Page 112 of Lavender Lake
Sitting with Jane across the table made me realize that I’d been judging my father because he was my father. But he was a person with real feelings and a life to live, and it was his first time living, too.
“He and I butt heads a lot,” I admitted.
“You’re both stubborn.”
“Hey!”
“It’s true.” She grinned. “You asked what my intentions are with your dad. Well, I know it won’t be a quick recovery. And I don’t expect it to happen overnight, but . . . I’m here, Salem. For the long haul.”
The tension in my chest eased.
“Marriage? Kids?” I pressed.
She blinked. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I’m stubborn—and blunt,” I said. “And even though it’s early in your relationship, I bet you already know, don’t you?”
She leaned back in her chair and studied me. “I’m thirty years old. I’ve been married once already. We’re still good friends despite being a rotten romantic match. But something happens when you find the person you can’t live without. And that thing happened with your father.”
“I see.”
“I love him, Salem,” she said. “And I hope, in time, you and I can be . . . friends.”
“Friends.”
“I’m not looking to replace anyone.”
But if she married my father and they had children, I’d have half-siblings. And my dad would have a whole new family.
Nothing stayed the same.
And the fact was, I didn’t want it to stay the same. I didn’t want to be Salem the Stubborn, Salem the Grudge Holder.
I wanted to move on. I wanted to be happy. I wanted my dad to be happy.
“You’ve been understanding,” I said. “And far too gracious. If I’d been in your shoes, I would’ve slugged me a long time ago.”
She laughed lightly and grasped her iced tea. “Apology accepted.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Ranch
“Salem,” Dad mumbled as his eyes opened.
I clam-shelled my laptop and set it aside. “Hey. Good nap?”
“Not bad.” He propped himself up against the pillows. “Can I get some water?”
I rose from the plush, comfortable chair and walked to his nightstand to pick up the half-drunk glass of water that had a straw stuck in it.
“It’s room temperature,” I said.
“That’s fine.”
