Friends to Lovers (8 page)

Decades ago, Stuart Lovell began the weekly tradition of a night of beer and pizza at Gulliver’s with his buddies. Once his wife died, it morphed into a safe haven. Someplace he could go to escape the drama of four teenagers. As his children left the nest, Gulliver’s became a haven from his empty, lonely house. Daphne knew he came here often. The staff treated him as a regular. The owner, Marge, treated him like a potential third husband. All in all, Gulliver’s was a good stand-in for when his children weren’t around. Which was most of the time. Daphne tried to meet him for dinner a couple of times a month.

“There’s my favorite daughter.”

“Bar’s pretty low, Dad, seeing as how I’m your only child that wears a bra.” She kissed his cheek and took a seat.

“Don’t sass me. After spending a week with your brother and his brood, I’ve earned a healthy share of peace and quiet.”

“Oh.” Maybe she should go. Save the soul-baring for another night. Or maybe order a couple of boilermakers to loosen him up?

“I missed you. Did you have a good New Year’s Eve?”

Whoa. Dad had no way of knowing he’d just picked the scab off her still-raw heart. But she wasn’t ready to spill it all yet. Maybe she was the one who needed liquid courage. Daphne knew she should’ve tried that last pink cocktail Mira had set out. “I was working, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean a handsome groomsman didn’t charm you out of a kiss or two at midnight.” A bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrow dipped in the middle as he winked at her. “No man in his right mind could resist those bluebells you’ve got for eyes.”

They might not be at all objective, but her father’s compliments always felt good. Warm and comforting, like a towel straight from the dryer. “Thanks, Dad.”

“What brings you out in the middle of a snowstorm? I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

As a Chicago native, it was easy for Daphne to ignore anything less than a full-blown blizzard. “It’s just a few flurries. And I wanted to talk to you. I made Mom’s cinnamon rolls yesterday. Everybody came over to watch the Rose Parade. I guess it made me want to reminisce.”

His big, meaty paw, the one that could still throw a tight spiral when they played flag football on Thanksgiving, came to rest on top of her arm. “Let me ask you an important question.”

“Okay.” Geez, what could it be? They’d just seen each other a week ago. Why’d he look so serious?

“Did you save a few of those rolls for your dear old dad?”

“Of course.” Daphne dug into her bag for the foil packet she’d prepared before leaving home.

He lurched out of his seat to plant a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Then you really are my favorite child.”

“They’re a day old now, so they might need a little extra butter.” The waitress dropped off a foam-topped, frosty mug. Eagle-eyed Marge must’ve seen Daphne come in. She lifted the beer in a salute of thanks toward the bar. “Is Marge taking good care of you?”

“She always does. But don’t think you can change topics on me. You’ve got something on your mind. And it’s not a certain restaurant owner who brings your dad lasagna when he’s sick.”

Interesting. Dad had turned a polite but blind eye to Marge’s blatant advances for years. As far as Daphne knew, he hadn’t seriously dated anyone since her mother died. There’d been several four-day weekends away. He usually came home from those rumpled and smelling of perfume. Never once, though, had he brought a woman home to dinner with his kids. She wondered what finally tipped the scales. Daphne also vowed to order this magical lasagna next time around.

“Does she really?”

He pinked up to the color of the baby carnations she used on pomander balls for flower girls. “Promise me you won’t mention it to your brothers.”

She pantomimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. Not ratting him out wasn’t a big deal. Not when she could still razz him about it. And maybe invite Marge out to drinks and pump her for details soon, too. “So here’s the thing, Dad.” Daphne placed her palms flat on the table. “I kissed a boy.”

“Not for the first time. I know that for certain.” He returned to his plate of cannoli as though they were still discussing the weather.

“Do you?”

“God help me, I’ll never forget it. You kissed Rory St. Cloud on the couch when you were fourteen. You two were supposed to be watching the Cubs on TV. I’d gone down to the basement to start a load of laundry. Never occurred to me you were old enough yet to be having shenanigans with a boy during a ball game.”

Good thing she was sitting down, or Daphne would’ve hit the floor. Guess Dad still had a few surprises tucked up his sleeve. “I didn’t realize you knew about that. How come you didn’t barge in and break us up?”

“Fathers—especially single fathers—know how important it is to maintain boundaries. If you recall, your brothers ended up watching the rest of that game with you. Let’s just say it wasn’t entirely their idea.”

Stunned yet again, she sat for a minute. Only the clink of glassware and the comfortable hum of satisfied customers broke the silence. Finally she took a pull of her beer. “Sneaky. Brilliant, but sneaky.”

“Grasping at straws is a better description. I was not ready to deal with my daughter turning boy-crazy.” He ground the heels of his hands over his eyes, as though trying to rub out the memory. “Caveman instincts kicked in as soon as I saw that little slug mashing his face into yours.”

“What sort of instinct? Because I think I’d remember you dragging me by my ponytail up to my room and throwing away the key.”

“I wanted to let your brothers beat up any guy who looked at you twice. About the only thing I knew for certain, though, was that I’d have to ignore my instincts. I drove out to the cemetery that afternoon and railed at your mother. Not one of my finer moments. Sat on her grave and asked her how I was supposed to raise a daughter all by myself.”

Daphne shrugged, with a cocky grin. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Guess you didn’t screw it up too badly.” It shook her, though. That her dad had struggled to finish raising five kids by himself was obvious. What she’d never taken into account, though, was that handling a female in the midst of very testosterone-scented territory must’ve been a whole different kind of torture.

“What I’m guessing is that I’m not finished yet. Otherwise why would you hike out here to tell me you kissed someone?” His blue eyes narrowed. “What’s really eating at my girl?”

“I think I should’ve kept my lips to myself. Now everything’s messy and complicated. I don’t see how to go back to the way things were.”

“Why bother? Don’t waste your time pining for the past. The only way to deal with whatever life throws at you is to move forward.”

Her father was supposed to be a master plumber, not a philosopher. “Did you steal that from the back of a self-help book?”

“I’m serious. Maybe it was time for things to change.”

“No. Gib and I were fine.”

“Gibson, eh? He’s got quite the roving eye for the ladies. Why don’t you want it turning on you for once?”

“He’s the one with the problem. He’s the one who’s not interested. Who never bothered to notice that I was right under his nose the whole time.”

“Ah, so you threw a Hail Mary. Took your one shot at scoring.”

“Dad!”

“Did he not, uh, catch the ball? If so, the man’s blind as a bat and dumb as a box of hammers. You’re everything a man could want, sweetheart.”

“He wanted to make a first down—geez, can we stop the sports metaphors? Gib didn’t know it was me.” She squirmed. Her regrettable cannonball into spontaneity didn’t hold up well under scrutiny. Best to gloss over the details. “Long story. But then, tonight,
he
kissed
me.
”

“Did he now? Then why aren’t you spending this snowy night cuddled up with him, instead of keeping me company?”

God. Talking to her father about boys was just as uncomfortable now as when he first attempted it after her mom died. And yet no matter how Daphne protested, he continued to insist on trying to be both parents to her, no matter what the subject. Although always awkward as hell, she did have to admit he was really good at it. “Gib left. Once he realized that I was the one who kissed him on New Year’s Eve, he just got up and left.”

“Unusual reaction.” The words slipped out fast, and her father looked like he regretted them instantly.

This was why she’d come here tonight. To beg Dad for insight. Unfortunately, doing so opened up a cache of insecurities bigger than Soldier Field. “Mom was supposed to teach me how to be a woman. She had it all mapped out. On my thirteenth birthday she’d let me read a racy romance novel. On my fourteenth birthday she’d teach me all about makeup. And on my fifteenth birthday, she’d teach me how to flirt.”

“I wish you’d told me there was a road map for all these milestones,” he said, pushing away his empty plate.

“It was a mother-daughter secret. Our special plan. Except she never got to do any of those things. Those were the big ones, but I bet there were a hundred tiny things she never got to teach me, too.”

Daphne plunked her elbows on the table, sighed and sank her chin on top of her hands. She’d always been able to tell her dad anything. But this was laying out on a silver platter her biggest fear. Trotting out her emotional Achilles’ heel. Daphne hadn’t felt this exposed since her last trip to the gynecologist.

“What if I missed something? Some intrinsic life lesson? Something major, that would make all the difference in dealing with the opposite sex? What if that’s why Gib is so horrified at the thought of kissing me that he’d leave without a word?”

Her father scooted his chair closer. Then he put his arm around her shoulder. The heavy wool of his fisherman’s sweater scratched her neck. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re lacking in any way. You’re an amazing woman. The proof is in your circle of good friends, the two businesses you co-own, and that you’re the apple of your father’s eye.” A pinch on the cheek punctuated his listing of her attributes.

“I’m telling you, there’s got to be something I’m missing. Gibson Moore would flirt with a tree frog if it was female. Yet he can’t stand the thought of doing it with me, one of his closest friends. What was the big secret to being a woman that Mom never told me?”

“If I could help you, I would. I’m afraid I’m not part of that club. But I think if you were putting your lipstick on wrong, Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to step up and tell you.”

Sitting here in the familiar antique-filled chaos of Gulliver’s in her dad’s embrace, Daphne felt herself slipping back through time. He hadn’t always had the answers when she sought his advice, but he’d always had a warm hug, and the patience to listen. Of course, now Daphne was older. Savvy enough to realize that no matter how good the hug felt, it didn’t sweep away any of her problems with Gib. Just getting it all off her chest didn’t actually solve anything.

Marge bustled over, hair teased as impossibly high as it was impossibly scarlet. “You two doing good? Daphne, do you want some dinner to wash down that beer?”

“No, thanks. I ate already.” Sort of. Once Gib left, she’d been too churned up to eat another bite. Before going to bed, she’d have to try at least one bite of everything. Then write up her thoughts on the menu for Mira. What the heck would she say?
Surprise—aphrodisiacs apparently really do work?
Maybe the whole picnic should come with a label.
Warning—these products are more effective than you may believe.

“You look down in the dumps. Did you lose a chunk of money betting on all the bowl games over the holiday?”

“Marge, I don’t bet on sports.” Daphne shook her hands in the air, as if wafting away the very idea of it. “Watching’s enough excitement for me.”

“Really? Your dad sure lost a bundle. He sulked all the way through his dinner about it, until you showed up.” She ruffled his salt-and-pepper hair. “I thought you two were peas in a pod.”

After all these years, how did her father still have any secrets stashed up his sleeve? Placing sports bets
and
romancing Marge? Daphne couldn’t wait to get home and email all her brothers with the latest. “Dad, you gambled? Do you have a bookie that you meet in a dark alley? It sounds dangerous. I don’t want you getting kneecapped.”

“Thanks for winding her up, Marge.” He scowled and batted her hand away. “Nobody’s coming after me with a crowbar. I never bet more than I know I won’t mind losing. Well, I mind, but you know what I mean.”

This coming from the man who never let her spend a cent of birthday money from the grandparents. He insisted it all go straight into Daphne’s college account. “I had no idea you were such a risk taker.”

“Sounds like you just took a pretty big gamble of your own.”

Good point. And look where it had gotten her so far—confused, upset and alone. It’d be a cold day in the Congo before she took a risk like that again. “Well, I do feel like Gib sort of kneecapped me when he walked out tonight.”

“Don’t be so sure. I don’t think either one of you is ready to call it yet. You changed the rules of the game. Give him a chance to familiarize himself with the new playbook.”

Marge toed out a chair and sat down. “For goodness sake, Stu, are you coaching the Super Bowl or your daughter? Stop beating around the bush. You’ll both be uncomfortable for less time if you just spit out whatever you’re trying to say.”

The tips of his ears turned red. Just like when he’d wordlessly dropped her off at the gynecologist for the first time. “A kiss can change everything. If you let it. If you want it to. Do you?”

Good question. But the good questions were rarely the easy ones. To answer something this tough, Daphne needed much, much more sugar to boost her brain cells. Like an entire cheesecake’s worth, covered in chocolate and caramel sauce. “I don’t know.”

“Gib probably doesn’t either. Why not sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning?” Finally. Her dad’s go-to solution for everything: a good night’s sleep. With the same frequency other parents pulled aspirin and antibiotics from their arsenal of cures, her dad wielded the mighty power of shut-eye. He claimed it could mend friendships, heal wounds and guarantee good test scores. All Daphne thought it did was prevent her eyes from looking like she’d gone ten rounds in a mixed martial arts cage match.