Page 10 of Made for Wilde
Standing there in his worn leather jacket and faded jeans is my father, his familiar smile warming his face as our eyes meet.
“Dad!”
Without hesitation, I rush around the bar and throw myself into his arms.
He catches me in a bear hug that lifts me off my feet, his familiar scent of sawdust and that same aftershave he’s worn since I was a kid wrapping around me like a security blanket.
“There’s my girl,” he says, setting me down but keeping his hands on my shoulders to look at me. “You look good, kiddo.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to stop smiling. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“Wanted to surprise you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thought I’d check out this place you’ve been talking about. See where my daughter spends her nights.”
I laugh and lead him to a stool at the bar.
“You picked a good night. It’s just me running things.”
“How’s school going?” he asks as I slide back behind the bar. “Beauty school treating you okay?”
I hesitate, the memory of that C- flashing through my mind, but I push it away.
“It’s challenging, but I’m learning a lot.”
“Your mom would be proud,” he says softly. “She always said you had her eye for color.”
A familiar ache blooms in my chest at the mention of Mom.
It’s been eight years, but there are still moments when the loss feels fresh, like a wound that never quite heals. Dad has been my rock through it all.
“So, what brings you to Cooper Heights?” I ask, pouring him his usual whiskey neat. “Business?”
He nods, taking the glass.
“I had some meetings with a potential client. Thought I’d stay in town tonight instead of driving back.” He takes a sip, then adds, “I’m actually meeting Koda for drinks here in a few minutes too.”
The glass I’m cleaning nearly slips from my fingers.
“Koda’s coming here?”
“Yep. Should be any minute.” Dad checks his watch. “Thought you’d be happy to see him. It’s been what, eight years?”
Eight years, three months, and twelve days.
Not that I’ve been counting.
“Yeah, something like that,” I manage, turning away to hide my burning face.
Koda Wilde is my dad’s best friend. He’s also the man I used to have the biggest crush on when I was twelve years old.
My hands shake as I set the glass down, the memories flooding back all at once.
I think back toSaturday afternoons watching Koda’s fights on Pay-Per-View, curled up on the couch between Mom and Dad as they cheered him on. I remember the way my heart would race whenever Dad mentioned thatKoda was coming to visit. Iused tospend hours getting ready, picking out my best outfits and practicing conversations in the mirror.
Ugh, I was such a mess back then.
But I couldn’t help it.
Koda was everything a twelve-year-old girl could dream about. He wastall and strong,dangerous in the ring but gentle with me. He’d ruffle my hair and call me “kiddo,” and I’d melt into a puddle of preteen hormones.
