Page 16 of Her Father's Best Friend

"My dad used to bring me here when I was little," she says, returning to help me unpack the basket. "We'd go fishing off those rocks." She points to a small outcropping jutting into the water.

The mention of Bill sends a pang through my chest. "Good memories?"

She nods, settling beside me on the blanket. "The best. He taught me to swim right over there."

I hand her a glass of wine, watching as she takes a sip, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation. "He's a good father."

"The best," she agrees, setting down her glass. Her eyes find mine, concern flickering in their green depths. "You're thinking about telling him, aren't you? That's what today is about."

Perceptive, my Delilah. I nod slowly. "I can't keep lying to him. And I can't keep pretending that what I feel for you is something that's going to fade or that I can walk away from."

She shifts closer, her bare knee pressing against my thigh. "What do you feel for me, Mitch?"

The directness of the question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. Delilah has never been one to dance around what she wants to know.

"Everything," I say honestly. "Things I've never felt before. Things I didn't think I was capable of feeling."

She waits, patient but expectant. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to continue.

"I think about you all the time. When you're not with me, I'm just counting minutes until you are. The sound of your laugh makes my whole day better. The way you curl against me at night makes me forget every shitty thing that's ever happened to me." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm in love with you, Delilah. Probably have been since the moment you showed up in those cutoff shorts and made me lose my goddamn mind."

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "Say it again."

"I love you." The words come easier this time, as if my mouth was always meant to form them for her. "I love you, and I'm done hiding it."

She launches herself at me, wine forgotten as she wraps her arms around my neck. I catch her easily, steadying us both as she presses frantic kisses to my face—my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, and finally my mouth.

"I love you too," she breathes against my lips. "So much, Mitch. So much it terrifies me sometimes."

I hold her tighter, one hand tangling in her hair as I deepen the kiss. She tastes like wine and sunshine and possibilities I never thought I'd have.

When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen. I keep her in my lap, unwilling to let her go just yet.

"What do you think he'll do?" she asks, her fingers tracing the collar of my shirt.

I don't pretend to misunderstand. "Probably try to kill me," I say, only half-joking. "He trusted me with you, Delilah. In his mind, I've betrayed that trust in the worst way."

"You haven't," she insists. "You've been good to me. You've taken care of me."

"By sleeping with his daughter behind his back," I point out dryly. "Not exactly the kind of care he had in mind."

She sighs, resting her forehead against mine. "I'm twenty-two. I get to choose who I love."

"And you've chosen a thirty-five-year-old builder with rough hands and a checkered past who your father will probably never approve of." I stroke her cheek, marveling again at how soft her skin is. "Why, Delilah? Why me?"

She pulls back enough to look me in the eyes, her expression suddenly serious. "Because you see me. Really see me. Not as Bill's daughter or as some kid you've known forever, but as me. Because you make me feel safe and wild at the same time. Because when you hold me, I feel like I've finally found where I belong."

The simple honesty of her words hits me like a physical blow. I've spent so long thinking of all the reasons we shouldn't be together that I've almost missed the most important reason we should: we make each other better. Happier. More complete.

"I need to tell him," I say quietly. "Soon. Before he finds out some other way."

She nods, her expression resolute. "We'll tell him together."

"No." I shake my head firmly. "This needs to be man to man. I owe him that much."

"I'm not letting you face him alone," she argues, her stubbornness flaring. "This is about both of us."

"And I'll make that clear," I promise. "But the initial conversation needs to come from me. He needs to hear it from his friend, not his daughter."

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