Page 15 of Saved By the Mountain Man

“Hi, Dad.”

“Come in. Come in, Dani. What are—” Dad’s eyes turn to Matt before he turns to cast a questioning look at me.

“I’ll explain everything, Dad.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Welcome home, kiddo.” He steps in front of me and wraps his beefy arms around me, and the tears I’ve been holding back spill over. I hug him tightly and bury my face in his chest, sobbing hard for the second time this week.

Dad rubs my back. “There, there. Why don’t we go inside first, hm? I can make your favorite hot chocolate.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll stay here, Dan,” Matt says.

“No, let’s go inside.”

Matt exchanges a glance with Dad. “You need to talk alone. I’ll be here, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You come inside when we’re done, Matty. I still have those teabags you like,” Dad tells him.

This makes me snort, but I cover it up with a cough.

Matt never liked Dad’s tea. He just pretended he did to avoid hurting his feelings. Matt is a coffee person through and through. No jasmine and lavender teas for him. Then again, what’s a small lie compared to how Dad beams because he finally found someone “with the same taste” as him?

“Sure thing, Jim. I can’t wait.”

Dad leads me inside and through the living room. He pulls the chair from the dining table and kisses the top of my head. “Sit tight, kiddo. Your old man will take care of you.”

Wiping the last of my tears, I watch him move around the kitchen. The room feels both the same and different, maybe because of the new gray backsplash, new appliances, and wait … is that an air fryer? Did Dad learn online shopping or something?

My “favorite hot chocolate” isn’t something Dad makes from scratch. He raised me himself, so he made foods and drinks that took no more than fifteen minutes to prepare. The recipe is nothing more than a locally made chocolate powder mixed with milk, and he just adds three pieces of chocolate squares.

It’s a hundred times better than the fanciest drink I’ve ever had, and when he’s done, I happily inhale the nostalgic smell.

He eases onto the seat across from me and smiles, his hand going to his salt-and-pepper hair to flatten it. “Still taste the same?”

I make a show of gulping loudly and wiping my mouth with my arm before nodding. “The same and the best. I keep telling you. You should open up a hot chocolate spot.”

He waves me off. “I’m content with a pet shop, you know that. I love my guppies and tetras.” Dad leans forward and laughs softly. “Did you know? My hairless guinea pigs got sold last week.”

“No way. Eww, really? Who bought them?”

“I don’t know. Someone passing through town, I think. When I showed you their photos, you said they’d grow old with me.”

“Yeah, I did. They look so … weird, weirder than a chinchilla. Remember when my classmate in third grade brought her sphynx cat?”

Dad bursts out laughing. “You had nightmares for three days!”

“The hairless guinea pig did that to me, too.” Part of me wants to beat around the bush and talk about anything and everything except what I really came here to say, but I remember Matt waiting outside, so I square my shoulders and let out a breath. “Dad, I’m coming back to Sweetheart Falls.”

I brace myself for questions, disappointment, and worries, but the first thing he asks is, “You’re okay? No one hurt you back there?”

“No, Dad. I’m not really okay, but no one hurt me. Well, maybe my asshole manager.”

“Should I take my rusted ax and show him no one hurts my daughter?”

I smile and wipe a lone tear sliding down my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

---