Page 17 of Three Pucking Words
I lean down on the large marble island in the middle of the room and study her. “They didn’t tell you I was coming, did they?” I repeat the question from before, frowning when she shakes her head in confirmation. “Sorry about that. Coach—your dad—kind of swarmed me last minute about this.”
She laughs, but the sound is short. “He doesn’t seem to like being alone with me. That much hasn’t changed over the years.”
Shit.Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything based on the expression on her face. “If it makes you feel any better, I think he’s nervous around you more than anything.”
Her gaze meets mine, blinking slowly. “Imake him nervous?” she asks dubiously, as if she can’t fathom a reason he’d feel that type of way toward her.
I lift a shoulder. “It’s only a theory,” I tell her nonchalantly. “I don’t know your story, and I’m not going to ask for it. But it’sobvious that there’s some sort of tension between the two of you that he feels tenfold, or I wouldn’t be here. Look at it this way, being nervous isn’t a bad thing. It means he cares what you think of him.”
Honor’s lips part like she’s about to reply, but they quickly close as two lines appear between her brows in contemplation. I could be off the mark completely, but I don’t think I am. And Honor looks like she might believe it too. Which tells me that her dad isn’t a bad dad; he’s just rusty on how to be a good one.
“He’s trying,” I add, gaining her attention back. “And I’m pretty sure he asked me to come because he thinks we’re best friends now.”
She gapes. “What?Why?”
I’d like to know the same thing. “You must have really sold him on our day out together,” I muse. I wonder if she told him we traded friendship bracelets like we were at a Taylor Swift concert or bonded over our mutual dislike for the color brown. Although, I may like it more than I did seeing the shade of her eyes as they roam over me.
Yeah. Brown is okay.
Honor leans her back against the counter behind her. “I don’t buy it. He asked you here as a distraction. If anything, you’re here forhim. Not me.”
That may be, but it doesn’t change what’s right in front of her. Her dadwantsher to be comfortable here. But I’m not about to argue my point with someone who so obviously has her mind made up about the man I work closely with.
Looking into the pot of potatoes still on a low boil, I turn to Honor. “So what’s for dinner?”
Her gawking stare is amusing, but I don’t show it. “You’re really not going to pry about my past, are you?”
I shake my head. “That’s your business. If you wanted to tell me, you would have. I don’t make it a habit to butt in where I don’t belong.”
For a long while, she stares at me in disbelief.
“You’re not going to defend my father either,” she notes.
All I say is, “Something tells me we know two very different versions of him.”
Sylvia comes back in with a clap of her hands. “Okay, everyone. To the dining room. I already set the table, so I just need to bring the food in.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer, ignoring the skeptic look Honor is pinning me with.
Sylvia smiles gratefully at me. “Thank you, but Devin and I have it handled. You and Honor head into the other room and make yourselves comfortable.”
When I walk into the dining room that I’ve eaten in a handful of times, Honor is already sitting at the spot her father usually takes. I don’t point that out, though. I’m sure reminding her that I have a better relationship with her dad than she does isn’t going to win me any points.
Not that I care about winning her over.
Keep telling yourself that, Hoffman.
I pull out the chair beside her and feel her watch as I drop into it. “I don’t have many options,” I point out, when I see her make a pinched face at my seating choice. “It’s either this or I can sit across from you so you can stare at my pretty face all night.”
She squirms, looking down at the placemat set with the silverware on either side of the plate. And when I study her, I see the faintest shade of pink in her cheekbones that wasn’t there before.
A sense of victory over the subtle flush to her face makes me smile to myself, because now I know she isn’t immune to me either.
In a tone barely audible, she mumbles, “There is fine.”
For the first forty minutes, Sylvia and I do most of the talking. Coach and Honor will interject with polite commentary, then fall to awkward silence afterward.
It isn’t the first time I’ve been a mediator in family drama. Henderson asked me to rescue his little sister when she was stuck alone with their father and stepmother. I’m not sure how I got the role, but apparently, I play it well enough to keep the peace when needed.
