Page 58 of A Slice of Love

Her eyes are pleading with me not to hurt her again. It sucks, but it’s warranted.

“I’ll meet you at the 50-yard line if you’re game.”

Hope sparks to life in her gaze, but it’s the only hint I have as to whether she’s truly up for this in a way that’s beyond physical.

“I’m game.”

Grinning, she sets the book aside and picks her cake back up, swinging her feet back and forth like she’s never been more excited in her life.

Though I’m not sure if that’s just the cake talking or because of the notebook, I’m hoping for the latter.

“So, how was your day?”

“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

I nod. “Yes. How was your day?”

She looks skeptical that all I want is a simple conversation, and to be fair, if I were her, I’d be wary too.

But it’s honestly all I’m here for.

“My day was…well, not too bad actually. It flew by, but I was able to knock out a good portion of my to-do list, including lunch with my father.”

I do my best not to show any sort of reaction at the mention of him.

“How, uh, how are your parents?” I ask because I know it’s expected.

“They’re…well, to tell you the truth, we’re struggling a bit.”

“Oh?” Her brows lift as my voice jumps two octaves. I cough. “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” I lie. “What’s going on?”

She sighs heavily, setting her empty plate on the counter next to her. “For starters, my father has cancer.”

“Cancer? Jesus fuck, Frank.”

Her lips pull up on one side. “I don’t think my father would appreciate that language very much.”

I ignore her smartass comment. “I had no idea he was sick. How bad is it?”

“We just went to the doctor earlier this week. It’s not any better, but it’s not any worse right now. We’re sort of in limbo with it. It could go either way.”

“Shit. I know you’re close with your parents.”

“Was. I was close with them. I haven’t been for years.”

“What happened?”

She flicks her eyes my way. It’s brief, but it’s enough for me to know I have something to do with it.

“We wanted different things for my life and had a difficult time compromising. My mother came around first, but my father was a different story. We’ve only been speaking for six months now, since we found out about the cancer.”

I cross the kitchen, not stopping until I’ve planted myself between her legs, wrapping my arms around her.

She stares up at me with her pouty lips parted, her big brown eyes filled with sadness.

I cup her jaw, running the pad of my thumb over her freckled cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Frank.”

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