Page 111 of Under Daddy's Spell

“Ninety-six hours, baby. That’s what you have to get through. And, since you’re staying with me and they’re at your house, you only have about half that. It will fly by.”

They were only a few feet away, so she had to stop complaining and plaster on a smile.

“Oh my god! You’re Jordan Cooper,” Shelly exclaimed. “Brent! You never told me Tessa’s Jordan was the Jordan Cooper.”

Her dad looked from his wife to Jordan at a loss. That had to be what she looked like when everyone was calling him Coop and making football references that went over her head. He wasn’t the sporty type, either.

“Do you follow the Saints?” Jordan asked, offering Shelly his hand, which she grabbed with both of hers while bouncing in excitement.

“Shelly is in TV broadcasting, on air, in Boston,” Tessa explained.

“That makes me a Pats fan, sorry. But I follow the game. I’ve done weather and a lot of sports over the years as I clawed my way to the anchor desk.”

“And have you reached it?” he asked.

Her smile lit her face at his interest. “Yes. I have the twelve o’clock slot weekdays and fill in on the early morning broadcast and where needed.”

“Then we have something in common.”

Tessa could tell from the way his gaze shifted between Shelly and her dad, he was trying to figure out how these polar opposites ever met. As she took the few steps needed to hug her father for the first time in two years, she thought about how on the surface, as couples, they were similar. Two bright shiny stars, extroverted, in the public eye, with two bookish introverts who happened to find their way into their orbit. People undoubtedly saw her with Jordan and thought they were a mismatch, too.

“Every time I see you, you look more like your mother,” her dad said as he gave her a squeeze. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Dad. Missed you though. It’s been too long.” She turned to introduce Jordan, who looked grateful to have a reason to pull his hand from Shelly’s, who was still hanging on, talking a mile a minute.

He offered his hand to her dad. “Mr. Delacroix.”

“Call him Brent,” Shelly urged. “We’re family.”

She’d texted briefly she had a new boyfriend she wanted them to meet, not much else. Tessa looked at Jordan for his reaction; he seemed amused.

“Let me help you find your bags,” he offered, which was his sweet way of giving her a minute with her father.

When Shelly, still chatting, walked with him toward the baggage carousel, her dad asked, “So, Jordan Cooper, former NFL standout turned gym owner and part-time broadcaster. Is it serious?”

“You’re familiar with him?”

He held up his phone. “No, but Google is.”

“It’s serious,” she replied honestly. “He makes me happy, although it’s still very new.”

“I’m happy if you are, Tessa. That’s always what your mother wanted for you, too.”

She sniffled and looked at the ceiling. “Don’t make me cry in the middle of baggage claim.”

“I won’t because I’d start to.” He wasn’t joking. She didn’t doubt he loved Shelly, but his love for her mother was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, the kind she hoped to have with Jordan. “So, changing subjects,” he said. “Tell me about these books. I’ve done some preliminary searches. It’s an eclectic mix for certain, but some, if authentic, are very valuable.”

“You didn’t get my email about the books?”

“You know how I am with technology.” Boy, did she, which was why she also texted. “Is there a problem?”

“A big one. They were stolen. I had to return them to the owner.”

He deflated before her eyes.

“She’s considering selling a few to pay some debts. While you’re here, she wanted to discuss an appraisal on the collection, for sale and insurance purposes, if you’re still interested.”

“Yes. I was looking forward to getting my hands on them.”

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