“Hmph.” My father’s response was short. Weighted.
“You should join us,” Harper invited.
I briefly closed my eyes, silently wishing she’d just shut the fuck up.
“There’s plenty of room,” she added, gesturing toward the booth.
My father didn’t even hesitate. “Aw, you’re too kind,” he said smoothly. “Nah, man, I came to pick up dinner and dessert for Hassani’s mother.”
Then… he clapped a heavy hand onto my shoulder.
Gripped it firmly.
Locked eyes with me.
“I’ll be back at your table in a few minutes, though,” he said to Harper before shifting his attention to me. “I’ll be back.”
Now, look… I’m a grown-ass man, right?
Late thirties. A few years from forty.
But no matter how old I get, that look? The one my father just gave me?
That shit still put the fear of God in my chest.
That firm, wordless stare. The one only I would recognize.
Because I’ve been seeing it since I was a toddler getting into mischief in my playroom.
That stare was no joke.
And it spoke volumes. Loudly.
Fuck.
“I can’t believe your dad is here,” Harper mused as I slid back into my seat.
I didn’t respond—not because I couldn’t believe it, but because I could. I just couldn’t believe that out of all the things I should’ve been worried about, it was the prospect of running into my father. Vernon’s was his and my mother’s spot. They’ve been dining here for decades. Ayla and I only started coming after joining them for dinner one night, and we’d been hooked ever since. So, of course he’d be here—of all fucking nights. Shit.
“He looks more like your brother,” she continued, giggling. “Just with brown eyes instead of your hazel-green ones.”
I barely heard her.
Because my father was now standing at the takeout counter.
And when he turned to look at me again?
He was still giving me that look.
“Your father’s very handsome,” Harper added, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “Gives me a little insight into how good you’ll look when you’re older.”
My stomach clenched.
I forced a smile.
Then?
My father was on his way back.