Page 45 of Christmas in Vines

Two hours later, after showering at the club’s locker rooms and redressed, I joined Dad in the dining room, smiling. I’d won, but that was no surprise—Dad always let me win at tennis. I don’t think he knew that I knew, but even if he did, I was not going to say a word about it. It made him happy to spoil me sometimes.

Dad was smiling, truly smiling, the ends of his hair curling at the collar of his fresh polo. Choosing a seat by the window, we ordered. Dad got the club breakfast, poached eggs, crispy and cheesy potatoes, roasted Campari tomato and thick cut Beeler’s Bacon.

“Really, Dad?” I laughed. “All that grease and cheese?”

“Don’t snitch to Dr. Hallow,” he said while handing the menu off. “I cheat some days.”

I had banana foster pancakes with seasonal fruit and Chantilly cream before we talked about what was going to happen at the compound later on with the Christmas Eve lunch. In the lull between ordering and getting our food, I asked Dad a question I’d wanted to ask for months, well, years, really.

“Dad, do you ever think about dating again?” I asked softly. “You know Mom wouldn’t like to know you’re living like this. And don’t tell me about the business being more important.”

He sighed and cut into his bacon. “I’ve thought about it, Willow, I really have but sometimes it feels so hard. I know you can’t empathize with this… but sometimes I feel like I’m tarnishing your mom’s memory if I do go and date again.”

Internally, I winced.

I could understand his fealty to Mom, but even so, I didn’t want him to be constantly trapped in this cycle of regret and loneliness.

“I’m… I just want you to be happy, Dad,” I said.

“I’ll sort it out eventually,” he replied. “Don’t worry about your old man, girlie.”

“I know you will,” I replied, cutting a bite.

“So, is this when you’re going to tell me you’re dating that guy Tyler?” he asked.

I choked and he chuckled.

Barely managing to swallow, I gulped orange juice to clear the airway. “Dad!”

“Come on,” he snorted. “This is a tiny town, sweetheart. People have seen you two.”

I grumbled, “And here I thought people would keep their noses out of other people's business.”

“You were wrong,” Dad laughed.

I shook my head. “It's not a big thing, Dad. We’re just… having fun. He’s not a Christmas guy, and I’m trying to show him what it’s really about.”

“With hot chocolate?” he teased.

“And tree decorating, tacos and ice-skating,” I added. “He’s a klutz by the way.”

“Well, have fun. I am not going to pry—” Dad said while his left brow lifted high with expectations, “—but you know you can come to me if anything.”

“You don’t mind that he’s a… normal guy?” I asked. “Like not sickeningly rich.”

“Why should I?” he asked. “Happiness doesn’t come from money. You should know this.”

The allusion to Maxwell made me grimace, which circled back to the niggling feeling in my gut. “Dad, are you sure about bringing Winslow into the business?”

“I know you have reservations, honey but it will be a good thing.”

“I just—” I closed my utensils and reached for my juice. “It just gives me the Ick.”

“The...ick?” he asked.

“Internet slang,” I said. “But seriously, Dad, Maxmillian is not a good man or an easy one to deal with. He’s a tyrant and he will try to shift your business methods into more cutthroat ones just to milk every cent out of you.”

Dad’s face shifted to somber, “I know all about Winslow and how he is a capitalist boardroom shark, but he is not going to bully me into doing things that will rake in money at the detriment of those who are the backbone of the business.”

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