Page 130 of Caught from Behind

My dad slows, eyes on mine, expression unreadable for several long moments.

Then he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll take that. Come on,” he adds, walking forward again. “I want to get a hot one, and Freida says they don’t bake any more after three o’clock.”

I don’t ask how he’s on a first name basis with Ella’s favorite baker. I just…

Embrace this.

That my dad is here and he cares and he’s fulfilling the promise he made to me.

Showing me. Following through. And…

He’s finally back.

He still needs to get his own place, though.

I’m tired as shit of running into him in my kitchen wearing only his tighty-whities.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Ella

“What’d you think of the game last night, Todd-o-Rama?” I ask as I run the comb through his hair.

We sat in the stands while the Sierra trounced the Grizzlies—that’s right, bitches, payback is sweet, and while I heard all about the fourteen-dollar beer, he didn’t have one negative thing to say about Riggs or the guys.

He was positively sunny.

I grin when he scowls today, the grumpy exterior thin and plastic, barely holding. “I’m going to find a way to smuggle my own beer inside. I won’t be paying fifteen bucks for lukewarm swill that’s mostly foam.”

“I thought it was fourteen dollars.”

He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t take the obvious bait I laid out. “When are you moving into my son’s place?” he asks.

“When you stop showing up in his kitchen in your underwear,” I say without missing a beat.

That has him waggling his brows. “I’ll have you know that I’m in very good shape for my age.”

“And I’ll have you know that I only have eyes for one man, and he might share the same last name as you, but he’s not you.” I clip a few errant strands then dust off his shoulders with the brush.

“Ageist.”

Now, I’m laughing as I unclip his cape and sweep it from around him. “I am glad that Riggs comes from good stock.” I wink. “Just have to make sure he keeps up all the hard work and doesn’t go soft in his old age.”

“Exactly.” He reaches for his wallet.

“Todd-o-Rama,” I warn, “what did I tell you about that?”

He pulls out a couple of twenties, sets them on the counter. “I’m not going to stop paying you, sweetheart.” A quick kiss to my cheek. “Want me to wait while you clean up?”

“No,” I tell him. “Kit’s going to swing back by and we’re hitting up Target for some decorating supplies for his new place.” I glance at my watch. “He should be here in ten.”

“I’ll wait.”

I shoo him toward the door. “Go, old man. Terrorize some young children, yell at the clerk at the grocery store, get all huffy when someone points out you’re going the wrong way down the stairs?—”

He stills for a moment.

And then something wonderful happens.

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