Page 19 of To Believe In You
Apparently she did, because a moment later, she sent back a laughing emoji.She’d better look out. I know how you like a challenge.
His sister knew him well, but his impulse to defy the supposedly impossible often ended badly. He didn’t need the disappointment, and Lina would be livid—rightfully so—if she sensed she was a game to him. He needed to spend his energy on maintaining his healthy relationships, not creating problems, so instead of letting Krissy focus on Lina, he asked how things were going in Fox Valley.
When he returned downstairs, Tim was washing his hands in the kitchen sink, an apron layered over his dress pants and button-down. He’d cooked something here and there on tour, but he’d never seemed this dedicated to the pursuit.
Matt slid onto a stool at the counter. “Did that getup come with the place, or did you bring it with you?”
Tim swatted the faucet handle, cutting off the water. “Do you know how much these clothes cost?”
About as much as Matt’s first car? “Seems like a shame to spend so much and look so domestic.”
Tim rolled his eyes and retrieved a sack of potatoes from the pantry. He laid the bag and some paper towels on the counter, then retrieved a peeler and a bowl. He set the final item in front of Matt with a pointed look.
Fine. Matt picked up the first potato, and muscle memory from his childhood kicked in. How many times had Mom enlisted his help with this chore? Fifty? More?
Tim pulled three heads of broccoli from the refrigerator and took them to the sink. “Who do you owe money to?”
Matt’s hand slipped, and the peeler skimmed the knuckle of his thumb. He should’ve known not to mention his debt. “My parents.”
“And?” Tim paused across the counter from him, probably expecting eye contact.
Matt focused on the potato instead. “That’s it.”
“That’s not bad.” The sink gushed as Tim rinsed the broccoli. “The way you said it, I thought it was someone who’d break your kneecaps.”
“It’s bad enough.”
“How much are we talking?”
Matt turned the potato, his fingers tracking dirt from the skin to the creamy part he’d peeled. “A hundred grand.”
Distracted, Tim lowered the broccoli, and water splashed off the new angle onto the apron. The stream beaded off the thick canvas and onto the floor before Tim hit the handle to stop the flow. “They had that much to lend you?”
“It wasn’t a loan.”
“Ah.” Tim moved to the cutting board.
The front door swished open, and a moment later, Tim’s daughter appeared. Issy scanned the potatoes, expression hopeful until she scrunched her nose at the broccoli. She glanced back to Matt. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He’d met her first this summer, when he’d accompanied Tim to a community event at a bookstore in Lakeshore.
She seemed like a good kid. Even if she didn’t like broccoli.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“Steak.” Tim produced a knife from the drawer and started chopping the broccoli. “You have fun at camp?”
Issy shrugged as though to say no. “The play’s tomorrow night. You’ll come?”
“Sure.”
The girl focused on Matt. “I get to be Cinderella because I love acting and I’m the oldest girl, but the boy who plays the prince is, like, this tall.” She flattened her hand under her chin. Matt winced sympathetically, then she turned toward her dad. “Because no other fourteen-year-olds have dads who think they need constant supervision all summer.”
Tim ignored her long-suffering glare. “What time again?”
“Seven.”
“Okay.” He snagged a pot from a cabinet, then stooped again and rose a moment later with a steamer basket. “We’ll be there.”
