Page 43 of Kiss Away Your Pain (Wounded Hearts 2)

I help him take the lids off the containers then take a cracker and piece of cheese. He pours wine into the glasses and hands me one.

“Is there a story behind your butterfly tattoo?” he asks with a nod to my wrist.

I turn my forearm and look down at the small butterfly, brightly colored with shades of pink, purple, and orange, on the inside of my left wrist. “I got it because of my mom. Ever since I can remember, she told me I could be anything I wanted. She told me how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. She made me believe that miracles can happen just like how a fuzzy little bug can turn into a magnificent creature that can spread its wings and fly. That fascinated me. Hence, my purple butterfly purse that I destroyed with the Gucci logo.” I break into a laugh that he joins.

“Any other tattoos?”

“No, just this one. My dad was so pissed at me when he saw it.”

“From the little you’ve told me, sounds like he was kind of tough.” He tosses a few grapes into his mouth.

“He didn’t approve of me.”

“Too rebellious?” His smile teases.

My mind briefly jumps back to a conversation with Mom when I was around ten years old.

“Mommy, why does Daddy hate me so much?”

She put her arm around me, tucking me into her side. “Oh, my precious girl, Daddy doesn’t hate you.” She lifted my face to hers. “Your daddy is a traditional man. He wanted a son. To follow in his footsteps. To carry on the family name. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He does. In his own way, he does.” She held me so tightly to her chest and dropped her head to mine.

I swallow, coming back. “No. Although I was pretty rebellious, but I never got into any real trouble. No, I just couldn’t be what he wanted.”

Confusion shakes his head and he shrugs his shoulders. “But, you’re incredibly successful in your career, you’re independent, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re beautiful.” Holding out his hand, he extends a finger for each characteristic he names. “What more could a parent possibly want of their child?”

I tilt my head and pull in my lips. “I’m not a boy.”

His features sag. “Oh.”

I raise my eyebrows. “There’s no changing that. No way I could ever be what he wanted. They tried for another child, but it never happened. So, I’ve always been this big disappointment for him.”

“Whoo.” A puff of air shoots through his lips. “I’m so sorry, Candi.” His tone is tender. “That’s a lot to carry through life.”

I lift my shoulders. “It kind of is what it is. I try not to let it get to me. I mean, there’s literally nothing I can do about it.”

“I take it you don’t see each other much.”

“Not really. Not after my mom died. Going to see her was the only reason I’d see him.” I pause, Mom dropping into my thoughts. “It’s weird. I know my mom’s gone, but I want to show her that I did it. I followed my dreams. And, I know it shouldn’t even matter, but, there’s a part of me that wants my dad to be proud of me.”

He looks me square in the eyes. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. And I have to believe that, on some level, he is.”

“Maybe.” I grab a rolled-up piece of ham and a square of cheese. “Any entertaining stories behind your tattoos?” I recall our night in the ocean, seeing the birds that begin below the waistband of his underwear at his right V-line and travel around his torso, about halfway up the right side of his back.

“I wish I did. I saw the birds on some guy and thought they looked cool. I was young and dumb.” He dips a cube of bread into the hummus and pops it in his mouth. “Oh, I do have this one that means something to me.” He pushes the sleeve of his black T-shirt over his sculpted left bicep. The tattoo reads, “Faith and Desire.” “My dad had a saying. Let faith hold you, let desire move you. I got it after he passed.”

Goose bumps spring out on my arms. “I like that.”

“I wish he could’ve met you. He’d have liked you.” The earnestness of his words enmeshes me, drawing me deeper to him.

We finish most of the food he’d brought, including the strawberries dipped in chocolate. Then we bring the basket back to his Jeep and he takes the blanket from me, tucking it under his arm. Him holding my hand, we walk to the booth to rent a swan pedal boat.

He places the folded blanket on my seat of our lit-up swan and we sit and pedal out into the lake.

“Thank you for making sure I wore sneakers. Some of my typical shoes wouldnothave done well here.” I chuckle with a quick survey of my shoes in my head.

He winks at me. “I picked up on that pretty fast, though you do have great taste in shoes.”

“Tell me more about your dad.” I’m enjoying getting to know more about him.

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