I brush my thumb over her cheek. “You’re my dream, Feisty. Don’t you know that by now? I don’t stay up all night painting giant ugly pictures for just anyone, you know.”
She leans into my touch, a real smile finally stretching across her sweet face. “First, that painting is gorgeous, nothing ugly about it. Secondly…yes, I am starting to suspect that you may have it pretty bad.” She reaches up, touching tentative fingers to the eye Derrick punched last night. “Speaking of bad, that doesn’t look great. Should you get it checked out?”
“Nah, it’s healing fast. It just looks ugly while it’s swollen, but it doesn’t hurt much anymore.” I exhale. “Nothing hurts right now. I’m just…so grateful. I promise, you won’t regret this. I’m going to make damned sure of that.”
“And I’m going to do the same for you,” she says with a happy sigh. “We should probably make out now, right?”
“Most definitely,” I say, bending and pressing my lips to hers, the last corner of my heart splitting wide open as she kisses me the way I hoped she would—like she’s as grateful to officially be “us” as I am.
We’re still kissing, swaying, and softly murmuring all the things you say when you’re crazy in love when Derrick shouts from the other side of the fence. “Should I go get my dad and bring him over? I’m assuming we’re in for a happy celebration?”
“Yeah,” Evie calls out, grinning up at me. “We’re in for a happy…everything.”
Her words prove prophetic. Not only do my parents freak out with excitement that Evie and I are a couple, but even Mr. Olsen seems pleased.
Well, as pleased as that grouch of a man ever gets, anyway.
“A smart choice for once,” he barks at me as I hand him a non-alcoholic beer. “Not like when you joined the Possums. Could have told you that was a bad fit if anyone had bothered to ask. But my Evie…well, you can’t go wrong there. Unless you hurt her and then you’ll be fucking sorry.”
“He’s not going to hurt me, Dad,” Evie says, tucking herself against my side. “But thank you. I didn’t realize you thought I was such a catch.”
He bristles and runs a rough hand over his balding brown hair. “Yeah, well, this bozo could do a lot worse. You’re a good kid. Always have been. Probably should have told you that a little more often but I’m a shit father. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that.”
I’m too stunned to reply—I had no idea Mr. Olsen was aware of how shitty he was, let alone dreamed that he’d ever own up to it and offer anything close to an apology to the daughter he neglected or bullied for most of her childhood.
But Evie, as always, knows exactly what to say, “You were a shit father,” she says with a smile, “but you don’t have to keep being one. I can leave the past in the past if you can, Dad. Because I love you, no matter what, and I’d love to find out what it’s like to really be your daughter.”
The old man actually looks like he might cry for a moment before his features knit into a scowl and he grumbles, “Well, I guess that’s a good idea. You’re all grown up now. And you can’t help that you look so damned much like your mother. You never could.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Evie says, “but I can understand why that was hard for you. So…truce?”
“Truce,” he says, taking a long pull on his non-alcoholic beer before pointing a finger at me. “But I’ve got my eye on you, son. Don’t hurt her. She’s had enough of that already. You understand?”
“I do, sir,” I say. “And I don’t plan on doing anything but loving her. With all my heart and then some.”
“Sappy,” he says, his lip curling slightly, “you and Derrick, both. But I guess that’s the fashion nowadays. Guys talking about their feelings like a bunch of little girls.”
“Stop, Dad,” Evie says pleasantly. “Quit while you’re ahead. And maybe consider a little sappy yourself now and then. I bet the ladies at the Elks Lodge would love that.”
Mr. Olsen turns a deep shade of red, mumbles something about wanting to check with my dad about his fertilizer schedule, and hustles away, leaving Evie giggling beside me.
“I think that means he has a girlfriend,” she whispers. “Or a lady friend he wishes were more. I’ll have to ask Harlow’s mom to activate her spy network, see if she can suss out the identity of Dad’s crush.”
“I’m just glad he seems to be softening a little in his old age,” I say.
“Me, too,” she says, hugging me closer with the arm wrapped around my waist as she adds in a softer voice, “How long before we can get out of here and find a place to get naked?”