Page 198 of Smooth Sailing

Hmm again.

“Or you could deduct the interest every quarter and do something nice for yourself,” he continued. He squeezed my hand again. “I worked too hard and too many hours when you were growing up. I see that now. But what I want you to see is this is precisely why I did. Your mom told me you managed to get through two degrees without a single loan. But you worked impossibly hard to do it. Now please, allow me to do what I worked so hard to do. When it was time for my daughter to get serious about building her life, give her some financial peace of mind.”

Man, having Dad back so freaking rocked.

“Okay, I’ll accept the trust,” I gave in.

His smile was so blinding, I didn’t know why I considered turning it down.

“I don’t want you to sell our house,” I blurted.

Dad blinked.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “That was selfish.”

“It’s only me there,” he said gently. “It’s a lot for just me to ramble around in that house.”

“You could find an appropriate woman,” I suggested and wished I’d skipped the “appropriate” when he flinched. “Sorry again. I shouldn’t butt into your love life.”

He hooked my hand around his elbow and started us walking down the hall.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit since you came back into my life,” he said as we went. “And I’ve noticed something else. I sabotaged myself in relationships, I did the same to the women I was with, so I wouldn’t get hurt again.”

“Oh, Dad,” I whispered.

“I regret the hearts I played with,” he muttered.

“When your own is wounded, you probably kinda can’t see past that,” I said.

“Don’t make excuses for me, Di,” he replied.

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

“I’ll think about keeping the house,” he said.

“You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Maybe I’ll keep it for a while, so you can have some time in it,” he suggested. “We can have some time in it, be a family there again.”

I smiled. “That’d be great.”

He covered my hand at his elbow and gave it a pat, then he let me go so I could let us into my place.

We did some chitchatting before Pete and Dad left.

It was then, Hugger ordered, “Text your girls.”

I nearly lost it laughing, because my man was making it clear he was going to be all over me seeing to Gram (I’d texted her, she’d lied and said she was fine, but at least she knew she was on my mind) and not getting so lost in the drama that had become my life, I lost one of my lifelines (my girls).

And thus commenced me getting into a half hour marathon text exchange with Mel, Bernie and Charlie.

They were all very sad for me that I’d had to make the decision I did, but they were all in agreement that I’d made it.

I did this futzing around and cleaning, including grabbing some of Hugger’s and my clothes to take to the laundry room and loading the washer.

But I was flat on my back on the couch when the text marathon was petering out, so I was prime real estate for Hugger to stretch out on top of me.

(By the way, in the midst of my texting, he helped me strip the bed and change the sheets, and he’d taken the vacuum out to both balconies to suck up the Phoenician dust on the decks, rugs and furniture—and I didn’t even ask!)

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