Page 66 of Mistaken Identity
Which was crazy, because I remembered as kids he had a great smile.
Laney and I had always called Audric’s dad the ‘hot dad’ among our classmates.
He’d been the star of our teenage fantasies, and it was startling to think about how different he was now.
It was like all the characteristics that had given him color and life had bled out of him over the years, and he was slowly wasting away while in plain sight.
I agreed with Audric, though.
At some point, you had to think about your own mental health instead of your significant other’s.
Especially when you’d already planned to leave that significant other.
No amount of hoping and praying could ever bring back who she once was to him.
Moving my spoils to one hand, I headed in Audric’s direction, walking right up to him and poking him in between his shoulder blades.
He jumped a foot, turning around to glare at me.
That glare slid right off his face when he saw who it was doing the poking.
“Dad, I have to go. Sign the papers,” he ordered. “Yeah, love you, too. Bye.”
He slid the phone away from his ear and said, “My mom filed for divorce.”
“I guessed that,” I said softly.
He blew out a relieved breath. “It’s like you knew you being here would help me. I was about to lose my shit on my dad.”
I smiled and offered him the sandwich I’d gotten him. “Maybe eating will make you feel better.”
His eyes warmed, and I studied them for a long moment.
Mesmerizing green.
I’d always thought that his light-green eyes were captivating when he was younger, but now in his adult face, they felt hypnotizing. I’d never seen eyes the color of his.
I hoped that his kids had his eyes.
They’d be to-die-for.
Set in his tanned face, with his crooked nose, and strong, square jaw covered in a light beard…he was everything that I’d always thought he’d be.
“Is it pastrami on rye?” he asked hopefully. “Extra, extra mayo?”
I nodded. “Yep, even though the amount they put on there probably added fifteen hundred calories.”
He shrugged. “I burn it off when it’s hot like this.”
He gestured toward a couple of buckets, and I happily took a seat and opened my sandwich on my knees.
When I had it in place, I bent over awkwardly and pulled out the chips from my purse.
I handed him the abominations—salt and vinegar—and kept the Nacho Cheese Doritos for myself.
We ate in companionable silence until he ruined it by asking, “Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, Cree, but why are you here?”
I grimaced as I swallowed a chip. The pointy edge scratched my throat going all the way down.
