Page 76 of Tell Me Again
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was close to seven that night before Trevor was able to make it home. He’d texted both Sam and Grace, but only his daughter had responded to say everything was fine and not to hurry. At the rate things were going, he’d be totally irrelevant in his daughter’s life before her next birthday.
He was in a crappy mood by the time he pulled into the garage of his three-bedroom house, which was tucked against the edge of the forest. Topping the list of reasons was the fact that Sam was ignoring him. Again.
He hadn’t realized Jolene was on Grace’s radar until his daughter made that comment. Yes, Jolene had stopped by the house on occasion to discuss plans, and Grace had been with him at least once when he’d gone to the site for a meeting. But he’d made it clear to Jolene that their relationship needed to stay professional. Now he understood how it might look to his teenage daughter, especially when the project forced him to take time away from her.
He’d done his best to make sure work didn’t interfere with his personal life. That had been easier before they’d moved to Colorado and he’d started his own company. He’d hoped Grace was old enough to understand the long hours and extra work that came from owning a business, but what his daughter noticed most were the moments he wasn’t there for her.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he took a few deep breaths before climbing out of the truck. He’d been working his ass off since he was nineteen years old, juggling a career he hadn’t planned on with fatherhood—a responsibility he continued to fear he would screw up beyond redemption.
And tonight he had to face Sam. Based on the texting silent treatment, he figured he was in the doghouse for Grace’s remarks about Jolene. They hadn’t talked about what had happened in Houston, and he knew she had doubts about a future between them. But his feelings were hurtling forward at pace that made reining them in almost laughable.
It would probably be better for both of them if they slowed things down. Grace was his world. Anything that jeopardized her happiness had to end, even if it hurt. Sometimes he wanted to crumble under the weight of the expectations he constantly tried to exceed. Sam hadn’t wanted anything from him. That night in Texas with her had made him feel a decade lighter. It made him want to give her so much more.
But if things went south, Grace would be the one to suffer. Opening the door to the house’s mudroom, he braced himself for Sam’s anger. Maybe it was best for both of them.
He was greeted by the sound of music blasting from the kitchen and the scent of something amazing filling the air. He dropped his keys and phone on the counter and moved toward the kitchen. Before he’d taken two steps, Frank bounded toward him for a quick crotch sniff. Prepared for the dog’s favorite mode of greeting, Trevor blocked him with a knee and Frank trotted back to the kitchen.
Trevor followed and something shifted in his chest, like a puzzle piece finally finding the space it fit, as he took in the scene before him. It was exactly what he pictured in his mind when he thought of the wordhome, but until now—until Sam—it hadn’t seemed possible.
Two pots simmered on the stove. A big bowl of fresh green salad sat in the center of the farmhouse table, which had been set for three with cloth napkins folded to the side of each plate. Where did she get cloth napkins?
Sam and Grace were in the open area between the table and the center island, dancing and laughing. His daughter twirled, blond hair flying around her head. Sam tried to mimic the move but stumbled a few steps, landing against the granite counter just as Grace glanced up and saw him.
“Come on, Dad,” she called, gesturing him over. “Let’s see your moves.”
Sam threw back her head and laughed—unfettered, loud, and a little over-the-top. The change in attitude looked good on her, and he grinned in response.
“Your dad has no dance moves,” she said to Grace, and continued to bounce around to the beat of the pop song.
“I have plenty of moves,” he said, and joined them, swinging his hips and stomping his feet in an exaggerated imitation of John Travolta inSaturday Night Fever.
Grace gave a gleeful shout then buried her face in her hands. “You’re awful, Dad,” she said between her fingers.
“The worst,” Sam agreed.
He ignored them both and let the music and the sweet sound of his daughter’s laughter help him forget all the hard stuff for a few moments. He and Grace had had dance parties when she was younger. The memory of spinning her in his arms made watching her happiness now even more precious.
He held out a hand to Sam, and when she placed her fingers in his, he spun her under his arm. The ends of her hair tickled his chin as the scent of citrus washed over him.
“Me next,” Grace shouted, and with a quick squeeze of his fingertips, Sam released him. He took his daughter’s hand. She was beautiful and looked so much like Sam, who watched them with a knowing smile on her face.
Why had Samantha Carlton ever seemed like the enemy? She connected him to his daughter in a way he could have never imagined before she’d reentered his life. Forget the thought of slowing down anything. Right now it felt like Sam was the one thing he and Grace had in common.
After another minute, the song ended and Sam picked up her phone from the counter and swiped a finger across the screen. “What’s your favorite song?” she asked Trevor.
“Don’t have one,” he answered as Grace took a step away from him.
“Come on,” she urged. “Everyone has a favorite song.”
“I don’t listen to music.”
Grace grabbed her cell phone and said absently, “Dad doesn’t have favorites or hobbies or anything. He works and takes care of me.”
He stared at his daughter, her words slamming against him. She was busy texting, so he knew there was nothing malicious in her comment. But the truth hurt nonetheless. He ran his business and parented his daughter. There was nothing else to him. How pathetic was that?
Sam gave him a gentle smile, placed her phone back on the counter, and stepped toward the stove. “The pasta’s almost ready,” she said. “I assume you don’t mind me making dinner?” She leveled a look at him. “Since all you have is boxed mac-n-cheese and frozen pizza.”
