Page 79 of Eye Candy

My dad’s knee replacement had gone well. He was able to move around for short periods on his crutches now, and his physical therapist said he was making great progress. Having to spend so much time with his feet up, not working in the café was a struggle for him, but Mike and I had stood firm. We let him in last week so he could sit and watch and talk smack with his favorite regulars, but he drove everyone on the coffee machine to distraction with his ‘helpful’ hints, and if we turned our backs on him for even a second he’d have a tea towel in his hand.

“Hey, Bucket,” he said, crutching across the imitation wood linoleum. “How was it in here today?”

“Good. Busy. I’m dying to sit down.”

“And dying to hug Hannah, right? She and Dean are staying for dinner to break up their trip. I told them they couldn’t drive another two hours without some of Mike’s mashed potatoes in their bellies. Now Hannah’s asleep on the couch and Mike’s talking Dean’s ear off about darts.”

“I can’t wait to see them.”

My dad eyeballed me. He might have been on pain meds, but he was still sharp as a showgirl’s winged liner. “Did your American friend get hold of you? Lyssa? She called the house and I gave her the café number.”

“Yeah, she did.” I tried to smile, but Dad was never fooled by a Summer Smile.

He balanced on one crutch and pulled out a chair at one of the four-seater tables. “You’ve got a while before Hannah wakes up. Time for a cuppa, I reckon. Have a seat, Bucket.”

I made our tea, and we sipped in companionable silence until my dad broke it.

“Have you seen the web log from the New York man about how much he loves you?”

I froze. “The what?”

“Web log? Mike said— I see from your face he was pulling my leg.”

“It’s just called a blog.”

“A blog. Right. Do you love this blog man?”

My breath caught in my throat.

I did. But I didn’t want my dad to be the first person I told this to.

Instead, I said, “Maybe. Probably.”

“Did he not understand your dancing?”

Even though that’s what Dad called my burlesque, he was fiercely supportive. One time, one of his friends was gross to me about it, and Dad gave him an ear blistering so bad locals still sometimes quoted it to each other.

“Chase was slow to learn the difference between me and my performances,” I said slowly, leaving out the identity fraud part. “And to be fair, I made that difficult for him. But no, burlesque wasn’t the problem.”

“What then?”

“I had to come home, Dad. You were having a major operation! And I had to deal with all this.” I waved my arms at the café, as if the walls were the problem. “This place has been so close to going under! You nearly lost everything!”

“Bucket—”

“I took care of it, Dad.” My hands were shaking too badly to hold my tea, so I put it down. “I’m back now, and I did what I needed to do to be here. With you. You and Mike don’t need to worry. I’m going to keep the café afloat.”

My dad was quiet for a while.

At this time of day, Levitate was still, the only noises were the hum of the freezer and the tinkle of the wooden wind chimes over the back door. It wasn’t really any different from any other rural small-town café. They were a dime a dozen.

Except this one was important to my dad.

And he was very, very important to me.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to take this on your shoulders, Bucket,” my dad said softly.

I sniffed wetly. “How could I not? Mike told me you were up until three going over bills and budgets and marketing plansevery night. You should be thinking about retiring, not learning about ad targeting. And web logs.” He laughed at that. I smiled a watery smile of my own. “I was the one off traveling the world. Being selfish.”

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