Big Rock(54)

She leaves, and I draw a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk to my father’s office. Whatever is coming—whether anger or disappointment—I will take it like a man.

I knock, and Dad says to come in.

He’s at his desk, still wearing his softball jersey, his fingers poised over the keyboard. I can’t read the expression in his eyes. I seize the moment, the words tumbling out in a traffic jam.

“Dad, first of all, I owe you a huge apology. I lied to you and tricked you. And I’m sorry. You raised me better than that. I should never have pretended I was engaged, but in my defense, I thought—stupidly—that it would be the thing you needed for the deal. When I met Mr. Offerman, he so clearly didn’t like my past or my ‘reputation,’”—I sketch air quotes—“so I thought I could simply be engaged for a week as you finished the deal. It wasn’t Charlotte’s idea. It was mine. I thought I was doing the right thing and making sure that my past wouldn’t be the reason your deal went sour. But instead it went sour anyway, because of me.”

“Spencer,” he begins, his lips twitching.

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “I should have been honest with Mr. Offerman at breakfast the next day, and I should have been honest with you. But I wasn’t. You said all those nice things about Charlotte before Fiddler, too, and I felt like a schmuck for lying to you. You taught me to be better than that.” I sigh and say the hardest part. “But at some point, it stopped being a lie, because even though it started as a fake engagement, it became real for me, and I fell in love with her.”

The corners of his mouth curve up. “Spencer,” he tries again, but I keep going, standing on the other side of his desk, my mea culpa pouring out of me.

“But that doesn’t matter, because you heard what she said.” My voice chokes with sadness as I recall her awful words. “She doesn’t feel the same, and that’s that. I’m sorry that I took advantage of you with the entire charade. And I know I can’t make it up to you, but I want to try.”

Then I dive into what I’ve realized I must do to make this right. “I know what you want most in the world—to retire and spend more time with Mom. I know that’s why you wanted to sell Katharine’s. I’m not asking you to hand it over to me. I’m not asking you to give me your business. But I’m volunteering my time. I’m offering to run the business for you. At no charge, of course,” I say with a small laugh, because even in these moments, you need to keep your sense of humor. My dad’s eyes sparkle as he listens. “I’m good at business. I might be terrible at relationships, and I clearly have no clue what women really want, and I have an ego that’s far too big to fit on any city bus, but I’m a rock star at running all sorts of businesses. I’d love to make this up to you and be your substitute teacher while you take your time off and we find you another buyer.”

I take a breath, and even though I never wanted to run the store, and even though he never intended for me to do so, it feels good to man up and make the offer. To let him know that I’m willing to fix my mistakes.

Dad rises, walks around his desk, and crosses his arms. He stands with his heels digging into the carpet of his office, his dark eyes taking me in.

The weird thing is, he doesn’t look pissed.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


“You’re right, Son. I’m not happy you lied. I’m not happy you made up a whole pretend engagement. And I’m not happy you felt you had to be anything other than yourself in order for me to have what I want.” He stops to squeeze my shoulder. “But I did raise you right, because to do what you just did is all I could ask for.”

“I’m glad to do it, Dad,” I say, and soon it will start to feel true. I’ll pour my heart into it, because God knows, I need to get my mind off Charlotte. Maybe I’ll even let her buy me out of the bar so I won’t have to see her anymore. Seeing the woman who broke my heart every day will sting like a yellow jacket with rabies.

Dad claps my back, then tugs me in for a hug. “You’re a good guy. I’m proud of you for owning up to this, and for trying to fix it.” He lets go, parks his hands on my shoulders, and sighs happily. “But I’m not going to let you.”

I knit my brow. “Why not?”

He laughs. His eyes twinkle. “Because you saved me. Because I was racking my brains when it was my turn at bat, trying to figure out how to get out of this deal gracefully. I was having second thoughts about selling to that pompous, chauvinistic pig in the first place, and you gave me the perfect out.” He points to his paper shredder on the floor, and brushes one palm against the other. “Good thing the papers weren’t filed.”

A smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt since Charlotte chopped up my heart, julienned it, and ate it for a snack.

Fine, maybe that’s dramatic. But the organ in my chest is pulverized. My dad’s grin, however, doesn’t hurt. “He really was a pig,” I say, with a quirk in my lips.

“He was completely disrespectful to women, to his wife, to his daughters—I can’t have the Katharine’s legacy carried on by someone like that.”

“No, you can’t. Leave it to us for a little bit longer as we find a better man, or woman, to sell it to,” I say, and a burst of pride courses through me. I’m proud of my dad for making this choice.