by Tracy Brogan
Libby shook her head and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. She doesn’t seem like the very flirty type.”
“Does she make eye contact?”
“I assume so.”
“Then she’s flirty enough.”
Libby laughed, but he didn’t. Something deep inside pulled at him to tell her the truth. All of it. “I met Rachel’s mother when she was just seventeen.” He paused for a breath. “And she was pregnant pretty soon after that.”
Libby felt her smile freeze. “You did? She was?” Ginny must not have known about that.
Tom’s nod was slow as he pushed the basket to the side. “I worked at the grocery store where her family shopped. Connie would always come in and get a Coke and then go sit in the parking lot. Somehow I always managed to find myself out there at the same time so we could talk.”
He picked up a French fry, looked at it for a minute, and then tossed it back into the basket. “I was eighteen. I had a car, so she used to sneak out the basement window at night. We fell hard, you know? We were reckless. Needless to say, her parents didn’t like me much then. And they don’t like me now. The way they see it, I’ve stolen their daughter from them twice. And now I’m trying to take their granddaughter.”
Libby felt a French fry lodge in her esophagus. She had wanted to hear this, to know about Rachel and why they lived apart. But she hadn’t given much thought to what went on before that accident, during the time he’d spent with a wife he loved and a family he adored. Thinking of it now was like tripping over something unexpected, a shove from some unanticipated force knocking her to the ground.
She’d known he’d been married, of course. It hadn’t bothered her that much when Ginny mentioned it. But it bothered her now, when he talked about it. We fell hard, you know? The idea made her feel a little jealous.
A crease formed between Tom’s eyebrows while he paused. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Libby. Falling for Connie wasn’t one of them, but getting her pregnant in high school was. Crashing that car was another. And being a shitty father, well, that’s the one thing I hope I can still fix.”
His life was complicated. Nothing in hers came anywhere close. She’d lost her job because of a stupid mistake, but that didn’t compare. Even losing Seth couldn’t help her comprehend what he’d been through. “What does Rachel say about all this?”
His smile was meager as he slouched down in his seat. “Nothing, except that she wants to stay with her grandparents. That’s why we need the collages, I guess. I can’t tell where her opinion ends and her grandparents’ takes over. Rachel’s aunt Kristy has been running interference for me for months. It was her idea that we see this counselor.”
“Do you think it’s helping?”
He looked around the sandwich shop for a minute, and Libby’s heart thumped a little erratically, hoping he’d say yes. He tipped his head, a small nod.
“I suppose so. It gives us a reason to be together. Otherwise she finds excuses to avoid me. Like not telling me about the talent show.”
“I think you should go anyway.”
Tom chuckled in unamused amusement. “I’m sure her grandparents would love having me show up unannounced.”
A sense of injustice welled up inside her. “But they’re not being fair to you. You have every right to see your daughter, even if she didn’t invite you.”
Her cheeks felt hot with indignation on his behalf, but he was calm over on his side of the table. “You think so, huh?”
Libby nodded. “I’ll be there. I’ll be backstage helping my sister, but you can sit with my parents.”
Now Tom chuckled. “Oh, that would be easy to explain.”
“What’s to explain? You work with my dad every single day. My mom’s a teacher at the school. And besides, isn’t Rachel performing enough of a reason? I’m no counselor, but I’d bet you ten thousand dollars she secretly wants you there.”
He looked at her now, his eyes dark but his tone light. “You don’t have ten thousand dollars.”
“Okay, fine. I bet you six dollars she secretly wants you there.”
Tom laughed, and Libby felt her heart lighten by an ounce, or maybe two. He was sexy when he laughed. He should do it more often. He was a good man. A little surly, sure, but he had some good reasons. She wanted to help him. It was the neighborly thing to do, after all. It didn’t have anything to do with his oxlike shoulders or the way her ankle sizzled every time his foot bumped against hers under the table.
“Six dollars, huh?” he said, picking up his chili dog again.
“Worth every penny you’ll be losing.”
He took a bite. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow night at seven. I’ll tell my parents to save you a seat.”
“I’m not sure I’m going.”
“You have to go. For Rachel.” And for him, too.
“I might sit in the back.”
“No, you should sit up front. They’ll save you a seat. And you might bring Rachel some flowers. Girls love that.”
“You don’t think it would embarrass her?”
“Maybe. But it proves you were thinking of her and went to the trouble of buying them.”
Tom’s smile broadened. “You seem pretty sure about all this.”
“I’m an event planner. I am all about the details. Besides, all women love to get flowers. Even fifteen-year-olds, and even from their dad.”
Tom moved his foot under the table, bumping hers, because his legs were long. They were probably strong, too. Just like his arms. Libby felt the tingle from her ankle zip all the way north.
She couldn’t stop her thoughts. And she didn’t try. Sex with Tom Murphy would be delicious. All that work he did with his hands? That could only be to a girl’s advantage, right? I always get the entire job done, Miss Hamilton.
Yes, it would be good. Very good. But he was not a rational choice. Not for a fling and certainly not for a boyfriend. Tom Murphy was an emotional flight risk with more baggage than an airport lost-and-found, and a teenaged daughter to boot. She didn’t need such a complicated man. She needed a simple white-collar businessman.
Still, sex with Tom would probably be heaven.
CHAPTER ten
The Monroe High School auditorium was full when Tom arrived. Probably because he’d sat in his truck in the parking lot for the better part of twenty minutes before deciding if he would actually go inside. But he was in there now, looking for a seat in the back in the darkest corner.
“Tom,” Peter Hamilton called out, waving at him from the center aisle.
Tom gripped the carnations in his hand and heard the cellophane wrapper crinkle. What the hell was he doing here? He should leave. Rachel didn’t want him there, or she’d have invited him. He scanned the crowd, looking for her grandparents, but didn’t spot them in the crowd. They would not be glad to see him either.
But Peter Hamilton certainly was. Libby must have told him the whole story. And her mother, too, whom he’d never even met. This was exactly why he liked to keep his business just that. His business.
Tom raised his arm just long enough so Peter might know he’d been spotted, then worked his way in that direction. Peter held out his hand, and Tom shook it.
“Good to see you, Tom. Libby told us you’d be coming. Please allow me to introduce you to my lovely bride, Beverly.”
Beverly Hamilton’s smile was warm, nearly as sunny as Libby’s, and Tom relaxed some.
“Hello, Tom,” she said, standing up in her seat. “Peter has told me so much about you. I’m sorry I haven’t been down to the… ice-cream parlor to meet you myself.”
Tom smiled back. He’d heard all about this from Libby, about how her mother refused to set foot in the place because Peter hadn’t told her he was buying it until the deal was done. He could see her point.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Oh, call me Bev. Are those flowers for your daughter? Aren’
t you sweet. If you give them to that usher over there, she’ll take them to Rachel before the show.”
Before the show? If he did that, Rachel would know he was there. He wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. But then again, wasn’t that the whole point? To prove to her his dedication? Still, maybe she’d enjoy herself more not knowing until the end that he’d come at all.
“Go on,” Beverly urged. “The show is about to start.”
Beverly nudged him toward the usher. He handed off the flowers and quickly made his way back to his seat next to Peter and Beverly. The lights dimmed. He felt a thrill and a tremor and a sense that he was right where he should be and yet somehow in the wrong place. He didn’t know where he fit in when it came to Rachel. Parenting was supposed to be hard, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
The first performer came and went, a painfully dull magic act where the only highlight was a pesky rabbit that did not follow instructions. After that came several mediocre dance routines, and a kid who played bagpipes. Tom’s mind drifted. He thought about the ice-cream parlor and how much wood he should order for the counter. He thought about when he might have time to change the oil in his truck. And he thought about Libby, and how she’d looked last night when he’d said he could make the collage on his own. She’d looked disappointed, but for the life of him, he could not imagine why.
Three girls with hula hoops came onto the stage next and did an awkward routine. Tom wished he could leave. This wasn’t entertainment. This was purgatory.
But then he saw Rachel. It was her turn. She walked out onto the stage wearing an elegant black dress and her hair twisted up in a fancy style, and Tom knew again that he was right where he should be.
Connie had taught her to play the piano, and the singing came naturally. But he hadn’t heard her perform in over a year. As she started to play and her voice filled the auditorium, the emotion of missing her was suddenly as raw as it had been the day she’d climbed into her grandparents’ car to leave him.
Listening to her now was a terrible, wonderful thing. His chest burned. Breathing took effort.
He watched Rachel’s expression change as the music tore down her usual reserve. She lit up as she sang. It was a syrupy ballad but full of sweet emotion. She seemed happy and relaxed up on that stage, in front of all those eyes. He could see it in her smile and her posture and the fluid way her hands moved over the keys. A sense of paternal pride washed over him, and even though he could claim little ownership of it, he gave himself this moment to enjoy. And he knew then that he’d do anything to keep her looking that happy all the time.
After all the performances were over, and the parents milled around waiting for their little prodigies to emerge, Tom spotted Connie’s sister, Kristy. Surprise lit her features when she met his eyes, but she smiled and moved his way.
She leaned close and hugged him. “Tom, it’s good to see you. Rachel didn’t mention you were coming.”
“She didn’t know. She didn’t invite me.” He sounded more terse than he’d meant to.
But Kristy nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight smile. “I told her she should tell you, for what that’s worth.”
“Thank you. Kristy, this is Beverly and Peter Hamilton. I’m working on a project for Mr. Hamilton right now. An ice-cream parlor.”
They exchanged greetings and chatted, but all the while, Tom watched the crowd for two familiar faces. Rachel, whom he’d come to see. And Libby, whom, if he was being completely honest, he’d also come to see.
Moments stretched, but finally, there they were, Libby and Rachel walking down the stage steps together. Libby said something and his daughter laughed, and suddenly his legs felt like overcooked noodles. How long had it been since he’d seen Rachel laugh?
He’d known Libby was helping with the talent show, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to him until just that moment she’d been getting to know his daughter. The idea pleased him and shook him at the same time, and he felt quite certain this was something that might come up with him and Dr. Brandt.
Libby raised her head and caught his eye, her smile brightening. She pointed and said something else to Rachel. His daughter’s expression dimmed, but she sought him out and offered a hesitant wave when she spotted him. In her hand was the tiny cluster of flowers, making his heart take an extra thump. She wasn’t annoyed. She might not be thrilled he was there, but at least she wasn’t pissed. That was progress.
“There’s my rock star!” Kristy exclaimed as soon as Rachel was within reach. She pulled her in for a tight hug.
“God, Aunt Kristy, I can’t breathe.” Rachel giggled. Her cheeks were bright pink, and a curl from her fancy hairdo was starting to unwind. She looked flushed and happy as she turned to Tom. She held out the flowers awkwardly. “Hey. Thanks for coming. And thanks for these. That was nice.”
He wanted to hug her then, too, with all of the enthusiasm Kristy had shown, but he held back, not wanting to embarrass her. “Hey yourself. You did a great job.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks went a deeper pink. She looked around at the cluster of them. “Um, hi, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Hello, Rachel. That really was a lovely song you played. I enjoyed it so much.”
Peter leaned forward. “A fabulous job, young lady. You should be very proud of yourself.”
“Thanks,” she said again, and twisted the flower stems in her hands.
Libby leaned closer to Rachel. “That’s my dad,” she murmured. They exchanged a smirk that Tom had every intention of asking Libby about later.
Rachel turned back to Kristy. “Where are Grandma and Grandpa?”
Some of Tom’s elation dimmed, but he tried not to take her question personally. Of course she’d be expecting them.
“They’re over there,” Kristy answered. “We’ll catch them in a minute. Your dad was just telling me he’s working on an ice-cream parlor.”
Rachel’s glance darted his way but just as quickly moved beyond him. “Oh, there’s Jamie and Sarah. I need to catch them. Some of us are going out for pizza. Thanks for coming, everybody.”
And just like that, she was gone.
“Rachel,” Kristy called after her, but Rachel’s slender form was folded into the crowd. “Well, I guess she’s done with us.”
Tom hadn’t expected a marching band or confetti or anything just because he’d shown up to watch her in a talent show that she’d never invited him to, but this felt a little anticlimactic. He’d hoped they would have a chance to talk for a few minutes. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes.
Still, he smiled toward his feet when Libby moved closer and murmured in his ear, “You owe me six bucks.”
“I am incredibly happy that’s over,” said Ginny as she took a sip of her ice water. “Remind me the next time I’m eight and a half months pregnant to just say no to the talent show.”
Ben rubbed her back as they sat across the table from Libby and Tom at the darkly paneled Monroe Street Pub. The place was crowded with Saturday night regulars, and the booth they had squeezed into was tiny.
Libby didn’t mind. It gave her a good excuse to press close against Tom Murphy. He was wearing a hint of cologne tonight. It smelled good, kind of spicy sweet, but she almost missed the eau de sawdust-and-varnish that usually surrounded him. And his pinstriped shirt was a surprise. She’d pictured him as a purely plaid and mostly flannel kind of guy. But she liked the stripes. She liked him, too, and was very glad when he’d agreed to come have a drink with them after the talent show.
“So, Tom, what’s it like working with the professor?” Ben asked, spinning his cocktail napkin with his index finger.
“It’s all right. A little more chatter than I’m used to.” He offered Libby a sideways glance.
“He means me,” she said. “Apparently I talk too much.”
Ben smiled. “This is the first time someone has told you that? Ah, good. Drinks.” He reached out and took his from the waitress before she cou
ld set it down.
“Relax, Ben. She’s not going to take it back,” Ginny chided. But he gulped half of it down anyway, before the waitress had even left the table.
“Why so thirsty, Ben?” Libby asked. He wasn’t typically much of a drinker.
He shook his head. “Absolutely craptastic day at the office. My boss is an idiot. But you know all about that, don’t you, Libby? Maybe I should send an email and get fired.”
Embarrassment slapped at Libby, even though she knew he was just teasing. Ginny shushed him, but the damage was done.
“How do you get fired from an email?” Tom asked Ben.
Libby took a big breath and raised her hand. “That was me. I got fired because of an email. I meant to send it to one friend at work, but I accidentally sent it to about thirty-five hundred employees. I think it might have gone out to all of our clients, too.”
Tom took a sip of his drink. “That seems like an honest mistake. Why did they fire you for that?”
Ben started to chuckle, and Ginny shushed him again, but her own smile was evident.
Libby took another breath, like the one right before a bandage gets ripped off. “Probably because in the email I said the only thing more inflated than my boss’s ego was her breast implants. I think I may have also mentioned she had a nose like a narwhal.”
Tom burst out laughing, and so did Ginny and Ben. Libby smiled, and for the first time since getting fired, she realized the absurdity of the situation. She shouldn’t have written that email, and she sure shouldn’t have sent it, but all things considered, it was actually kind of funny.
“A narwhal?” Tom finally asked. “You mean like the dolphin?”
“It’s a whale, actually. Ask my dad. He can tell you all about how early European explorers used to find their tusks and assume they were unicorn horns.”
Tom laughed again. “Oh, well, in that case, it sounds much less insulting.”
Libby nodded and took a drink. “Go ahead and laugh. You should see this woman’s nose. Anyway, Ben, I do not recommend it. I am having a terrible time finding a new job. But at least I have the ice-cream parlor.”
