Page 19 of Inviting Trouble
He warmed his hands on the mug. “Nothing definite. After the holidays, I’ll apply to a bunch of airlines, maybe Boeing out in Seattle. Someone must need a mechanic.”
“So you’re leaving again?”
“I dunno. We’ll see what pans out. I’ve got some savings, so I’ll be okay for a few months.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
She shook her head and tufts of red hair bounced, already drying a little. “I guess I just thought when you came home, you’d be home for good.”
“I gotta work.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Now why did she sound so glum? Before he could ask, the waitress returned to take their order. They both ordered omelets. He asked her about college, and she told him about her marketing and advertising major and how interesting her classes were. He was thrilled to hear she was getting her degree. She’d always been sharp.
“So what took you so long to get to college?” he asked just as the food arrived. “Why were you bartending?”
She dug into her food. “Paid the rent.”
“I still don’t get why you waited for school. You had the grades. You could’ve been well into a career by now.”
She set her fork down with a clatter. “Ya know, I’m really getting sick of the way you talk down to me.”
He was taken aback. “I don’t talk down to you.”
“Yes, you do. Like you still think I’m a kid. Like when you left.”
“I know you’re not a kid.” He shoved some omelet in his mouth. He knew she was all grown up, had gotten a very clear visual on that, thank you very much. He chewed ferociously. But she was still his to protect. Now that he was home, he’d slipped right back into that role.
“Then what am I to you?” she asked.
He glanced at her, caught the glittering challenge in her eyes, and went back to eating. “You’re Mad. Same as always.”
“I’m not the same,” she said tightly.
He blew out a breath. “What’re you getting so pissy about?”
She stabbed her fork in her omelet and sawed off a piece. “I’m not pissy.”
“Whatever.”
They finished their meal in silence. He had no idea what her problem was. The check arrived, and he pulled out his wallet and set some bills on the table.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“No problem.” He tucked his wallet in his jeans pocket. “Ready to go?”
“Park, I have to tell you something.”
His gut tightened, already imagining worst-case scenarios. Whatever kind of trouble she was in, he’d fix it.
He leaned forward across the table. “What?”
She bit her lip.
“Just say it,” he urged. “I’ll take care of it.”
