Page 18 of The Hottest Daddy
She smiled to herself later on when River came to find her. He looked nervous and she knew that he was second-guessing his decision to go out in public for the first time in months. She held his hand. “Come on, big guy,” she murmured to him, kissing his mouth. “Let’s do this.”
The first person she saw as they entered Daisy’s coffeehouse was (of course, Sunday thought) Aria. Her expression registered surprise at seeing River then, as he eyes dropped to their clasped hands, her expression hardened and she turned away. Sunday felt sorry for her but didn’t say anything.
Daisy, in stark contrast, almost crowed with satisfaction when she saw them. “Well, it’s about damn time.”
She steered them to a private table near the window. “Usual?”
“Yes, please.” Sunday beamed at her and River chuckled.
“And what’s your usual? Some hideous concoction with pumpkin spice and coconut?”
Sunday grinned at him. “You guessed it. Bring River my usual, Daisy.” She winked at her friend, who giggled.
“Coming right up.”
River stroked Sunday’s cheek, smiling. “How is it I feel I’m being ganged up on?”
“Because you are. That’s the way it works.” Sunday took his hand and wound her fingers through it, touched when he didn’t pull away. “So that’s one thing I’ve learned about you. You don’t mind public displays of affection.”
He laughed. “I’ve never thought about it but no, I don’t. I get that from my parents. Italians, you see?”
“Such a stereotype.”
He grinned. “Maybe, but it’s true. Mom and Dad were very affectionate, to each other, to me. My grandparents too.”
“You must miss them.”
“Terribly. I always wished for a sibling but for some reason, they never got pregnant again.” River’s eyes were distant, remembering. “Has he talked about her much in his journal?”
“All the time.” Sunday studied him. “You never read them?”
River shook his head. “My eyesight is … problematic. The print is too small for me, hence asking you to transcribe them for me.” He stopped talking but Sunday realized there was more to his words than he was saying.
“River? You know, you can talk to me about anything. Anything. It won’t go any further. Is there something wrong? I mean … with your eyes.”
River looked at her with those startling green eyes of his and nodded. “I’m losing my colors. Something called cone-dystrophy.”
Sunday was appalled. “Oh, River, I am sorry.”
He nodded. “Yup. It’s been a few months since I found out. Luke’s been trying to track down any treatment he can, but yeah, eventually, the world will fade to black and white for me.”
Sunday didn’t know what to say. He was an artist, for chrissakes. “Damn, River …”
“I know. Look, I’ve been wallowing in self-pity for long enough. Now there’s a little person who needs me. Being with Berry and Lindsay made me realize that I’m still lucky. I could be losing my eyesight all together. I can still be an artist; I just have to adjust my expectations. My plan for life.”
Sunday squeezed his hand. “It happens.”
“What about you? Are you where you saw yourself five years ago?”
She felt her face burn. “No,” she said truthfully, “but it turned out for the best.”I’m alive … and then there’s you …
“So how did it change for you? Was it just because your fiancé died?”
Sunday wanted to tell him everything but she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she spoke around it. “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but things were going south anyways. There was someone …” She broke off. How the hell did she tell him this without giving herself away. “Let’s just say, there was someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer and it made my old life … complicated.”
“Asshole.”
“Big asshole.” Her throat closed. “I don’t want to talk about that, not tonight. Tonight should be about happy things.”
