“You spoke to Roman about me?”
He snorts. “He spoke to me about you. Came to talk to me after the memorial. Has it all figured out.”
My heart flips over and thuds into my stomach. “All what?”
“How I’ve hurt you and why it makes you reluctant to trust people. To give your heart.”
“I understand,” I manage to choke out. “You don’t want to lose me.”
“But I may already have.”
I don’t deny it. This Dad-knows-best business is all well and good when you’re a little girl, but not a grown woman.
He takes my hand and clasps it tightly. “You are more precious to me than life itself, Abigail. You’re all I have and if I lost you …” He swipes at a tear. Suddenly he looks much older than his fifty-seven years. “I’m not sure I could survive that.”
“Dad, I—I get it. I do. But I could be hit by a bus or get a weird disease or I don’t know, trip down the stairs out there! I know you think I’m reckless but not where my job is concerned. Not where the lives of my crew and the people I serve are concerned.”
He nods slowly. “If this is what you want, it’s your choice.”
“And if I choose it, will you respect that choice? Respect me?”
He kisses my forehead. “Yes, mo chroi, my heart of hearts. I will respect that choice. And speaking of choices … what about Rossi?”
I remain silent, unsure where to start. The look on my father’s face says he’s about to give me one of his famous arguments.
“I suspect you have an opinion.”
“Your captain says that Rossi wanted to report the relationship sooner, but you refused. Sure, it would have been frowned upon but if you really wanted to be with him, you could have dealt with that. Gone on the record. So why didn’t you?”
I blow out a breath, reaching for the stock justification I’ve played over and over in my head. “I was sure it would just burn out. A flashover that would scorch everything in its path and leave nothing but ash. It seemed like a lot to risk for something that might potentially go nowhere.”
He stares at me. “Rossi seemed pretty sure of the potential for the two of you from the beginning.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words. But I could tell from talking to him that he’s crazy about you. I remember what that felt like with your mother.”
To hear my father speak in such candid terms unlocks something inside me.
“I—I might have felt the possibilities from the beginning but I wanted to keep it to the—uh, physical …” I grimace at putting thoughts of his daughter having sex into my father’s head. I rush forward. “It seemed safer. I wouldn’t become emotionally invested in someone who I need to have my back and vice versa. And if something happened to him, I’d be sad for a while because I once knew of and laughed with and slept with Roman Rossi, but my heart would remain intact because I hadn’t done something foolish like fallen in love with him. I hadn’t made a life with him, a life that would have this great big void in the middle of it if he was gone. Like our lives when Mom died.”
His eyes are wet, and so are mine. It’s weird to be sharing this with my father, and even weirder to realize that if anyone could understand this, it’s him.
We should have talked long ago.
“Abby, do you think I’d trade those years with your mom so I could escape the pain of losing her?”
“I don’t know! Would you?”
He shakes his head. “Not a damn second.”
“So you’re saying I should just make my peace with the fact anything could happen and my heart could break if I lost him?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you not just tell me that you could fall under a bus or get a disease that would take you from me so I shouldn’t be worried about you on the job? You could marry a guy with the safest job in the world and still get your heart broken, but think of what you might have missed. There are no guarantees in life. Every moment I spent with your mother was precious. And every moment I spend with my brave, fearless, beautiful daughter is also precious. Life is full of risk and benefit. When it comes to loving someone, I would think any daughter of mine would go all in.”
The tears stinging my eyelids fight to break free. I swipe at the first escapee.
I recall Roman’s words, that grief is a kind of unexpressed love, stuck inside you with no place to go. He had said one outlet for it was to honor my mother by being the best at my job. Here’s another: talking about her with the people who knew her and ensuring she’s never forgotten.
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner.”
“I didn’t make it easy for you. But no more keeping it in. The channels are open.” He squeezes my hand. “Sometimes it’s easier to say you don’t care than to explain all the reasons why you do. If you think Rossi is worth it, you need to give him a shot as well.”
Forty-two
Roman
My heart is a galloping mustang in my chest as I push through the doors of Fern’s Diner and look around. That cute old couple is in one of the booths, some teens are making out in another, and the counter is disappointingly empty.
Except for a slice of cherry pie.
The text came in ten minutes ago.
Meet me at Fern’s.
That was it—and that was all it took. I threw on a shirt and jeans and raced over here like they might run out of damn pie.
Which, history says, is a distinct possibility.
Tessa the server, now with a name badge that says “Flo,” appears and places a menu on the counter to the right of the pie. I don’t need it.
I know exactly what I want.
One step toward my future and she appears from around the corner, her eyes glossy, her cheekbones glowing with heat.
The woman I love in the flesh.
“Hi, there,” she says, a shyness in her tone I’ve not heard before.
“Hey, Sullivan, it’s been a day, right?”
She laughs. “That it has. But pie is in my future, so it’s looking up.”
Tessa/Flo puts a couple of forks on either side of the pie with a wink and a smile. I take Abby’s hand and lead her to the same seat as last time, only now I take the one directly to her left. No buffer or barrier like before.
I pick up a fork.
She picks up the other.
We clink our flatware.
And we eat our pie, casting sly looks at each other like either of us might vanish at any moment. It seems we’ve determined that the important words can’t be spoken without full stomachs. The last bite is a piece of crust with a gob of cherry pie filling. I nudge the plate toward her. “All yours.”
She swallows. “You’d give me your last bite?”
“I’d give you my last anything.” Tears fill her eyes. “Abby, sweetheart. Please.” I cup her jaw and catch a tear, then hold on because touching her is everything. I never want to let go.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Roman. That I pushed you away.”
“It’s okay. I get it, or I think I do.” We need to get to the bottom of this. I haul a breath but can’t seem to fill my lungs. “You said we had a good time but we should stop before it got too far. Did you mean that?”