Page 17 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad
"Five or six, I think.” His finger brushed over the picture with reverence. "That was when I decided that I was going to fight her mother for custody."
Lindsay didn't talk much about her mom. Only that she didn't see her very much anymore. After moving in full-time with her father, visits with her mother were regular for a short time, then they grew more and more sporadic. But I wasn't clear on why.
"I had to put up a hell of a fight. But when it came to Lindsay, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do."
I had no doubt that my father loved me, and he would say similar things, but I wasn't sure that he had the energy in him. The thought made me sad.
"What's wrong?"
My brow furrowed as I looked at him because I wasn't sure what he was talking about.
This thumb gently brushed across my cheek, sending waves of warmth through me. "Are you crying?"
I hadn't realized I was. Embarrassed, I wiped my cheeks. Then I closed the photo book, putting it on the coffee table. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, turning his body toward me on the couch. "No, what's wrong?"
I sipped my hot chocolate, wanting to hide from my feelings, wanting to hide from him and the intensity of his stare.
"It's just bittersweet." I started to get up, but his free hand wrapped around my wrist, keeping me on the couch.
"Why? Is it something I said or did?"
The truth was that it partly was what he said and did, but not in the way he thought. This was the sort of Christmas I had until my mother died.
"It's just making me remember Christmas when I was a little girl. It was always special. Craft ornaments and hot chocolate, although mine didn't have liquor in it." I gave him a wan smile, but his stare was still intense.
"So I've brought back bad memories?"
I shook my head, pressing my palm to his cheek feeling, its warmth and only afterward realizing that I probably shouldn't be touching him. I started to pull my hand away, but again, his hand took mine.
"Not bad memories. They’re sweet memories. Happy memories. But it's sad that it’s all they are. I told you that my father didn't do well after my mom died, so Christmas and a lot of celebrations in life just fell by the wayside. He remarried, and for a short time we had Christmas, but it wasn't like this. It was all the commercial type of stuff. It was all about the gifts." I looked down, feeling self-conscious. To hide it, I took another sip of my hot chocolate.
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
I forced a perky smile as I looked at him. "It's not your fault. And in the scheme of life, there are worse things than not having a fancy-schmancy Christmas."
"But it's not fancy-schmancy, is it? It's the family."
I nodded, and then worried that he might think badly of my father, I quickly said, "My father loves me. He's really proud of me. I'm going to be the first one in the family to graduate with a college degree. But inside, he's a little bit broken."
Brett’s head tilted to the side. “And you've taken it upon yourself to fix him?"
"I suppose maybe there was a time I thought I could. I know now that I can't. But I won't deny that I try to keep the pieces that are there together."
"No wonder Lindsay was so adamant that you have total and complete rest. A respite, she said."
I nodded.
His fingers brushed back loose hair that had fallen from the messy bun I’d hastily tied up.
"I can't give you family, Miranda, but I can give you respite." His gaze drifted to my lips and then back up to my eyes. “Do you really wish you could scrub your memory of last night from your brain?”
I swallowed as the air around me changed. It was the same energy I felt on the sidewalk last night as Brett invited me to a hotel room. I should disengage. He was Lindsay’s father.
“No.”
“So, you enjoyed it?” His thumb brushed across my lower lip.
