Page 63 of L.O.V.E

“You don’t get it.” Hands to the sky, I schooled my father. “She has Ellis. And where Lacey goes, Ellis goes. Where Ellis goes, Cole goes.”

Dad nodded. Rubbed his chin. “Who’s Cole?”

I licked salty moisture off my lip. “The man I’m in love with.”God, that word. Love. Four simple letters. One ridiculous wallop.

I tested it’s weight on my tongue. “Looooove. L.O.V. E.”

Dad’s chest bounced with what was sure to be restrained laughter. “You’re in love with a man, and I haven’t met him?”

“I’m so ashamed.” Again with the tears.

“Talk to me.”

Face buried in my hands, I confessed. “I don’t know how or when it happened for sure. He’s Ellis’s best friend. He looks at me like I’m his reason for existing. And he’s everywhere. Just everywhere. I’ve tried to avoid him. But somehow, he’s always there.”

“Okay.” My father shifted, his reliable arm weighting my shoulder. “So what’s the problem?”

“He’s engaged.”

“Well, that’s not good.”

“To Victoria Ford.” I fell against him then, burying my face in his chest.

His body stiffened, arm tightened. “That’s the most fucked-up twist of fate I’ve ever heard.”

“See?” I looked up, searching for comfort in his weathered face. “See why I needed a drink?” Or three.

“Natalie.” He curled both arms around me and rested his chin on my head. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting, but you’re smarter than this. You know better than to get drunk over a guy. You’ve put years of hard work into getting over the shit Victoria put you through.”

“I know, Dad.”

He gave me a shake. “And the girl I raised would never pine over a married man.”

I raised a pointed finger. “With the exception of Kit Harrington.”

Dad chuckled. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”

I snuggled closer to my dad, my rock, savoring the healing comfort of his heartbeat. “I’ve tried to get him out of my head. I know it’s wrong. Why is this so hard?”

With a long sigh, my father slumped. “Maybe this is fate telling you to take that job in Whisper Springs.”

Dad’s words cut deep. Had to kill him to speak that single, heavy sentence, because I was his only child, and family was everything to my dad. But he’d always had my back, and he’d always known best.

I must’ve passed out in my father’s embrace. I woke sometime later, covered in a wool blanket with a pillow under my head. Dad sat in the kitchen, eating a sandwich. A soccer game played on mute on my flat screen.

“How ya’ feeling, kiddo?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the television.

“Okay.”

“I flushed your pain pills.”

“Oh.” I rubbed the haze from my eyes.

“You don’t need that shit. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen from here on out.”

“Sure.” I tried to sit up, but the effort made my head throb.

Bathed in flickering light from the television, Dad’s shadow bounced against the far wall like a guardian angel watching over my home. I dug my phone out of my back pocket and captured the moment because my father, truly, was a gift from God. Patient. Wise. Stern when he needed to be. Tender when my heart ached. My rock. My safe place. My hero.

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