Desperately Seeking Epic(13)

“You look beautiful, Clara,” Marcus adds, and I smile faintly.

“It’s not about . . . that. This is about Neena. Besides, Paul is a shit.”

“Yet you put on makeup, attempted to cook a meal, and you’re wearing a dress I haven’t seen you in since Bowman got married.”

Looking down at my sundress, I sigh. He’s right. I’m ridiculous. “I’m going to go change,” I say, but the doorbell rings.

“It’s go time.” Marcus lets out a deep breath.

“Thanks for being here tonight.”

Marcus nods once and motions a hand toward the living room. “After you.”

I walk quickly to the front door after the bell goes off again. “Neena,” I call up the stairs as I pass by. “Come on down. He’s here.” When I open the door, Paul is turned, facing the front yard with both hands in his pockets. Turning, his gaze meets mine before trailing down my body and back up again. My right hand holds the door and my grip tightens as a familiar feeling from so long ago rushes through me. My cheeks heat and I smile slightly, trying my damnedest not to full-out grin. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me that way—at least any I’ve noticed.

He steps to me, one step, then another, until he’s right in front of me. Leaning in, he kisses my cheek. My head rears back slightly; I’m shocked by the greeting.

“Clara.” His voice is deep, in all the right ways, making my belly clench.

“Paul,” I reply in an even tone.

He looks to the left where my hand still holds the door, then his hand brushes against the wood of it. “Glad to see the door is still holding up,” he quips.

I want to chuckle, and remember that moment of heat and passion when he pressed me against this door and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before in my life. But that little voice inside of me pipes up. He left you, Clara.

“Come in,” I add, stepping back so he may enter.

“Marcus!” Paul beams.

“Where’s my kiss on the cheek?” Marcus jests as they shake hands.

“Saving yours for later,” Paul replies as they laugh. When he turns back to me, he wipes his palms on his shorts and lets out a long breath. He’s nervous. I didn’t realize that Paul James could get nervous. “She here?”

“Yeah. She’s in her room. She’ll be down in a minute.”

“Does she know I’m coming?”

“Yes, she does,” I tell him. “You ready?”

“I think so.”

Shutting the door, I move to the bottom of the stairs. “Neena?” I call, louder this time.

“I’m right here,” she groans, and we all whip our heads to the living room. She was hiding behind the recliner. Her camcorder is in her hand; red light on.

“Can we turn the camera off for a moment, Neena?” I beg.

“It’s not on,” she lies, like always. But I can’t ever seem to be upset with her for more than a second.

“Neena,” I warn lightly.

“Fine,” she huffs and powers it down. She’s wearing one of her favorite scarves around her head; it was mine once. It’s green and has a soft flowery design made up of pink, white, and brown. She’s traded her usual yoga pants and rock T-shirt for a frilly black skirt and pink tank top. She’s a sight for sore eyes and I can’t help grinning. At least I’m not the only one that dressed up.

“Will you come here, please?” I ask her, holding my hand out. Her eyes dart nervously between me and Paul before moving to Marcus. Marcus nods once, letting her know it’s okay; she has nothing to be afraid of. Hesitantly, she moves from around the recliner and walks over to us. When I look at Paul, he seems transfixed; he can’t stop staring at her. His expression is stoic, but it could mean anything. I can’t tell if he wants to smile, puke, run away, or hug her. When Neena reaches me, she curls into my side and lowers her head, peeking up at Paul.

“Neena,” I say, quietly. “Honey, this is Paul James. Your father.”

Paul swallows hard and plasters on what I assume is his best smile, but it looks forced and incredibly uncomfortable. “Hi, Neena,” he utters as he holds out his hand to shake hers. Neena lifts her head and gives him a whisper of a smile as she takes his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she replies.

“You have my eyes,” Paul states as he moves his awed gaze to me. “She looks just like me.”

“Yes,” I murmur. “I know.”

“But way better looking,” Marcus cuts in.

“Agreed.” Paul nods.

The room falls awkwardly silent, but Marcus breaks it when he says, “I’ll go order the pizza.”

As he turns to walk back to the kitchen, Neena darts off after him. “I want Giovanni’s!”



Dinner runs smoothly even though I’m incredibly tense. It’s like my body is aware of Paul; if he moves, I sense it. I practically lose my shit when he stares at the corner of the table and smirks at me, his fingers tracing over my engraved initials in the wood, slowly, as if he’s taunting me. There are few opportunities for awkward silence at the table because Paul goes on and on about the places he’s been to and the people he’s met. Neena is practically panting, her eyes filled with wonder. She’s wanted so badly to travel; see the world. But her health has prevented it.