“I have full confidence in you. And I’ll return the favor and protect you from women. I’m sure you’re a magnet.”
“You have no idea.”
I roll my eyes, even though my breath catches a tad as he invades my personal space. “You’re too cocky for your own good, Bennett.” Then I turn around, scanning the restaurant. It’s an eclectic mix of new and old, shabby chic and sleek elegance. “So, what is this place?”
“You didn’t look it up when I texted you the address?”
“Nah, didn’t occur to me,” I admit.
“They have the most famous pancakes in San Francisco. They even have strawberry jam. Not sure if it’ll be as good as the one Grams used to make, but we can try it.”
I try to croak out “thank you,” but the words catch in my throat. When we were kids, Grams used to make the most delicious strawberry jam on the planet, and pancakes with jam was our secret, rebel midnight snack.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I say softly. In response, he winks at me, then asks the waiter to give us a table. We’re led to the center of the room to a table for two. I take my seat, wondering how this can feel so easy and so weird at the same time.
“I told you I remember everything about you. Including that your hair was all wild, and I miss it. It suited you.”
Holy crap. This man gives the best compliments, and I’m not even sure he knows it. “Well, I like it tame these days. It’s shiny and glossy.”
He tilts his head to the side, scorching me with his eyes. “Wild always trumps tame, Emilia.”
“Depends on the… situation.” And cue my thoughts veering to Smutland again. Time for a change in topic. “How about those pancakes?” I’m hungry now as I open the menu in front of me. “Wow. They have thirty-three types of pancakes.”
“Hey, this isn’t some run-of-the-mill pancake stand. I did thorough research. Only the best for my girl.”
My cheeks heat up at the words my girl, and we exchange a furtive glance.
“There was another one downtown that had great reviews, but there is a beach near this one. Thought we could take a walk afterward. You always loved the water.”
“I did. I still do.”
We each order coffee and pancakes—one of mine with strawberry jam. As I wonder if it’ll be as good as Grams’s, my mind slides to the conversation I had with her this morning.
“Emilia, everything okay?” Max asks.
“Mmm… yeah….” Usually, I’d make up a reason for my momentary blip, but this is Max, my Max. Being open with him comes to me naturally in a way it never did with anyone else. “I had an interesting conversation with Grams this morning. She’d like to see my father again.”
Max’s features instantly harden. “The asshole who took off after your mom’s funeral?”
“That’s the only father I have, unfortunately.”
“But she hated his guts. She made a bonfire to burn his stuff.”
I smile despite myself. Max would know all about the fire. We were lurking around in the shadows, waiting for Grams to leave so I could salvage at least some pictures before they burned to a crisp. When Grams finally went back to the house, Max claimed it was a man’s job (he was ten), tried his luck—and failed. Then I tried. We ended up with no pictures, and four hands full of blisters. Fun times.
“I know, and she’s never mentioned him before....”
“What do you want?”
“To stab him with a butter knife repeatedly.”
“That’s my girl.” He leans his hand over the table, rubbing the pad of his thumb on the back of my hand in small circles. I think the gesture was meant to calm me, but instead it sets me on edge.
“But I should at least try to find him, for her. I owe her so much. And I want her to be happy. I don’t even know how to go about it, though. No idea how much a private investigator would cost.”
Max remains silent, the pad of his thumb still on the back of my hand, wreaking havoc on my senses.
“Bennett Enterprises works with professionals who run background research on potential business partners. I can ask them to locate your father. It wouldn’t cost you anything, and before you protest, we’re already paying them a shitload of money anyway.”