When Dad glances up and catches me studying him, he stuffs his phone in his pocket and rises to his feet. Carefully I search his face for any trace of guilt, but there is none to be found. Somehow that makes the situation worse.
“You slept late,” he says with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shrug. “Just tired, I guess.”
“I’m glad you got a chance to rest up.” There’s a pause. “Did you take the Jeep out and make sure it was running all right?”
“No, not yet.” The Jeep is the last of my concerns.
“Okay, I’ll grab the keys from the kitchen, and we can get moving.” He’s already walking through the hall when he asks, “Any place in particular you want to go?”
Even though I have no idea if Marco’s is open for Sunday brunch, I’m tempted to throw the suggestion out there. Instead, I say, “How about The Honeybun?”
“Sure, I could go for that.” After a moment, he returns to the hallway with a furrowed brow. “Did you already eat? There are pans and dishes on the counter.”
Oh.
My mind cartwheels, grasping for an explanation that will make sense.
It would be so easy to lie and say I made myself breakfast for dinner last night. But I’m loathe to do that. Lying has never come easily to me. Especially when it involves my parents.
“Yes,” I force the words from my mouth, “I ate earlier.”
“Oh.” His head is turned as he stares at the sink. I know what’s coming next. I can almost see the wheels spinning in his head.
“Is someone here with you?” he asks hesitantly.
I blow out a steady breath and straighten my shoulders. “Beck is upstairs.”
It’s almost comical the way his brows shoot up across his forehead and into his hairline. If this were any other conversation, his reaction would make me laugh.
“Beck?” Shock weaves its way through his words. “Hollingsworth?” He waves his hand toward our neighbor’s house. “From next door?”
I wince as his voice continues to escalate.
“Please tell me that he stayed in a guestroom.”
Again, I could lie. It would be the quickest way to end this uncomfortable conversation. Dad probably wouldn’t believe me, but it’s doubtful he would push the issue. We would pretend that I didn’t have sex with Beck and move on with our lives. But there’s no reason for me to do that. I’m twenty-one years old. Who I sleep with is none of his business.
“No. He stayed with me.” Those five words are like a lead weight that sit uncomfortably between us.
“I don’t understand any of this,” he mutters, plowing a hand through his hair. “Are you two seeing each other?”
“Yes, we are.”
Confusion swirls through his eyes. “How long as this been going on for?”
“It’s a relatively new development.”
He blows out a slow breath as his broad shoulders collapse. “I have no idea what to say about all this.”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“Is your mother aware of what’s going on?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s new. We really haven’t told anyone yet.”
Tentatively, he steps toward me. “As much as I like Beck,” there’s a pause and I steel myself for what will come next, “he’s not the right guy for you.”
I echo with disbelief, “He’s not the right guy for me?”
His frown deepens into a scowl. “Come on, you know exactly what I mean. Beck doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. His life is football. Other than that, he parties and sleeps around. I don’t understand why you would be interested in someone like that.”
My mouth falls open. “Dad! That’s not true!”
He closes the distance between us. “That kid has always been a troublemaker. I used to feel bad for Archie and Caroline, always having to clean up his messes.”
“That was in high school,” I grit out. “He’s changed. People are capable of it.”
“Has he really changed that much?” Dad snorts and rolls his eyes. “Because I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah, he has. Maybe you need to look at the person he is today instead of judging him for the one he used to be.”
“Oh, please,” he mutters. “Archie says he still gets into trouble.”
I shift my weight and glare, frustrated with this conversation. “Have you ever consider the possibility that Archie is as biased as you are?”
He presses his lips together before jerking his shoulders into a shrug. An uncomfortable silence settles around us before a puff of breath leaves his lips. “The last thing I want to see is you get hurt. Beck isn’t the type of guy to be faithful.”
Ha!
That’s rich.
How can he look me in the eyes and say that?
Dad pokers up to his full height. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I flinch and realize the words have unintentionally slipped from my mouth.
“Mia?”
My heartbeat hammers in my ears until the sound is all I’m cognizant of. He stares as if he no longer recognizes me. What he doesn’t realize is that the feeling is mutual.