Page 136 of The Tryst

Him.

Us.

He looks like he did when I met him. Strong, powerful, wise. He wears charcoal slacks, and a burgundy button-down. His tie is unknotted. He’s such a messy-tie guy after hours.

I tug on it, pulling him through the door and closer to me. “Hi. I need you.”

“I’m here,” he says.

A few minutes later, we’re on my couch, and I’ve shared the digital copy of the deal memo Mia gave me earlier in the day.

That’s not what I need Nick’s advice on, though, that’s where he starts. When he sets the phone down after reading, he asks, “Do you want to do this?”

Easiest answer ever. “Yes.” I’ve been certain ever since I went to Mia’s office. “It seems challenging and fun and meaningful and right up my alley.”

“It does sound like you,” he says, but he’s not grinning. He watches me with concern, and before I can gather the nerve to ask my big question, he asks, “But you think you’re breaking a promise?”

I’m so relieved he gets it, but I’m not surprised. Of course Nick would know why this weighs on me.

I swallow roughly. “It’s just…thetake care of Mompromise? I’ve always thought that meant I had to work for her, to look out for her, to make sure she’s happy.”

“I can see why you’d think that.” He’s careful when discussing my parents. I can tell he doesn’t want to overstep.

“Nick, I need to know whatyouthink it means…as a father,” I implore. I never thought to ask him before. I didn’t want to take advantage of his insight as a father. But I sure do now. “Tell me. It’s been chasing me for years.”

No, that’s not true. The promise has done more than chase me. “It’s defined me,” I say, correcting myself.

Nick sighs deeply, shaking his head, but it’s not a sad sigh. It’s contemplative. “Layla,” he begins quietly, importantly.

“Yes?”

He takes my hand. His gentle gaze stays on mine. “I believe it means he knewyou’dbe okay without him. He knew his strong, brave girl would be all right whatever she did, whatever she chose, whatever she decided.”

Damn him. He’s making me cry. Leaning close, he swipes a thumb across a tear on my cheek.

“He told you he loved you. That’s what he wanted you to know. Then he told you to take care of her because he wanted someone to remember the woman he loved. But as a father, he’d never have wanted you to do somethingjustfor her. He’d have wanted you to be free to make the choices that are best for you. The choices you want to make.”

My shoulders shake as relief and something almost like joy clobber me, but I swallow the next wave of tears. “You really think so?”

“I believe it completely,” he says.

“You’re not just saying that because you…”

He gives a tiny laugh. “Because I love you?”

“Yes.”

He cups my cheek, runs his thumb down my bare face. “I’m saying that because it’s what I believe to be true.”

I feel lighter, freer. And I feel loved. “Nick,” I whisper, a new kernel of hope pushing me on.

“Yes?”

“I think this is my dream job,” I whisper reverently.

“I think it is too.”

I climb onto his lap, straddle him, and kiss the hell out of him. “I love you more every day.”

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