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“It’s going really well. I’m happy with it.”
I love making covers, and I take on just enough that when I add it to my hours at the bookstore, I’m making a living wage. Even better than average, if I’m being honest.
“Sometimes I regret how I failed you.”
Dad looks…apologetic? Sincere? It’s not a look I see on him often. Maybe he actually took Grandpa’s comments to heart.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“I didn’t do a good enough job of teaching you to be ambitious and plan for the future. And now look.” He tosses a hand my way. “You’re stringing together part-time jobs making art nobody’s going to see, and thinking you’ve made it to the top working retail.”
I freeze, letting all that wash past me like water sliding off a downy duck. He really had me going there for a minute. A thread of anger with myself stitches through me for ever thinking he might apologize for being a disinterested father. For blowing up our family. For never caring how his affection for his four children is grossly imbalanced.
“I wish I’d taught you better. I want to be proud of you, Georgia.”
It’s like he’s pleading with me to do something worthy of him. I’m halfway formulating a response I’ll most likely regret when I spot Miles in the entryway. From the stormy look on his face, he heard most of that fun conversation.
He crosses the room and holds a hand out to me. “Georgia, I think it’s time for us to leave.”
I let him pull me up. “See you later, Dad.”
“Thanks for coming to celebrate Willa,” Dad says. “You, too, Miles. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Yeah, thank you. I had a nice time.” Miles takes a few longstrides across the living room, his hand almost too tight around mine, but he stops. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then turns back to my father. “Actually, that’s a lie. I didn’t have a nice time.”
Dad looks up at him like he can’t conceive of such a thing. They didn’t shell out a ton of money for people tonothave a nice time.
“The party was great, the cakes amazing if a few too many, but I’m glad Willa enjoyed herself. All of that was nice. But this?” he says, gesturing between Dad and me. “Hearing the way you disregard Georgia? That wasn’t nice.”
Dad’s mouth twists into a sour frown. “I’m not sure that’s your place.”
“No. It’s yours. You’re her father. You should be in her corner, not talking down to her and wishing she was somebody else. She’s an incredible woman exactly how she is.”
Dad’s glaring as if he’d like to kick Miles out of the house, but he also seems to be speechless.
“I won’t defend her working at Dogeared. I agree, she could do better. Any day. But thinking nobody sees her art? Do you have any idea what she actually does?”
Dad frowns harder.
“Her illustrated covers are some of the most sought-after in her genre right now. Do you want to know why? Because authors know that when they put hercolorful, evocativeart on their covers, they’ll sell more books. Because readerslovethem. She’s got a wait list over a year long.”
Dad’s eyebrows twitch at that. I guess he really didn’t know.
“And you can’t bother to be proud of her?” Miles takes another step toward the door but turns back again. “Actually, I will say something about her working at Dogeared. I’m lucky to have her on my team. Everyone loves her. We have customers who come in just to talk to her about books she recommended.People who know that if they’re having a bad day, they can come into our shop, and Georgia’s right there with a smile and an encouraging word. She’s singlehandedly turned my somewhat bleak early version of a bookstore into a thriving place people feel connected to. She isvitalto its success. And I’m proud as hell of her. You should be, too.”
It wasn’t a growl, butman. I am swooning hard.
With that, Miles leads us out the front door, one hand still gripping mine. We make it past all the balloons and the gigantic yard sign, finally rounding the corner to where we had to park a few hours ago. He stops at his car and gets out his keys, clicking the door unlocked.
I’m still warming myself in his praise when he turns a look on me so full of regret, my joy wavers.
“Did I just make things better or worse?”
He seriously doesn’t realize how much his support means to me? I don’t even care anymore that my dad doesn’t feel those things about me, but to know thatMilesdoes? That he’ll stand up for me and talk me up and encourage me? That he always sees the best in me, even when I feel one lane short of a full highway?
Harper’s words echo around in my head:he’s my champion.
I throw my arms around him and hold on tight. “So much better,” I say against his chest.
