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Half an hour later, we’re sitting on a bench eating ice cream. Dad’s eyes are fixed on a small group of young adults set up on the grass in front of us, using watercolor paints to capture the beauty of the park.
For a moment, I take in his longing expression. “Are you okay?”
The sigh he lets out is hard to interpret. “I’m good, it’s nice to be out with you. It seems like years since we sat and ate ice cream together.”
“It probablyhasbeen years.” A sliver of guilt pierces me. I’ve been so focused on working hard and making sure Dad’s taken care of that I’ve forgotten to make sure he enjoys himself too. “We’ll get out more, okay?”
“You already work so hard,” he says, carefully adjusting his stiff grip on the cone to keep it steady.
The small, deliberate motion tugs at my heart. “Hanging out with you isn’t work, Dad.”
“I know. But you have a lot on your mind, love. I just wish you spent more time with your friends.”
“Lola’s a bit busy right now,” I say with a laugh.
“What about other friends, then? Maybe a boy?”
I spin to face him, noting his fake innocent expression.
“Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
“You’re twenty-four. You should be out meeting boys. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
I nudge his shoulder. “First of all, I’m too old to be datingboys. And maybe it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, but that’s not because of you. The dating scene in New York is rough. It’s hard to meet nice guys. Remember the one who took me to that really fancy restaurant but then conveniently forgot his wallet?”
Dad grunts, his eyes narrowing. “I remember. I would have kicked his ass if he’d actually done the decent thing and escorted you home.”
I don’t bother mentioning that he isn’t in much of a state to kick anyone’s ass at the moment. No doubt he would have tried anyway. “Believe me, I was happy to leave him at the restaurant and come home on my own.”
“Hmm,” he says. “So no one’s taken your fancy lately?”
For a split second, a pair of pale gray eyes flashes through my mind, followed by lips that look soft and hard at the same time, but I quickly shake it off and go for flippant. “Trying to marry me off?”
He looks away, back at the painters. “Maybe I want someone to look after you for once.”
The sting in my chest is so sharp, my breath catches. “Dad?—”
He raises one hand, the sight of his red, swollen knuckles only making the pain behind my sternum throb more. “Don’targue. You’ve been looking after me since your mom left. You shouldn’t have had to do that then. You shouldn’t have to do it now.”
“I didn’thaveto look after you.” I shift to face him. “You’re my dad. I wanted to.”
He sighs, seeming to shrink in front of me. “You were just a kid. I should have been the one looking after you. Instead, I closed myself up in my studio with my paintings and pretended everything was okay. And now, when you should be out living your life, you’re still looking after me.”
Resting my head on his shoulder, I take in the happy people filling the park. “Looking after you will never be a chore.”
He slowly lifts his arm around me, and I ease against his side gently. For a moment, I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth and the sense of protection. Before Mom left, she was never keen on having me around, so I’d spend hours curled up in a chair in the corner of Dad’s studio watching him paint. He’d talk me through what he was doing and tell me stories about famous artists and paintings. And when I asked him to teach me how to paint, he never complained that I was getting in the way. He just set up a small easel and a canvas next to his so we could paint side by side.
At one stage, I thought that was my future. That I’d be an artist just like him. But things don’t always turn out the way we hope. It’s been a long time since I’ve even had the motivation to paint. Maybe one day, I’ll pick it up again as a hobby, but what I have now is better than that old dream, anyway—a good job, with great pay.
And this new position is so much more than just a job. It’s how I’ll afford the treatments Dad needs to get better. Which means I have to make it work, no matter what. No missteps, no slip-ups.
I’ll be the perfect assistant.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROMAN
The discussion I’m having with Cole and Tate about EcoTech’s quarterly projections and how they’ll affect our acquisition bid is interrupted by a knock at the door.