Page 54 of The Fake Date (Brides of Beaufort 4)

“No, it’s not. But Lyndi works weekends, too. I’m not sure it’ll work for her.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I said to take a couple weeks. Weekend doesn’t work? Come during the week. You know I’m not going anywhere Monday to Friday these days. Get some R&R for yourself and fit it in when you can.”

I hummed in response, thinking it over.

“Come on, Beau,” he went on, his tone very near pleading. “It’s been a while. I’d love to see you.”

I closed my eyes as he coughed again, guilt moving to the forefront of my mind. Why had I even entertained the idea of becoming a drill instructor to stay in Parris Island if I wasn’t going to make the effort to see him?

Oh, right, because you’re a selfish jerk and the reason you thought of it started with Lyndi and shifted to Pops. Some son.

“All right, yeah. I think I can swing a trip out there. And you’re right, it would be cool to burn some leave before I rack up too many days and I’m forced into it.”

“Yeah? Great. I’m looking forward to it. And hey, there’s a festival next weekend. You can take your girl.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

Actually, now that I thought about it, I was fairly certain she wouldn’t love it. I imagined Lyndi’s reaction if I pulled up in front of a hot, sticky, loud, chaotic festival in the middle of New Orleans.

Unless they had karaoke or I framed it like an opportunity for her to play paparazzi and take photos of the other attendees, I highly doubted she’d want to hang out there. But we could worry about that if she even agreed to go on the trip itself.

“Thank you, Beau,” he said, his voice oddly misty. “Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and went back over to the table, sitting down but not bothering to reach for my burrito. I didn’t think I could stomach it if I tried, despite how famished I’d been when I walked in here.

“What’s up?” Grant asked, looking me over.

“Oh, just my pops. He wants me to come out and visit.”

“Cool, where does he live?”

“New Orleans.”

His face lit up. “Right on. Is that where you’re from?”

“Yep.”

“When are you going?”

I sighed. “Next weekend, apparently. If I can get the leave approved and if my—well, yeah just the leave. If not, I’ll figure something else out. He seemed pretty insistent on it.”

“Well, good for you, man. I wouldn’t go visit my dad if he was on his death bed, so that’s cool you guys have a good relationship.”

A sharp pain slid through my chest, but it wasn’t Grant’s fault. He didn’t know my pops was sick, so of course he wouldn’t know not to say something like that.

But yeah. It was a good reminder. I needed to go visit my old man, and despite him making utterly tasteless jokes about dying, I still had hope that he wasn’t. But just in case I was wrong, I needed to do what I could to spend time with himwhileI could.

Realizing I should probably check with Lyndi to make sure she was okay with the idea before I changed my leave dates, I pulled out my phone and sent her a text.

Me: Hey, do you have any plans next weekend? Any weddings or anything?

The dots appeared to show me she was responding immediately. Maybe she’d been scrolling TikTok when the message came in.

Lyndi: Actually, no. I had one, but it got called off. Cold feet, I think.

Interesting. I’d bet my last dollar I would have seen her there if they hadn’t called it off. What were the odds they were different weddings? The question now was, how was I supposed to ask her to come on a weekend trip with me? Would she freak out and turn me down? What would I say to my pops if she did?