“Then I guess you’re singing. Assuming anybody picks you.”
Her flat stare said volumes.
“Okay, yeah, of course they’ll pick you. And me. And probably the pair of us. We can get over our crap and do this for a good cause.”
“We’re doing it for a pal in the Army,” she muttered.
“Exactly,” he grinned, leaning companionably against the counter.
“Sweetie, where do you want me to put this invoice for the—”
At the sound of the new voice, Brody straightened as if somebody had rammed a cattle prod up his ass. If he’d thought Tyler’s look was chilly, the expression on her father’s face was positively glacial.
“Jensen.”
“Mr. Edison. Sir. Hello.”
They stared at each other. Well. Mr. Edison glared and Brody looked back. The alternative was to haul ass with his tail between his legs and his pride wouldn’t allow that. But what the hell did you say to a man when the last time you saw him, you asked permission to marry his daughter? The same daughter who didn’t want to marry you and was standing across the counter?
“Hey Dad,” said Tyler—a little too cheerfully, Brody thought. “I didn’t know you were back. Where’s Ollie?”
Who’s Ollie? he wondered.
Without shifting his gaze from Brody’s, Sam Edison answered, “In the office having a snack. I’ll take him home in a bit, but I wanted to drop off the progress report from the neurologist and a copy of the bill. Which is paid, by the way.”
“Dad,” chastised Tyler, “you don’t need to do that.”
“I’ll do it if I want to, and you’ll let me.”
“Well, thank you.” She moved out from the counter and pecked her father’s cheek. Looking back, she asked, “Brody, did you need anything else?”
“No. Just delivering the message. So you’ll be there?”
“I’ll be there.”
He lifted his hand in a wave, gave a curt nod to her father, and headed for the door as Tyler walked into the back office. As he pushed open the door, he saw her crouch down, saw the toys in the floor.
“Hey baby. Did you and Grandpa have a good day today?”
Brody nearly did a face plant as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Tyler had a kid?
~*~
“Are you sure you should be on your feet this much?” asked Tyler, eying Tucker as he crutched his way down Front Street toward Speakeasy Pizza.
“It’s good practice on the crutches. Besides, another seven weeks and I’ll be good as new. Doc said.”
“Well, good. Then I only have to wait that long to kill you.”
“Now why would you wanna go and do that?”
“Don’t you dare play innocent, Tucker McGee. You knew exactly what you were doing when you set up this whole karaoke fundraiser.”
“Bet your ass. The Madrigal’s golden couple are both in town, both performing for the first time in years. I saw an opportunity, and I’m sure as hell exploiting it to raise bucks for the cause. Your names get butts in seats. That’s the price of local fame, sugar, and I won’t apologize for it. You’ve gotten over your shit with each other in rehearsal, you can do it for this.”
Tyler scowled. That was true. Mostly. But a whole night of singing alongside Brody, where she knew with absolute certainty that some of the crowd would have them singing the love songs from the shows they were so known for brought up feelings she didn’t know how to deal with. Since she didn’t have anywhere else to direct her ire, Tucker was a convenient target. “You waited ’til the last minute to have somebody tell me because you knew I wouldn’t want to play. Sending Brody as your messenger really wasn’t the smartest move you ever made.”
Tucker paused on the sidewalk outside the pizzeria and sent her a smug smile. “You’re here, aren’t you?”