Page 23 of Hate To Love You

I decide what’s best for our dads is a team-building exercise. I got the idea when Patience threatened to put them out in the woods and make them navigate back to the house on their own so they learn teamwork, trust, and reliance on each other.

Trust-building exercises are garbage. Literally, no one in the history of the world has liked them, even if they’re on good terms with each other. I remember doing them in school. Garbage. College. Hot garbage. At work after. More garbage.

For the sakes of both our dads, I spend a few hours in the middle of the night rearranging the fridge and cupboards until they make no sense.

Over breakfast, when Patience is silent, and so are our dads—because they keep glaring unholy hellish glares at each other—I make my announcement.

“While Patience and I tackle the garden outside, which really needs some work because I was gone to Dedind for three weeks and the weeds are taking over since my housesitter wasn’t much for pulling, plucking, or caretaking outside, I really need you guys to work together to clean up the fridge and cupboards. They’re a real mess too.”

Gerry and my dad give each other another round of glares. They’re hostility incarnate. They know what this is about, but I’m not sure either of them has the strength to protest after what Patience said yesterday. They both saw how hurt she was. They’ve realized this feud is doing more than just damaging each other. There are other people getting caught in the crossfire too.

“Alright,” Gerry grumps. “Fine. I’ll tackle the fridge. He can do the cupboards.”

I was afraid this would happen, so I planned ahead. Patience looks out the window. “I’d really like it if you could both do the fridge together. It needs to be taken apart and cleaned out too. Things need to be thrown out. It’s going to be more than a one-person job. We’re going to pick some stuff from the garden, and I’m hoping to make a rhubarb crisp. I don’t know where anything is right now, so if you could find the stuff we need and set it aside from the cupboards, that would be great.”

Dad huffs and stuffs a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Gosh darned fridge.”

“God danged fridge,” Gerry curses at the same time.

They glare at each other and stare more murder daggers. Dad looks at me like he’s thinking about writing me out of his will. I would never glare back with a look that equally says I’m going to change my main beneficiary to Bitty Kitty. My dad and Patience are in my will right now, split fifty-fifty. But she doesn’t know that.

“I can’t work with this…this…” My dad starts making air quotes for no apparent reason, looks at me again, studies Patience, and drops his hands. “Alright. Alright, we’ll clean it out in some kind of orderly fashion where we have to work together as little as possible.”

I made sure everything was such a mess that it was going to take them more than a little while. It won’t be possible to not work together.

“Okay.” I manage to keep a straight face.

Patience still won’t really look at any of us.

When we’re done with breakfast, we leave our dads inside and head out together. The garden really is a mess. It’s half overgrown and half weeds, and it’s hard to tell which is which.

Patience has seen the garden every time she’s gone outside. She’s seen the pool. She’s seen pretty much everything. She shades her eyes from the bright sun, rolls her shoulders back in her vintage T-shirt with alien bats on the front, and shuffles in her flip-flops and cut-off shorts. Then, she smacks a fly or mosquito with the back of her hand.

“You did it, didn’t you? Messed up the fridge? I thought I heard someone downstairs raiding for a snack last night, but it was you, wasn’t it?”

“It was. My dad is enjoying the enchanted worlds theme room way too much to get up for a midnight snack.”

“And my dad says he likes the volcano in his room. He says it’s epic, even if it’s just painted on the wall. And he likes the leaf bed.”

We both pause at the edge of the garden. “Do you think they’ll tear each other apart?” Patience bites down on her bottom lip, which sends a shower of sparks through my blood. It feels a lot like adrenaline and a pretty obvious boner that is getting harder with every passing second. I did the jeans and T-shirt thing and threw on a pair of rubber boots so the bugs wouldn’t chew me alive out here. And thistles. They’re in the garden, and they’re rancid.

“I hope not. If they start throwing pickles and condiments at each other, I’ll rush in and put a stop to it.”

“You didn’t bring your phone out here to monitor the security.”

“I can tell the Mushroom House Manager to shut the place down.”

Her lips twitch at the corners, which is an improvement over the eye twitching that normally happens when she’s worried or annoyed.

“I think we’ll hear them yelling and carrying on. I left all the windows open, and sound carries out here.”

“Hmm.” She gives me a weird look, which makes my dick even harder. She quickly looks away—not from my dick, from my face—but it’s like she knows what’s going on in my jeans. Her cheeks flush slightly.

She stalks through the garden and stops at a huge thistle plant. “I like these. Can they stay?”

“They’re not really the friendly kind of thistles. They’re more like the move-in and take over the whole place kind of thistles.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t see any flower gardens. You should make some. Get some real thistles. Some of the globe ones. And bleeding hearts.”

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