Page 479 of Lodestar

It made sense. The past and present were colliding for her, and that required some mental skulduggery on her part.

I’d have left her to her process, knowing full well that it was integral to her healing, but even seeing her in a fucking cocktail dress with killer heels wasn’t worth this torture.

I growled under my breath a final time as I dragged the ends of the bow tie and freed myself from its chokehold.

“I’ve felt more comfortable garrotes,” I grumbled.

“Do I want to know how you know how ‘comfortable’ a garrote is?”

“Da left things around the house that he shouldn’t have,” was my retort as I tugged on my collar. Which, now that I thought about it… “My shirt’s tighter.”

“And?”

“It’s not the bow tie. It’s the shirt!” Jerking my neck to the side, I heaved a sigh. “This is your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” she spluttered.

I stuck my hand in front of her face and started counting. “One, I’m happy.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

I ignored her. “Two, I’m eating regularly.”

“I repeat, that’s a bad thing?”

“Three, Kat always wants to eat junk food after gym class. Ergo, all your fault.”

She sniffed and shoved my hand away. “You’re not gaining weight.”

“My shirt is too small.”

“No, it fits. You were skinny before. Now you have meat on top of the muscle.”

My brow puckered. “I wasn’t skinny.”

“You didn’t eat for hours,” she argued. “Then, you’d eat a steak and apple pie in ten minutes! That’s not healthy. That’s binge eating.”

“I take it back about liking Savannah. This is her fault, isn’t it?”

A soft laugh drifted from her. “No, it’s not actually, but she did make me realize you eat like a bougie college student. And when you’re hacking, you live off Coke and candy, Conor.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not cocaine. Anyway, you live off candy too.”

“I do. But I eat green things as side dishes.”

“Only because of Kat. She’d never let you get away with making her eat green things if you didn’t too.”

“Exactly. That’s the compromise of being a parent.”

I blinked. “Negotiation?”

“Yup. You’re still new to the game so you’re rusty. But you’ll get used to it.”

As Craig, one of my crew, drove us toward Fifth Avenue, I asked, “Okay, so when she wants hot dogs?—”

“You make her drink water. Or milk. Or juice. No soda. And later, you make sure she eats something healthy.” She shrugged. “It’s not like you need to know this. I mean, I handle it.”

“No, I’m…” I coughed. “I mean, I want to know. I need to know. That’s what being a dad is, right? Being responsible?”

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