Page 15 of Imperfect Arrangement
“She’s quite the chatterbox,” I say, aiming for lighthearted, but his face doesn’t relax. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders tense. This man, who’s usually so confident, so composed, suddenly looks like he’s holding it together with frayed thread. “Um, we didn’t talk about much besides what she already told you.”
“She spoke to you,” he mutters, almost to himself.
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway, finally realizing what he’s really asking.
Quill’s never verbally spoken to him!
“H-how?” He’s tripping over his words, and it strangely affects me, like there’s something uncomfortable trapped in my chest. I don’t know what to make of it.
“She didn’t speak right away,” I say softly. His eyes snap to mine, widening a bit. “Your daughter has a beautiful voice, by the way.”
“Thanks.” His voice is thick. “I just…I wish I’d been there.”
Something knots up in my throat, and even though I don’t know the first thing about parenting, I can feel the raw ache in his words, the frustration.
“She said you’re an awesome dad, if that helps.” I tuck a stray curl behind my ear, fingers catching awkwardly in my earring.
“Thanks,” he says again, softer this time, his gaze shifting from my face to my tangled hair. His lips quirk slightly, and despite myself, an unwelcome prickling sensation runs down my spine.
“I think this might be the mostamicablewe’ve ever been,” he says, a smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Pershing?”
And just like that, whatever weird sympathetic feelings I was having for him go right down the drain at his use of my last name. I can’t help but smile as we settle back into our usual dynamic. That’s much better than the momentary heartburn.
“Considering your DNA, it’s a miracle your daughter turned out to be so incredible,” I shoot back.
His smug expression drops for a microsecond before he chuckles. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was.” I cross my arms, eyes glinting as I tug on Captain Lick’s leash. “For Quill, obviously. And next time, I’ll see you in court, Mr. Teager.”
This time when I say the words, I don’t feel the same vengeance toward the man as I felt the last time.
A THING ABOUT WORDS
RAYMOND
“Iheard there was some kind of heroic rescue in the town center recently.” Archer raises a brow, barely containing that smirk of his.
I have half a mind to grab his root beer and pour it right over his head, but this is Quill’s dinner party, and I’m hell-bent on keeping everything perfect for my daughter.
The first time Quill told me she didn’t like the smell of alcohol, I cleared every drop of booze out of the house. It hasn’t made a return since, and now the place is as dry as the Sahara.
“You do know the town’s Ferris wheel isn’t actually a death trap, right?” Charles chimes in, purely for the entertainment of seeing me squirm. Ever since his wife, Daisy, came back home, he’s been grinning like he won the lottery. If I squint, I can see the permanent smile lines carved into his face.
“I’ll remind you of that when Daisy’s up there with your kid,” I say, nodding toward his wife, who’s about ready to pop in a few months. The mental image must hit home, because all color drains from his face.
“Got it now?” I smirk as a small sweet victory washes over me.
“Where were you when it all went down?” Rowan, Archer’s twin, signs, breaking the rhythm of their teasing.
Rowan has been selectively mute since a childhood accident, and though it didn’t leave any physical scars, the silence stayed. It’s been two decades since I last heard a single word from his mouth. Our parents made sure his thoughts were never left unheard, so the whole family learned ASL. Little did I know, those lessons would end up being essential with my own daughter.
Life does have a distorted way of catching you off guard.
“I was on the damn phone,” I admit, shaking my head. Father of the Year material right here.
“Shit, that must’ve driven you crazy.” Archer’s eyes widen a bit, as if he’s trying to picture me losing my cool.
“You have no idea,” I mutter, my gaze drifting toward the open patio doors. In the kitchen, Quill is standing on a step stool, carefully frosting cupcakes with Daisy. When she first took an instant liking to Daisy, like a duck to water, I’d hoped it might coax her into talking, but here we are, still waiting.
