Page 191 of Always Meant for You
“To answer your first question: You’re trending. Folks are tagging your name and posting your photo. I saw one near the Vamosi Farm stand. I pulled up the market map. And here you are.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You used the internet?”
“That and I noticed your hat.” He bites back a smile.
I feel like I’m in a dream. “I like the hat. It suits me.”
He looks it over carefully. “It does. Cal mentioned a man named Christian designed it.”
He and Cal discussed Christian Dior?
“Are you okay, Dad? Does anyone else know you’re here?”
He chuckles, then nods at the tomato in my hand. “That’s a fine piece of produce.”
The absurdity of the situation nearly knocks me sideways. “Dad,” I say, my pulse climbing, “why didn’t you tell me you were the Castle King?”
He nods toward a bench. “Let’s sit.”
We walk over. He gestures for me to sit, then takes the seat beside me. A chime sounds from his chest pocket. He glances down. I watch him, caught off guard. I’ve never seen him check his phone before. I’m not even sure I’ve seen him carry one. It’s like watching someone speak in a language you didn’t know they knew.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask, still stunned from, well, everything.
He pulls it out, reads the screen, and then slips it away. “It’s the internet carrying on. It does that.”
I study the man. It’s him. It’s my father. But it’s not. Maybe I’m losing my mind. “Tell me how you’re the Castle King,” I say, needing to know, needing answers.
“I wanted to be theCasserole King, but it was taken. The internet suggested Castle King. Claudine helped me set up social media accounts when I started taking the computer class for senior citizens. Oh, and she’s my girlfriend.”
“I figured,” I say.
He frowns. “That I was the Castle King?”
“No, the Claudine part. She’s terrific. I had no idea you were the Castle King.” I exhale a sharp breath. “Give me a second to process.”
We sit side by side. I breathe. My father reclines, taking in the scenery.
After a minute of not processing anything because I don’t know how I should feel, I peg him with my gaze. “You knew whatyou were doing when you posted to Bella Mae’s socials,” I say softly. “You knew it was me.”
“I did.”
I scoot toward him, trying to read the man I thought I had figured out. “How did you know? I was careful.”
“That name. Bella Mae.”
“You know it? Did you see my binder?”
“Binder?” he repeats. “No, I never saw any binder. Your mom used to call you that. It was her nickname for you.”
Oh, my God.
My breath catches. “She did?”
He nods. “It was a little play on words. Our first date was at a little Italian place called Bella Italia. It’s not around anymore. And the date was a disaster.”
I watch the man transform, his expression growing wistful.
He chuckles. “I spilled wine on the tablecloth. Dropped a meatball in my lap. But she just laughed the whole night. Said we were making memories.” He sighs. “I loved your mother’s laugh. I knew right then and there that I wanted to marry her.”
