Page 135 of The Spare

"I don't need perfection,"I say quietly, giving his arm a squeeze.

He nods. "Well, I'll do my damndest, honey. That I can promise you."

We walk for a few more minutes before he talks again. Over the last few weeks of getting to know him, I see that our mannerisms are very alike. The silences between us are comfortable, neither one of us feeling pressured to fill it with chatter.

"I think the pie is done. Let's head back inside?"

"Sure," he says, turning us effortlessly down another path. If I hadn't had him with me I'd be downright lost. I can barely see the top of his house through the hedges we're walking through.

"Dad, are you still in love with my mom?" I blurt out, not able to help myself.

You'd never know he was bothered by my question by looking at him. He stares ahead of us, always looking forward it seems like. He's silent, taking a second to soak in my question. And I let him.

"I am."

My heart thumps painfully at the two simple words that mean the world to me.

I tug on his arm, digging my heels into the ground and forcing us to a stop. He tilts his head to look down at me."Well, then go after her!"

His eyes flick between mine before he looks away, and tightens his arm, making me resume walking next to him. "It's not that simple, Melody."

"But it is-"

He tuts, shaking his head. "Melody, no, sweetheart. It's not. She has a deep mistrust of the mafia because of how she's been hunted down, and now with what happened to Isobel…" he trails off, getting a sad look in his eyes. "I don't want to traumatize her, sweetheart. Maybe it's best she just pursue a relationship with William."

I huff a breath. Knowing that if she's with William, then mom probably won't be around Maribel and Richard. Maybe even Isobel…

"It's so fucked up," I say quietly, pushing the door open when we make our way to the back of the house. The security flank the door, remaining quiet as we go through. "Youloveher."

"Love's never been for me, I don't think."

I keep my comments to myself, preferring to ruminate on it for a bit before responding. We take our shoes off in the mudroom and hang up our light jackets before heading to the kitchen. Dad inhales and grins.

"It smells amazing," he compliments me with a pat on the back.

"Thanks, and it smells done."

I pull a strawberry pie out of the oven, glad to not have a million eyes on me. Dad has thankfully dismissed the household staff today, only leaving us with security, and we've spent the time bonding over cooking and baking.

He cooks; I bake.

We sit at the island, sharing a bottle of Italian wine from his vineyard, and talk about anything and everything. After an hour I trust I can cut the pie without it falling apart, and I slide a piece onto a saucer plate for him and hand him a fork. He takes a bite and groans, his eyes closing as he swallows.

"Wow,Mel." I grin as he takes another bite, getting a thoughtful look on his face. "Hey, this tastes a lot like the pie at Deadly Sweet."

"What's that?"

"A bakery. Pretty prolific one, too."

"A bakery?"

"Yes, I go once every other week. That's all I allow myself," he chuckles. "Gotta keep the girlish figure, you know."

I choke, laughing and holding a napkin to my mouth."Shut up,you don't have a inch of fat anywhere, silly!"

We both laugh, and Mason comes through a door behind Dad, dragging a hand through his hair. Our eyes meet, and my laughter dies on my tongue, dissipating at the look in Mason's eyes when our gazes clash.

"Hey, you," I say softly, gesturing at the pie between dad and me. "I made a strawberry pie. You want a slice?"