Of course the diner was busy that night. Deanna had done a good job of spreading the word about Connelly, and most of the customers seemed as hungry for gossip as they were for a meal.
Cassidy was happy to have the business, but by the time she flipped the “Closed” sign in the window a little after eight o’clock, she was exhausted. There were still a couple tables finishing up their meals, but she let herself sink into the cracked leather of the back booth anyway. Just a short break, enough for her to pull a little bit of energy up from wherever she could find it and get back to work.
She heard a gentle rustle of fabric and turned to see Emily standing beside her. “I was thinking tuna melts instead of enchiladas,” Em said. “Simpler.”
It was kind of nice to think of William Connelly eating a tuna melt. Cassidy wondered if he’d ever had one. Maybe some upscale version, with, like, tuna steak and a fine French cheese. “Sounds good,” she said and braced herself to stand up.
Emily’s hand was light but firm on her shoulder. “You stay put,” she said. “I can do it.”
So tempting, but Cassidy made herself rise anyway. “You do the tuna melts. I’ll start cleaning. I want to get out of here at a decent hour tonight so you can get some sleep.”
“So I can get some sleep?” Emily said. “You’re out of the house by six every morning. That’s before I even wake up, and you’re worried about me getting sleep.”
“You’re young and growing. I’m old and falling apart.” At least that was how she felt. “Go start dinner.”
“Should I make three?” Emily asked. Simple question, but there was something heartbreaking about the way she glanced toward the door as she asked it. It was ten past eight and there was no sign of William Connelly.
If the asshole didn’t show up, after all the fuss, Cassidy would set his fancy car on fire. “Make three,” she said firmly. “But don’t put them in the oven yet.”
Connelly arrived about five minutes later, just as Cassidy was ushering the last group of customers out the door. She waited until they were gone and the door was locked, glanced toward the back room to be sure Emily wasn’t watching, then whirled on him. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, keeping her voice low but intense. “She was worried you weren’t going to show up. What the hell was more important than having dinner with your daughter?”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, “I was in my car across the street. I wanted to wait until everyone was gone, so I wouldn’t cause more gossip.”
“A little late to think of that,” she growled, but that wasn’t how she wanted to be. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and then said, “Shit. Sorry. Okay, yeah, that was—probably not necessary, since everyone in town seems to know already. But I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”
“I’m glad she’s got you looking out for her,” he said softly, and she cut her eyes to his. He seemed sincere enough, but maybe that was just part of his corporate smoothness. Who could tell?
“She’s making tuna melts for dinner. Even if you don’t like them, please eat. She’s nervous.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m not a complete asshole, you know.”
She nodded. She supposed it was true. Maybe a partial asshole, but not a complete one. “Can you come by again tomorrow? Mid-morning or mid-afternoon, when Em’s in school. You and I should talk.”
He nodded slowly. “We should. Absolutely. In the meantime, though, I could really go for a tuna melt. Don’t suppose you guys serve those here?”
Cassidy half turned, facing the back of the diner before bellowing, “Em? Fire up the oven!”
Emily peeked out from the door a moment later, sketched a quick wave in Connelly’s direction, and then ducked back into her sanctuary.
“I think she might need a bit of time to collect herself,” Cassidy said. “You can sit in that booth at the back. And if you don’t mind, I’ve got some more chores to finish up.” He’d be on his own in this dingy little diner in the middle of nowhere, when he was probably used to having dinner with loads of fancy people in fancy places in the city. Well, too damn bad.
Instead of heading back to the booth, though, he looked around. “Is there something I can help with?” He accurately interpreted her silence and said, “Okay, I don’t have a lot of food-service experience, but I’m not completely useless. I can follow simple instructions.” He grinned, then, sudden and boyish and unexpectedly charming. “Probably. I can try, at least.”
She needed to trust him. She didn’t want to, but she had to. And if she had to trust him with Emily, then, really, trusting him with simple tasks was nothing.
Five minutes later, when Emily came out of the back room with a tray full of food and an anxious, excited expression, she found them both hard at work. Cassidy noticed her first and watched as the girl watched Connelly. Watched her father.
“I feel like there should be a more efficient way to do this,” Connelly said as he stuffed paper napkins into the dispenser. “Some sort of—oh! Emily! Hi! Your aunt said you made tuna melts? That sounds great. And if we need any napkins, I think I can hook us up.”
“We’ll probably need them,” Emily said. She’d seemed comfortable enough with him that afternoon, but somehow shyness had crept in since then. Now she busied herself with setting up the table, fetching drinks and silverware—anything but looking at the man who was still looking at her.
It was probably a sign of the apocalypse when Cassidy was the most socially comfortable person at any gathering, no matter how small. “Thanks for all your help today, Em,” she said as she slid into the booth. “I would have been swamped without you.”
“It wouldn’t have been as busy without me,” Emily muttered.
“Busy is good, let me remind you. That’s how we make money around here. Serving customers, and all that.” Emily slid in beside Cassidy instead of across from her like she usually did, and they both sat and watched Connelly take his place.
It was different, Cassidy told herself. Not good or bad, just different. A new reality to adjust to, that was all.
“This smells fantastic,” Connelly said.
Emily shrugged. “It’s okay. Not as good as enchiladas, but, you know…they take longer.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, and they all ate in silence for a while. Cassidy found herself paying far too much attention to stupid things, like whether she was taking small enough bites and sipping her drink instead of chugging it. She wasn’t trying to impress Connelly, she decided, just trying not to embarrass Emily. Well, and maybe trying not to embarrass herself. Had the man gotten better looking since that afternoon?
“What should I call you?” Emily said suddenly, and both adults froze mid-chew. “Not Dad. That would be too weird, right? I don’t mean that. I just—Mr. Connelly? Is that—”
“My friends call me Will,” he said. “If that works for you, it’d definitely work for me.”
“Will,” Emily said carefully.
“I know we’re going to have to figure some things out,” he said, and now he seemed to be speaking to Cassidy as much as to Emily. “But I’d like to think we’re at least at the friends stage, if that’s okay with both of you.”
“Will,” Emily repeated, a little more happily this time.
“Cassidy?” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he was asking permission to use her first name or just prompting her to use his.
“Will,” she tried, and nothing exploded. “Okay. Will.”
“Emily and Cassidy,” he replied. Then that grin again, boyish and almost goofy. “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled, maybe we can have an actual conversation, not just chant each other’s names.”
“Do I have grandparents?” Emily asked. “And any cousins or anything? Who else is in the family? And how did you meet my mom? I looked you up on the internet, and it said your business interests were widely diversified, but I don’t really know what that means. What’s your actual job? And the internet said you weren’t marr
ied, but do you have a girlfriend? Any pets? Do you live in a house or an apartment? What are your hobbies? What’s your favorite food?”
Will’s eyes were wide, and Cassidy smiled peacefully at him. He wanted to be a daddy? Well, she’d gone through the endless “Why?” stage with Emily when she’d been a toddler. Now it was Will’s turn to do some talking.
…
It was raining when Will pulled into what was becoming his usual spot across from the diner the next morning. Not a storm, but a steady downpour that made the whole town gray. Will sat in the car for a few minutes, hoping it might let up, then surrendered to the inevitable and jogged across to the glow of warm light spilling through the diner’s windows.
He made it inside and shook the worst of the water off his suit jacket, then noticed Cassidy frowning out the window. “It’s really coming down,” she said by way of a greeting.
“It is.” He had more important things to talk about than the weather, but Cassidy had been the one to suggest this meeting, so he’d let her take the lead, at least for a little while.
“Coffee?” she asked, and he nodded his agreement, following her over to the counter, where she poured him a cup and topped up her own. Then she smiled, but it looked forced, even to his unfamiliar eye. “Emily loves the rain.”
“So did Pippa,” he said. Not trying to tell her about her own sister, just remembering and sharing out loud. “She used to go up to the roof of my apartment building and dance around in it.”
“Easy to love the rain when you’re not the one who has to clean up the mud,” Cassidy said and then turned away as if the pot simmering on the stove behind her suddenly demanded all her attention.
Maybe Will should have followed her cue and let the comment go, but he didn’t want to. He and Cassidy needed to be able to talk, really talk, to make things work with Emily. “Did you spend a lot of time cleaning up after your sister?”
Cassidy shrugged. “I keep forgetting to ask where you’re staying. Do you have a far drive when you come see us?”
“Out on the highway, the Blueview Motel.”
“Probably a bit below your usual standards, huh?”
The place was more than a bit below his standards, but there was no need to get into that. “It’s fine. Do you want me to do anything to help? I’m an expert napkin re-filler, you know.”
“I already did that.” She gave the pot another stir, and then they both heard it, the sound of a drop of water hitting something metal. “No,” she said, almost under her breath. “No, not here, too.”
They both peered around, looking for the source of the noise, and Will was the one to spot the drop falling. Down from the ceiling near the front windows, hitting one of his carefully refilled napkin holders with a little splash.
“Should I put a pot under it or something?” he asked.
But Cassidy didn’t answer. She was staring at the falling water as if she somehow couldn’t understand it, or couldn’t accept it. As if she thought her denial should have been enough to change reality and actually stop the roof from leaking.
“Cassidy?” he prompted. “You okay?”
After a moment, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. She sounded completely defeated. “Yeah. I’ll get a coffee can from the back. And then I’ll—”
She spun and headed for the back, but it was too late. He’d heard her voice crack, seen the tear rolling down her cheek.
“Shit, Cassidy,” he said, following after her. “This isn’t a big deal. This space is rented. You just call the landlord and tell him to get it fixed, right?”
And just like that, the crumbling woman found enough strength to turn and glare at him. “Yeah, it’s that easy. Not a big deal. No problem at all.”
“Okay, obviously I’m missing something. Why is it going to be a problem?”
“Because we weren’t all born with trust funds and stock portfolios! Because the asshole landlord is already trying to either bump up my rent or kick me out so he can find someone who will pay more, and he’s made it crystal fucking clear that he won’t be putting any more cash into the building!” She was advancing on him like a panther stalking her prey, and he had to force himself to stand still rather than back away.
“Because the stupid house is leaking, too, and if I have to pay more rent here when I’m already broke, and have to pay for a new damn roof, I don’t—I just don’t—how am I supposed to—?” She stopped and turned away, almost running toward the back room.
He stayed where he was and stared after her.
He’d called his parents the night before, his mother in Paris, his father in New York. His mother was clearly going to need a bit of time to get used to the idea of being a grandmother, but his father had been enthusiastic about having a dynastic heir, and had spent most of the conversation directing Will to get the girl to New York, get her into a better school, get her away from her old life and into her new one. Get, get, get, with no room for giving. There never was, with his father.
The old man would be delighted if he’d been able to see this scene. The enemy was weak, and it was time to pounce. If Cassidy was cracking under pressure already, Will just needed to add a little more and watch her shatter completely.
He moved cautiously toward the back room. When he got to the doorway, he could see the rear exit open, Cassidy standing in it with her hands gripping the doorframe. It looked as if most of her body was trying to escape, to run away from it all, and only her fingers were obeying her brain’s commands to stay.
“Cassidy,” he said softly, moving toward her. He wanted to take her into his arms, let her know she didn’t have to do things alone. But he knew she wouldn’t accept that from him. Not yet.
Her shoulders heaved in what might have been a laugh or a sob. “Sorry,” she said. She let go of the doorjamb and brushed at her face, then turned around and shook her head. “I don’t do this around Emily, I swear.”
“Jesus, Cassidy.” His old man could go to hell—he wasn’t going to make this woman’s life any harder than it already was. “I think it would be okay if Emily knew you were stressed. And I think it’s totally understandable that you are. The diner opens at seven in the morning and doesn’t close until eight at night, five days a week, and only a bit shorter on the weekends. If being here for those hours was all you were doing, it would be too much. You’re also raising a teenager, running a house, and worrying about medical bills. Then add in a recent death in the family and the appearance of your teenager’s long-lost father. Of course you’re stressed. Damn, it’s a miracle you’re still breathing.”
She wanted to believe him, he could tell, wanted to let herself relax into his sympathy. But instead she shook her head. “It is what it is. Crying about it won’t help anything.”
“No, crying won’t. But neither will ignoring it. And, Cassidy—” He waited until she turned to look at him. “I’m going to say this as a build up to what I really want to talk about this morning, okay? Crying won’t help, ignoring won’t help…and refusing help won’t help.”
She shook her head instinctively, caught herself, and frowned in chagrin.
He smiled at her. “I want to help,” he said. “Not out of charity, but out of gratitude. You’ve raised my daughter, and you’ve done a great job. If you want, we can sit down and figure out how much child support I should have been paying, based on income and whatever, and I’ll write you a check for that amount.”
Now her headshake seemed firmer. “You shouldn’t pay child support for a kid you didn’t even know you had. I mean, if Penny had told you—” She stopped, looked away, then looked back at him as if determined to continue. “Do you know why she didn’t tell you?”
“No. Do you?”
She shook her head. “She didn’t talk about you, most of the time. The official story was she didn’t know who you were.” A pause as if she wanted to be sure she wasn’t intruding, and then she asked, “How long were you together? Why did it end?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a
month? I doubt she knew she was pregnant when she left, but it wouldn’t have been hard for her to find me once she knew. She just—didn’t want me in her life, I guess. I mean, we didn’t fight, didn’t really break up, even. She’d been planning to go to Spain at the end of August, and when the time came, she went. That’s all.”
“Money wasn’t as tight, when she was around,” Cassidy said thoughtfully. Solving the puzzle of the past seemed to have distracted her from the problems of the present. “And the work was easier, with two of us to do it. I got run a little ragged when she’d take her trips, but they usually only lasted a couple weeks, and she made pretty good money from doing it. Travel writing. She had a following.”
“So she wouldn’t have needed to hit me up for cash, you’re saying. If she didn’t want me around, she didn’t need me around.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m saying. Then when she got sick, we never really thought it would go as far as it did. It was just a virus. She was young and strong, so of course she’d recover. And then she was unconscious, and she just—died. It wasn’t like she had time to put things in order.”
“I’m still in shock about the whole thing,” he admitted. “But when I have time to sit down and work it all through, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be really, really pissed at her.”
“And she’s already gone, so once again she won’t have to deal with the consequences of her actions,” Cassidy said. She sounded amused, mostly, but there was a little bitterness mixed in. Clearly she heard it, because she winced ruefully. “I loved my sister. I miss her very much.”
“But that doesn’t mean she didn’t drive you crazy sometimes.”
“It sure doesn’t.” She shook her head again. “Okay, add something to the list of things that aren’t going to help: sitting around and talking about things we can’t change. I need to call the landlord, I guess.”
He knew he was on thin ice, but he said, “And I’d like to call roofers to look at the house. I want to pay them to fix it, because that’s where my daughter sleeps, and I’d like to be sure she’s dry. Okay? Can I take care of that for you? And will you tell me what happens with the landlord?”
The Billionaire's Forever Family Page 4
