Page 77 of Embers in Autumn
“Cozy little empire she’s got here,” Dad murmured beside me, approving.
Before I could answer, Carol swept into view, arms loaded with books. Of course she was here. The woman had a radar for fresh deliveries.
“Matthew Bennett,” she exclaimed, her voice cutting over the bustle like a horn. “Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t know you were still alive.”
Dad blinked, then let out a laugh that drew half the shop’s attention. “Carol Whitmore. Alive, kicking, and apparently lucky enough to outlast three of your husbands.”
Her eyes narrowed, though her lips twitched like she was trying not to grin. “Two, thank you. And one of them doesn’t count, we were in Vegas.”
“I stand corrected.”
I dragged a hand down my face. Oh God.
“What brings you here?” Carol asked, arching a perfectly painted brow.
“Shopping with my son,” Dad replied smoothly. “And thinking of breakfast. Care to join?”
I nearly choked. “What?”
Amber, across the counter, froze mid-wrap, her wide eyes darting to me. She looked as floored as I felt.
Carol didn’t miss a beat. “Well, aren’t you forward, Matt. Breakfast, hm? Will you be paying, or should I bring my own purse?”
Dad tipped his head, deadpan. “I wouldn’t dream of making a lady pay. Even one who terrorizes every clerk in this town.”
Amber let out a strangled laugh, covering her mouth.
Carol smirked like she’d won a prize. “Fine then. But only because I skipped toast this morning.” She gathered her bookswith surprising speed, then turned to Amber. “Put these on my tab, sweetheart. I’ll pay later.”
“Nonsence,” my dad said pulling out his wallet. “My gift to you. It's been to long, old friend.”
“Aaaa, dad?”
I stood there, staring after them as they swept toward the door together. Amber sidled up next to me, her lips twitching.
“Did your father just invite Carol to breakfast?” she whispered.
“Apparently.”
“And she accepted?”
“Apparently.”
Amber snorted and shook her head, eyes dancing.
“Oh, Dean. This is either the beginning of a friendship… or the apocalypse.”
I muttered, “I’m leaning toward apocalypse,” but I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my mouth.
We stood side by side, watching the snow swirl outside the glass door as our parents—God help us both—headed off down the street together.
And for the first time in a long while, I had no idea whether to laugh, pray, or panic.
I shook my head, still staring at the door like maybe it would swing open and Dad would come back to his senses.
“I can’t believe my own father ditched me for some woman,” I muttered.
Amber laughed softly, that low, melodic sound that had undone me since the day I heard it for the first time. She rose on her toes, brushed a kiss against my mouth, and before I could chase it, she plopped a ridiculous red Santa hat onto my head.
