Page 10 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

“Thanks.” Blinking back tears, I tap the door shut and take off the clothes Hazel lent me.

The wedding is tomorrow, and I’m still not sure what to wear.

I might need another opinion. One that doesn’t come from a fifty-eight-year-old construction consultant or a well-heeled fashionista who wears eight-thousand-dollar boots to the library.

But I’m grateful for both of them, and feeling better about this weekend’s plans.

I don’t ditch my dad very often. We share the same house, though his section is separate from mine.

The one good thing to come out of the accident was an insurance settlement that helped us build on and make everything wheelchair accessible.

The money took for freakin’ ever to come through, so Dad and I got tons of help from his construction buddies.

Two locking doors link us—one on each side of the house—and we flow back and forth to share meals and movie marathons.

“Dinner smells delicious,” I say as I stride into the dining room. I’ve changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, though I’m not sure I’m in for the evening. “Want me to make margaritas?”

“Nah,” he says, pouring two tall pints of beer. “I grabbed some of Mason’s new key lime Kolsch.”

“You stopped by Big One’s?” I try to keep my voice even, wondering what my father might have heard.

“Mason wasn’t there. Guess he stayed home to help his new dog adjust.”

“That’s nice.”

“It sure is.” My dad looks thoughtful. “Been thinking about getting a dog again. Something small and low maintenance, like Zippy.”

“God, I miss Zippy.” My dad’s little yorkie passed away five years ago, and I’ve wondered if Dad’s ready for another pet. “You’ll love Mason’s dog. He’s super cute and well-mannered.”

“What’s his name?”

“Scrumpy.”

My dad chuckles. “I look forward to meeting him.” He wheels to his spot at the head of the table. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, it seems like Mason’s girlfriend might’ve offered to help get the dog settled. How come you’re not over there now?”

“Jeez.” Groaning, I whip my napkin into my lap. “I hate small towns.”

My father laughs and sets two crispy shrimp tacos in front of me. “You do not. Come on, kiddo—spill it.”

One look at his face and I’m sure my dad guessed it already. “You know it’s fake, right? Mason and me?”

He shrugs and digs into his tacos. “Kinda figured I would have noticed if you’d suddenly gone all moony-eyed for the kid who crashed his scooter into the side of our house.”

I bite into a taco and swoon for my dad’s mango salsa. “To be fair, he’s grown up since then.”

“It was two years ago.”

“That was a dare.” It might’ve been me who dared him.

“Anyway, it’s just to get us through these weddings.

Dr. Hanlon dumped him, and everyone kept feeling sorry for us, so Mason made up a little fib.

” I take a sip of my drink, and damn —Mason makes excellent beer.

“Kinda wondering if Neil’s heard the rumor. ”

“Trying to make him jealous?”

“I don’t know.” Yes I do. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if he thought I wasn’t sitting home crying my eyes out over getting dumped.”

My dad looks concerned. “Are you still crying your eyes out?”

“Not really.” I sigh. “I’m sad that I’m not getting married like I thought. Still pretty butthurt he ditched me like that.”

“That’s understandable.” He piles a big mound of Mexican rice on his plate. “Maybe this thing with Mason will be good. Nothing like envy to put a man’s priorities back in order. Neil’s gonna see what he’s missing and come crawling back. ”

Is that what I want? “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Or maybe I had. Neil is between deployments this month; so as far as I know, he’s home for a while.

“Have you heard from him?” Dad asks.

“He keeps texting me, wanting to talk.”

“About what?”

“Beats me. Says he’d like to catch up, maybe take me to lunch sometime.”

“Hmph.” My father was never a huge fan of Neil. He didn’t dislike the guy; they just never really clicked. “He wants to be friends now?”

“That’s what he says.” Which seems weird, since we never behaved like friends. We didn’t play together, laugh together, get silly together like I do with my friends.

Mostly with Mason, so maybe it’s not a fair comparison. Ours is a special kinda friendship. That’s why it won’t be that hard to fake like we’re dating. We know each other better than just about anyone.

“Neil’s not a friend,” my dad grumbles across the table. “Friends don’t string you along for ten years like Neil did to you.”

“It’s not his fault he didn’t want to get married.”

“Sure it is. When I met your mother, wild horses couldn’t have kept me from getting down on one knee and begging her to spend the rest of her life with me.”

Something sharp twists in my chest. “Not helping, Daddy.”

“Sorry.”

That’s when I realize why he made tacos tonight. “Oh God,” I gasp. “It’s your anniversary, isn’t it?” I’m such an asshole. “I lost track of time, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my drama that?—”

“Honey, it’s not your anniversary.” His kind voice makes me feel worse. “Your mom’s been gone nearly twenty-seven years. It’s okay to let some of the milestones slip past.”

“But it’s not.” I get up from my chair and walk around the table to wrap him in a hug. “You made Mom’s favorite dinner, and I couldn’t even be bothered to remember your anniversary.”

“It’s not a big deal, Ricky.”

“It is a big deal.” I’m so mad at myself for forgetting. “I miss her so much, every day, and I don’t want you to think I forgot her.”

“I’d never think that.”

“And I hate that I got so wrapped up in my bullshit that I forgot about?—”

“Sweetheart, stop.” As gently as possible, he shrugs off my arms. “I’m really okay. I wanted to celebrate, not mourn. That’s a reason to bust out the good plates and tacos, don’t you think?”

“I guess.” I’m blinking back tears as I go back to my spot at the table. Biting into a taco, I sigh. “I’ve been trying so hard not to get sucked into my own pity party. The guy I felt so sure I’d marry cut me out of his life, and that stings—I hate how embarrassed I feel.”

“Hmm.” My father says nothing for a moment. “I noticed you didn’t mention missing Neil.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve said you’re sad that you’re not getting married.

Disappointed you put so much time into that relationship.

You’ve even mentioned being embarrassed, which takes a big person to admit, by the way.

” My dad takes a bite of taco, chewing thoughtfully as he watches me across the table.

“But this whole time since you split up, I’ve never once heard you say you missed Neil. ”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is.” My dad’s always right about these things, so I give up arguing.

“He was gone all the time.” I’m not sure I’m making the right point. “Our whole relationship was based on missing each other.”

“Sure, I get it.” He doesn’t look convinced. “But I’ve just heard you say you miss Mom. And you even miss Zippy.”

“Dad—”

“All right, all right.” Smiling, he takes another bite of taco. “I assume you want me to stay quiet about you and Mason not really dating.”

“That’d be great.”

“Can do.” My dad grins. “Maybe I’ll get me a girlfriend, too.”

My stomach lurches. “Really?”

“Why not? You think an old guy in a wheelchair isn’t a hot ticket?”

“You know that’s not why.” If I hate being pitied, my father absolutely loathes it. He has never, not once, played the handicapped card. He doesn’t even use that word. “You just never seemed interested in dating.”

“Things change.”

I swallow a bite of my taco, working to get it past the lump in my throat. For nearly three decades, my dad’s been a widower who never got over my mother. It’s not like I expect him to be a martyr. It’s just hard to picture him dating . “You think you might want to dip a toe in the pool?”

“Dunno.” He gives me a mischievous wink. “Maybe not my toe. That part doesn’t have much sensation.”

“ Dad .” His was an incomplete spinal cord injury, so he has more use of his lower extremities than some folks with paraplegia have.

That doesn’t mean I want to picture him using them. “I’m sure you’ll know when it’s time.”

“Probably.” He seems distracted as he piles mango slaw on his tacos. “Just like you’ll know when it’s time to start dating for real.”

I swallow my Kolsch, ignoring the pit in my stomach. “Not anytime soon.”

Once more, I’m grateful to Mason for the fake dating cover. I need a real boyfriend like I need a rust hole in my tailpipe.

I put on my barnyard hooker outfit again and drive over to Mason’s, hoping it’s not too late to swing by. I’d normally text first, but my phone died taking fashion pics with Hazel. It’s charging now, so at least I won’t be offline for long if Dad needs me.

En route to Mason’s, I pass by the turnoff to his grandparents’ place. Pops and Nana passed away years ago, and their house burned to a charred shell. I catch myself touching the key to their door, the one Mason gave me when I started spending so much time there.

“We don’t lock the doors much,” he said as he handed it over. “But this is for you if you want it.”

It’s a symbol, I guess. A silly souvenir that I’ve threaded on every damn keychain I’ve owned since that day.

As I pull up to Mason’s place, I spot his truck parked right out front. I gather my skirt and get out, scrunching my face in the spatter of raindrops spitting through thick, lacy trees. I’m not even halfway up his front steps when the door swings open and Mason steps onto his porch.

“Whoa.” He takes in my outfit, then looks down at the short, stubby dog at his feet. “That’s a stranger, Scrump. You should bite her.”

Scrumpy wags his tail and ambles forward, telescoping his tongue to lick my bare knee. “Hey puppy.” I bend down to scratch him, earning myself a fresh lick to my face. “Looks like you’re settling in, huh?”

The dog licks me some more, wagging so hard I think he’ll fall over. “His center of gravity must be different with those short little legs.”