Page 45 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

“I’ll bet Troy’s new restaurant is keeping you on your toes,” he replies amicably.

I feel my blood run cold, and my father turns his head slowly to look at me.

“Yes, yes, it is,” I say, feeling my heart thumping in my chest and my throat slowly closing over. “You’ve got to get work where you can find it.”

As terrified as I am that Mr. Shore has just opened a can of worms of epic proportions—like, Super-worms—I’m curious as to how he knows such information.

“Nothing is secret in this town, right?” I try to keep my tone light. “I suppose Milly’s been in here, telling you all about the work I’m doing.”

Mr. Shore is still scanning Dad’s groceries, and without looking at me, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. I didn’t hear anything from Milly. It was actually Mr. Clayton. You know, from the hardware store.”

And then it falls into place. I’ve been on the phone to Mr. Clayton, ordering shelves, brackets, and screws. It’s all getting delivered to the restaurant, so he’s clearly put the two things together.

“Oh, right,” I say, shoveling the groceries into the bag.

“When’s Troy’s opening night?” the shopkeeper continues, even though I really wish he wouldn’t. “No one seems to know.”

“It’ll be a few weeks out. There’s still quite a bit of work to be done.”

“I’m excited.” Mr. Shore grins. “I’m looking forward to some fine dining. It’s about time we had something like that around here.”

“Yes. Yes, I agree,” I say, now grabbing a bag in each hand. “Well, it was good to see you, Mr. Shore.” And without giving Dad a single glance, I hurry out of the store and head to the car.

I’m amazed that Dad does not say one word as we head back to the house. I know something’s coming. I can sense the tension between us. While there’s silence, it’s not at all comfortable.

You are a grown woman, you know. You are now entitled to live your own life.

I am, aren’t I? If Dad doesn’t like Troy, that’s not my problem. Besides, I’ve done nothing but look after this man for my entire life. Surely, I have a right to be happy, whether my father agrees with my choices or not. Filled with my newfound indignant spirit, my nerves lessen, and I ready myself to defend my right to a happy life with someone I never stopped loving.

When we get back to the house, I cart the grocery bags into the kitchen and begin emptying them into his cupboards. Dad strolls into the kitchen and leans himself up against the counter.

“Is it just the restaurant?” he asks.

I don’t stop what I’m doing. “Is what just the restaurant?” I reply, pretending I don’t know what he’s trying to get at.

“Your connection to that Heaton boy,” he says brusquely.

“‘That Heaton boy’ is now a man of nearly thirty years old, Dad.”

“Stop deflecting,” he counters. “Are you just working for him, or is it more than that?”

“Why do you care?” I say, stuffing the last of his canned goods into the cupboard.

“I’m just looking out for you, is all.”

I don’t know where it comes from, but anger wells up and rushes through me like a flooding river. Spinning on my heels, I turn to glare at him.

“Right. You’re just looking out for me. So, when Eddy Crowley—you know, the guy you nearly tripped over yourself to welcome into the house—treated me like crap, slept with women behind my back, and then stalked me afterward, where was your concern then, Dad? Oh, yes. I remember. You told me that I was too much for him. That I was overpowering and controlling, and that’s the reason he jumped into another woman’s bed. Do you remember that?”

Dad looks taken aback at my attack, which is no surprise. I rarely say what’s on my mind, even when he’s driving me crazy. I don’t quite understand what’s gotten into me now. Maybe I want to defend the only man who has treated me like I’m someone worth having around.

“I was only trying to make you feel better,” Dad says unconvincingly.

“By telling me that a guy cheating on me is my fault?” I cry.

He shrugs. “Well, maybe I could have handled that a little better.”

“You think?” I spit.

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