Page 95 of The Overtime Persuasive

My defenses rise automatically. “The famous dad part?”

“No.” His brow furrows. “The part that explains you. Who you are and where you started.”

Before I can decide what to do with that, the door opens again and Dad walks in. Applause erupts across the greenroom, and someone whistles. Dad bows with one hand pressed dramatically to his chest, still wearing the dark shirt and jacket from the encore. He looks tired, exhilarated, and completely at home.

As soon as he sees us standing in our corner, his face brightens and he makes his way across the room.

“There’s my Eva.”

I wrap my arms around him. His shirt is damp from the stage, but I don’t care. “You were amazing.”

“So.” Dad looks toward Liam, his eyebrows rising. “The plus-one. A Snyder, that is not Lucy.”

“Dad.” I keep my voice low in warning. Daughter warning that is. “This is Liam.”

Liam holds out his hand. “It’s good to meet you, sir.”

“James.” Dad shakes it. “And I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

I stare at him. “I said his name. Once.”

Dad winks at Liam. “It was the way she said it.”

Liam glances at me, amused. “How did she say it?”

Embarrassed, my father steps closer to Liam, as if taking him under his wing. “Carefully.”

“Okay.” I step between them. “This has been lovely.”

Dad laughs as Liam turns his attention to him. “The show was incredible, I’ve never seen anything like it. The way you held that crowd—” Liam shakes his head. “It was unreal.”

Dad receives the compliment with a smile, but one thing I notice is that Liam doesn’t become someone different in front of him. He doesn’t start listing favorite songs or asking for stories he can tell later. He speaks to Dad with respect, then places one hand against my back as naturally as if there weren’t twenty people watching.

However, my dad notices. His eyes drop briefly to Liam’s hand before returning to my face, and I give him another look of warning.

He holds my gaze before he returns to Liam, smiling. “You’re welcome to come anytime, Liam.”

It’s not long before Dad is pulled away when his manager calls him over to meet someone from the venue. He kisses my temple before he goes.

Liam watches him cross the room. “Your dad is incredible.”

“He likes you. He invited you back.” I pat him on the shoulder. “That is a James William commitment.”

“Only if you’re with me,” he replies, and inside, I swoon. And I swoon big.

We stay for another half hour while the post-show celebration settles. Dad moves through the room, checking in with the band and thanking the crew. A few guests come and go. Someone opens a bottle of champagne, and somehow, a plate of food that no one remembers ordering appears.

And a certain hockey player fits into the room more easily than I expected. He listens to stories. He laughs when the drummer tells him about the night Dad split his pants halfway through a show in Phoenix. When a member of the crew asks about hockey, Liam answers without turning the conversation into an exchange of accomplishments.

There is nothing performative about this man; he simply stays right by my side and enjoys taking in the ambiance as much as I am.

By the time we say goodbye to Dad and head into the quieter backstage hallway, I’m buzzing.

The show was good. Dad is happy. Liam didn’t run screaming when my father interrogated him with his eyebrows.

More than that, I let Liam see this. I brought him into the strange, rootless world where I spent so much of my childhood, and he understood the one thing people usually miss: Why I needed somewhere of my own.

“You look relieved.”