Page 55 of At First Flight
“No, Dad.”
I wince immediately after I let the name slip.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Yes, I recall. It just slipped. Habit.”
“Sounds like the same excuse your mother gives. Now, what do you want this time besides keeping our grandkids from us?”
Seems my parents are still upset I maintain guardianship over Oliver and Evelyn. Not sure why it matters all of a sudden when they could barely spare a minute with their own kids. My guess is they’re desperate to maintain a familial heir for the company and I’m not on that ticket, nor do I want it. They want to mold and shape an innocent five-year-old instead.
“Look, I was just calling to see if you could spare the phone number for the company that installed the dehumidifiers in the Miami shop.”
“Why? Planning a coup to take over the family business?”
“It’s not my business as you’ve made sure I was aware many times, nor do I want it.”
“Good. Making sure you didn’t forget that fact.”
“The number?” I repeat as I switch to speakerphone.
He reads off a series of numbers that I jot into the phone’s notepad, then I turn the speaker back off. A strange conglomeration of fury and despair washes over me. A man I had once loved and respected treats me no better than the servants he has working beneath him.
By the time I stroll back to the main part of the bookstore, my temper has subsided a bit but not enough to wipe the worrying look off Lila’s face. I’m not sure she realizes how attuned she is to my emotions. The way my mood affects hers. She does the same for me.
“Here,” I cough and then repeat. “This is the number for a place my family used in Miami. Just tell them Dean Harrington gave you their info. I assure you they’ll have you set up by the end of tomorrow.”
“Wow,” Bailey replies, her eyes wide with wonder as she snatches the paper from between my fingers. I sneak a glance down at Lila and smile tightly. She reciprocates and narrows her eyes, reminding me of my own nanny growing up, who would catch me in the midst of a lie.
The bell over the door chimes, and I peer over my shoulder to watch a young family enter the bookstore. The two smaller kids immediately smile and wave toward Lila.
At my raised eyebrow, Lila says, “They play with the kids at the park. Actually, the little boy invited Oliver and Evelyn to his birthday party this weekend. Sorry for the short notice. Kind of slipped my mind.”
My knowing smirk turns into a full grin as I tell her to take my credit card and buy whatever gift she thinks is best. Thesame card I gave to her at the airport. She’s tried to return it to me a dozen times already, but I continue to turn her down.
Bailey scoots over to the family here for a storytime session in ten minutes, but not before I overhear her tell Lila that she expects a girls’ night withallthe details.
I may be a man, but I know exactly what she’s insinuating. It's too bad that Lila scurries away before anything between us can happen.
Leaving the shop, Lila and I walk back the way we came, our arms brushing every few steps. The days are growing longer, and the setting sun shimmers off the crashing waves of the coast. I get a good glimpse of the picturesque beach every time we pass an alleyway. It really is an adorable town. Weathered brick and wooden buildings that have stood the test of time line the streets, reminding me of a time when families took extended holidays together.
“You know, Coral Bell is great during the summer, but my favorite time is the winter. Christmas, specifically. The entire town gets all decked out in holiday garb. There is even a parade with floats and everything. It’s…uh…how my parents first met.”
“Really? That sounds like a movie,” I tell her as we approach the quaint café.
She blasts that fluorescent smile up at me, and my heart stops beating. God, she’s beautiful when she lets down her walls.
“It really does, doesn’t it? You should hear my mom tell the story. Unlike my brothers, I never tire of hearing it.”
The bell dangling above the café door jingles as I hold the door ajar for Lila to step inside, my broad shoulders barely giving her enough room to scoot by. The scent of warm, freshly baked bread wraps around me like a blanket, reminding me ofthe times I’d hide away in our family’s kitchen, watching one of the staff prepare that day’s meal.
As I follow Lila inside, the muffled hum of conversation, tinkling of forks against plates, and the flickering of tiny tealight candles in the middle of every table, umbrellaed by a single carnation, gives the café an intimate, homey quality. It is clear that Sweet Gum Café is a favorite in town, not just because of its well-used chairs and checkered tablecloths but because it also feels like a decadent slice of love.
It almost feels like a special rite of passage to eat here, and I know that Lila is the one to open that door. Every eye in the place turns in her direction once they notice our arrival. Dozens of hands go up in the air, welcoming her home and greeting her like an old friend. I can’t help but grin as the blush rises on Lila’s cheeks.
I catch a few knowing grins as I escort Lila to a booth toward the back of the restaurant. She slips across the vinyl bench easily, whereas I manipulate my large frame between the back of the seat and the table.
“Smells incredible in here,” I say, offering her a soft smile. She reaches for the plastic-covered menus propped behind the napkin dispenser and slides one toward me, returning my grin.
