Page 54 of Christmas Criminal

And as we wave goodbye to the people whose names I've already forgotten, I spot a familiar face in the crowd, just as he's spotting me.

"Fuck," I say, taking a step behind Nick, breaking that contact that had me distracted enough to not notice my dad was skulking around nearby.

"You okay?" Nick asks, holding his hands out on either side of me as if he's waiting for me to jump into his arms. Which, to be fair, doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. If anything,it would at least make everyone else feel as awkward as I do when my dad is around.

"My dad," I say, crouching so that he won't be able to spot me.

Nick glances over his shoulder and gives me what looks like a pained smile. "I think it might be too late to hide, Noelle."

I grimace. "Fuck fuck fuck," I whisper.

"What's the matter?" Hank asks, his attention turning to me as he rests his hands on his hips and takes a step closer.

"Nothing," I say, because having everyone's attention on me really only makes things worse. "It's nothing."

"Her dad," Nick explains, and I throw my hands out in front of me in response. "What? Are you going to sit here and pretend he's not the reason you're hiding when he's about to be here in five seconds?"

"Maybe!"

He raises an eyebrow, and I put my hands over my face, leaning forward and resting my forehead against Nick's chest. A second later, he hesitantly hugs me, strong arms squeezing me against him. He lowers his voice so only I can hear. "Do you want me to ask him to leave?"

"No," I say, and it comes out a little breathy. "I guess I have to talk to him eventually."

"I can," he says, and when I pull away from him, he keeps his arm around my shoulders. Like a protective little box where no one can get me. His fingers are in my hair again, and all I want is for him to lean forward and kiss me. "Really, you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. You know I will always be the first to suggest talking rather than stewing, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

My eyes snag on his as I wonder when the change happened and I started trusting him. Not that I ever explicitlydidn't.

But more than anyone I've known before, I feel like he's on my side. Like he sees my struggle and while he wants me to work through it in a healthy way, he's not going to force me into anything.

I do think he would get involved if I started looking for another carton of eggs, though.

Hank huffs as I take a hesitant step away from Nick. "Better you talk to him than me."

I turn to him, struggling to figure out whatthatmeans.

Hank shrugs. "I'm just saying, if there's one man in this town who deserves some scrambled eggs on his door, it's him." He shakes his head, taking a step toward the back of the hut as I cock my head to one side. "And just so you know, I do not condone that behavior." He takes a seat in his chair and nods to me. "But I'm glad you did it."

A surprised laugh escapes me, and when I turn back to Nick, he’s grinning. He shrugs and takes a step to the side.

And I come face to face with my dad. And my two half-sisters, I guess you'd call them. If I remember correctly, the second one started high school this year.

"Hey, kid," my dad says, his voice happier than I'd expect, considering the last time I saw him, I was in the back of Hank's cruiser. "How are you?"

I force a smile onto my face. "I'm doing well. And yourself?"

I don't mean to sound so formal when I speak to him. It just comes out that way when I'm nervous. I didn't have this side of me in high school or else I would have used it a lot more often. Once I figured out I had some sort of talent designing websites and it was something I actually enjoyed doing, I went full speed ahead finding clients. I spoke to executives I had no business talking to, with only my professional voice and a false sense of confidence.

In the halls of my high school, I turn into sad Noelle with no friends. But in the real world, I can deal with hard questions from clients. I can deal with losing the occasional contract–not that it happens often, but such is life. And I'm going to deal with my dad in the same way I would a business deal. Confidently and without emotion.

If he wants emotion, he can refer to Appendix A: The Egg Splattered Across His Door.

"Doing okay, kid. I miss you. The girls miss you."

I clench my teeth to avoid scoffing. "Miss you, too."

Nick's hand brushes across my lower back, and a second later, he's holding his hand out to my dad to shake. "Nick Monroe," he says, and my dad tentatively shakes it, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. There's no doubt in my mind he's wondering what's going on here. "I teach math at the high school."

To start, he knows Hank and I aren't the best of friends. And he knows I wouldn't be caught dead in this town participating in community events.