Page 87 of Driven Daddy

My mother’s eagle-eye zoned in on the linked fingers as Rita held her other hand out for a shake. Instead of a simple shake, my mother hauled her in. “I’m just so excited to meet you. I’m sorry my house is a wreck.” She set Rita back and her smile couldn’t have gotten any bigger unless I drew it as a caricature.

“Your house is lovely.”

“It is chaos at a minimum. Hank! Can you get a bottle of the good wine out of the fridge in the garage? And if I catch you smoking out there again, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Bah! I wasn’t?—”

She peeked around Rita. “Lying only makes me angrier.”

“It’s just a few puffs, woman,” he grumbled, but he hauled himself out of his favorite recliner and lumbered into the garage.

“And I know you’re the one who provided the contraband, Penn.”

I sighed. “Sorry, Ma.” No sense getting into any more trouble on my end. I got into it easily enough with Rita.

She hooked her arm around Rita’s and eased her away from me. This time, I let her go. I could tell Rita was a little overwhelmed, but my mother had a way with settling people and she deserved to be taken care of. “Tell me there is another book coming in the Sara Springs series. I’m just dying to know Hope’s story.”

Rita seemed taken aback, but her smile was soft and easier than I’d ever seen. “Actually, that’s what I’m working on right now.”

I left them to talk books in the kitchen and went to find my father.

He was in the garage, still grumbling about being found out. Not like he was hiding it very well. If he really wanted to be sneaky about it, he’d have to go out of town.

“Hey, Pop.”

“Don’t ‘hey, Pop’ me. Getting me in trouble.”

“I think you did that all on your own, buddy. Right in the garage? C’mon.” I leaned on the workbench and turned the airplane that was on a display stand toward me. The painting was excruciatingly detailed. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

“You’re not the only one who likes artsy-fartsy stuff, you know.”

“I did not.” In fact, no one in my family really had understood me through my formative years. They were supportive, but they didn’t understand my graphite-stained fingers and endless supply of sketchbooks. Nor did they understand why I spent all my time at the park instead of running around with my brothers.

Character studies in Crescent Cove had taught me a whole lot about art. I watched the games from the stands and didn’t care about the points scored. I only cared about how to draw the action. It had helped me be leagues ahead in art classes in college, as well.

Since Crescent Cove High was so damn small, I’d even gotten a partial scholarship. Not too many artists to compete with. College had been much different, but my competitive streak had pulled me through. Especially when Larsen had convinced me to really give the art side of me a shot.

“So, is this a meet the parents thing?”

My dad’s voice was innocent enough, but it had been a damn long time since I’d brought anyone around. “Don’t marry us off yet. And make sure Mom understands that too.”

“Not like you to bring a girl around.”

“Woman.”

My dad grunted. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s…different.”

“The one that gets you by the neck usually is.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I straightened and walked to the wall where more of the models were displayed. From planes to trains, they were all lovingly put together and painted with high-gloss enamel with enough detail to make my eyes cross. I worked on large panels for my final drawings so I could get detailed and not squint myself into a migraine.

“Then why were you holding her hand in a death grip? Think she’s going to run?”

I turned back to him. He said it jokingly, but I couldn’t help but answer honestly. “Maybe.”

He set his brush in some solution then cleaned the tiny bristles. “Can’t force a woman to stay, Penn. I figured you of all people would know that.”

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