Page 124 of The Tryst

I join him. “Sooooo…”

He blows out a breath. “Sorry again about last night. What I said.”

Dismissing it, I shake my head. “It’s behind us.”

“Good,” he says, then drags a hand through his hair. “It just really sucks that you lied to me.”

Damn, he doesn’t hold back, and I admire the hell out of that. “I know it does,” I say, owning it.

“And I know she did too, but I’m pissed at you,” he says, pointing at me. Like I need the extra reminder.

“I get that,” I say as evenly as I can, though inside I’m freaking out over the ominous sound of the wordpissed.

“I mean, we spent all this time together, Dad,” he says, full of intensity and hurt.

“We did.” I don’t try to argue with him. There is no argument.

“I was living here for a week. Were you—”

“—No.”

That’s all I’m going to say on that. He must sense it, because he drops that topic with a heavy, “Anyway.” Then, he keeps going. “I just feel like, how could you encourage me with the fundraiser, and with work, and with Cynthia, and then you’re seeing my friend?”

He stares at me, clearly waiting for an answer.

“I messed up. I should have said something. I thought I wouldn’t see her again,” I say, then hold up my hands in surrender. “In retrospect, that was foolish of me to think and to do. But I did it. And now I’m with her. And I’m sorry I lied about it.”

Quizzically, David studies me, like he can find the answer to something in my expression. “You’re not going to say you didn’t think I could handle it? That’s not why you didn’t tell me?”

Seriously? “God, no. Well, I knew you had a lot on your plate with the fundraiser and the new job. But I didn’t thinkthat. I think you’re pretty good at handling most things. This included. I didn’t tell you because I thought—wrongly—that I would stop seeing her.”

“That didn’t happen,” he says.

“No. It didn’t.”

He’s quiet again, eyes darting around the kitchen before he returns his gaze to me. “You really like her?”

That doesn’t even begin to cut it. But I don’t need or want to dive into the nuances of my emotions for Layla. That’s not a conversation we should have. “I do,” I say and leave it at that.

He leans his head back, like he’s absorbing this new detail. “This is weird. You know this is weird, right?”

There’s a hint of a laugh in his tone.

That gives me the okay to chuckle too. “I sure do.”

“So this is real? You and Layla are a thing now?”

I nod decisively. “We are.”

He goes quiet again, dipping his face, staring at the black marble as if he’s lost in thought. “Thanks again for hosting the fundraiser. That meant a lot to me,” he says to the counter, like he has to drag those words up from the depths of his soul. “And the flowers for Cynthia. And the breakfasts.”

“Anytime,” I say, grabbing onto some hope at last, clutching it in my hands.

When David raises his face, he no longer looks conflicted. He seems…resolved. “Cyn and I talked last night. She told me about your visit. That was super cool of you, to play cards with her.”

It sounds like it costs him something to say that, but it also sounds like it’s a cost he’s willing to pay.

“I was happy to do it.”

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