Page 113 of Sweet Thing

“Much too soon.” He shuffled a step forward. “Sorry about invading your holiday. I hate to make it awkward.”

“It’s not. Well, it is, but this is your family, too.”

He nodded, his blue eyes troubled and searching my face. Keeping our secret meant he got to keep the Kershaws, but at what cost? I was supposed to be happy for him, but I’d never felt more miserable.

“Any more musical gigs?”

“I’m filling in for Miss Emmy’s JiggleJams class at the Chicago School of Folk Music. She’s on maternity leave.”

“That’s amazing news. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I even get to play a few original compositions.”

He rubbed his beard, a move I loved. But then I loved all his moves.

He seemed to gravitate closer to me. I couldn’t help it; I did the same. We didn’t touch. We didn’t need to. I felt a strange comfort in his presence, a lovely salve to the ache in my chest. He was both the disease and the cure.

“Is Duckman going to finally get a couple more verses?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Duckman, Duckman, on the ice …” he started, low and a little tuneless.

“Skating faster than the …” I raised an eyebrow, feeling a weird giggle coming on.

“Mice?” He chuckled. “How did mice come into it?”

“We songstresses think long and hard about the perfect lyric.”

“First rhyme that popped into your head, right?”

I laughed. Moved closer. “Careful now. It could have been lice.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” he murmured, his breath a hot puff of air on my lips.

“So we have three kinds of cranberry …”

We jumped apart.

“…sauce.” My father stood at the entrance to the dining room, his expression confused. Several seconds ticked by, then several more. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. He knew what he’d seen but his mind was stuck, playing catch up.

“What’s going on?” The good guy, who thought the best of everyone, needed someone to tell him his brain wasn’t getting the right inputs.

Lars spoke first. “Theo, I’m completely to blame.”

Shit. Quickly, I stood between him and my dad. “Don’t get mad.”

“Don’t get mad? Are you kidding me?”

“Theo,” Lars repeated, but my dad cut him off with a look.

“Don’t. I trusted you. Invited you into my home. Included you in my family, and this is how you repay me? By making moves on my daughter?”

“Dad, please.”

Lars placed a hand on my hip and moved me aside. “It’s okay, Adeline. Your father and I need to talk. It’s been a long time coming.”

Dad’s gaze focused on Lars’s hand, which had touched my hip with such easy familiarity. Fury blazed in his eyes.

---