he paid my father stung, but that my father, the man with whom I shared a name, had taken the money—and that I wasn’t even surprised that he did—hurt worst of all.

Noah’s eyes darkened, and he met my gaze.

“I should have been upfront, but I’ll tell you now. There’s no amount of money that I could ever give him that will turn him into the kind of father you deserve,” he said.

There was a certainty to his words and an underlying kindness that made me tear up.

But I refused to let them fall.

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