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Next, the notebooks were all found, including one shoved behind the box of old phone chargers in the corner. She flipped through each page and tore out anything outdated. She grabbed her fat purple Sharpie and labeled three notebooks:Recipe Ideas,Inventory Issues, andRandom Notes.

Labeling! Utensils and office supplies banged against the side of drawers as she searched for the label maker she purchased months ago. She finally found it buried under a stack of towels in the supply closet.

“Aha, you little stink-rat. I got you,” she said when successfully printing her first label after nearly twenty minutes of clicking buttons. She stepped back and admired her work. Okay, okay, the space did look more professional. Maybe those online articles about “decluttering your space will declutter your mind” weren’t completely bogus.

What a day.

She climbed on the stool to grab parchment paper, and when the bell jingled, she almost hit her head on a box. Didn’t she lock the door? She was sure she did.

She bolted out of the supply closet. “Sorry, we’re closed—Dad?”

Her heart flew into her throat, and she nearly choked. Five, maybe six, months had passed since he last visited. The salt-and-pepper scruff on his cheeks indicated a shave from a few days ago. His red-orange hair had faded a bit, and gray seeped in at the temples, but the rosy cheeks and familiar dark circles were the same.

“Hi there, princess,” he said with a crooked grin while gripping a small paper bag.

“Oh… hey.” She leaned in for a brief hug. The stark spice scent of his generic aftershave and the burn-off from day-old whiskey and unwashed clothes oozed from his pores.

She gauged the redness of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He shook the bag. “Wanted to stop by and bring you a little gift.”

Her heart dipped at the salted truffle See’s candies. Over the years, he forgot so many things—school functions, birthdays, to come home on the weekends. But he was great on minor details. Salted truffle chocolates were her favorite. “Thanks.”

“Those still your favorite?”

“Sure are.” She popped a chocolate in her mouth and offered him one. “You should sit down. You thirsty? I can fire up the machine, make you a coffee.”

“Nah. You don’t need to do all that fussin’ on me. Maybe just a quick water will do.” He slumped onto a barstool and glanced around the room. “Ya got some new stuff there, huh? Don’t think that couch was here last time I was here.”

It was. “Hmm. I don’t remember, either.” She passed him the water and sat next to him.

“Oh, forgot. Brought ya something else.” He slapped at his various pockets until he pulled a bottle of used purple nail polish with a fifty-centgarage sale sticker affixed to the side. “Thought of ya when I saw that.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Thanks. That was sweet of you.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Rosie woulda been real happy to see what ya did with her place.”

The words struck fast and hard. She blew out a quick breath. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

A tug of war erupted inside. Visions of her spending hours in her room or sitting in front of the TV with a box of cereal and a cup of water because he always forgot to pick up milk, juxtaposed with him letting her polish his toenails, spraying whipped cream in her mouth, and talking about the Seahawks.

“So… I gotta job down at the pier. Haulin’ crab from some local guys.”

She sighed and clicked her fingernails together. “That’s great. Make sure you’re careful with your back. That’s tough work.”

She said that because that was what polite people said when given news about a job. The job would last a day, maybe a week, if a job even existed. Her father had a knack for weaving in enough truth to not tell a bald-faced lie.

He scratched at his scruff. “Yeah, well, to make an honest livin’, sometimes you gotta do an honest man’s work.”

What did that even mean? He needed to spit out why he was here and stop doing this ridiculous dance. Confusing signals flushed her body like a wet, weighted blanket. Relief that he was alive and moderately healthy, melting that he remembered her favorite color and chocolate, tension from an inevitable disappointment slam that would surely hit her before he left.

The section of the floor she and Mack had spent hours on last week caught her attention, and the feeling when Mack’s dad said how proud he was of them marched through her. They’d only met a fewshort times, yet he showed her what it was like to have a parent who loved and nurtured their kids.

“I was hopin’… just to hold me over until the first paycheck comes in, if ya could spot me a few greens? I’ll pay you back.”

The tension in her shoulders evaporated when he asked. It always did. The apprehension of when and how he’d asked caused the strain. Yet, her heart sunk into an unfamiliar space, low and deep. All these years, she held on to a sliver of daughterly hope that her father was something he wasn’t. That pancake dad, hot chocolate dad, joking dad was her real dad, and this other dad was an imposter.

She had to stop chasing the delusion.