The only problem was, she had none. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Kris had tapped out on her creativity, but if she were honest, she was also distracted by—
“Nate,” she breathed.
It was definitely him this time, his long, sexy strides eating up the distance between them in no time. Instead of yesterday’s tux, he wore a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black blazer over a white T-shirt.
Sex personified.
“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” she said, inhaling that delicious leather and coffee scent of his as she kissed him hello.
“I got out of work a little early.” Nate flashed a quick smile.
His color was better—he no longer looked green around the gills like he had yesterday—but his eyes lacked their usual warmth and his shoulders were so tight they were almost up to his ears.
“You okay?” Kris’s brows pulled together. “You seem tense.”
“All good. Just nervous about the shoot on Monday.” He held out his arm. “Shall we? I can already picture Sky dancing like a maniac in there.”
She laughed. “You got that right. But before we go in…did you see who came in before you?”
Nate’s quizzical smile told her all she needed to know.
“Your dad’s here,” she said softly.
Nate’s shoulders jumped up another inch. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. He got here a couple of minutes ago, and he’s with Sky now. I think…” She paused, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “He’s going through withdrawal. I’m sure you’ve noticed. I know you don’t trust him, and I don’t blame you, but he’s trying.”
No response.
Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” filtered through the multipurpose room’s doors and walls, its upbeat tempo at odds with the strained atmosphere in the hallway.
“Nate?” she prompted.
Her boyfriend rubbed his eyes, looking so tired her heart broke. “Let’s not do this right now, okay? Sky wanted him here, so I’m glad he’s here. As for all the other stuff, let’s shelve it. I just want to hang out with you and Sky, dance to bad music, and eat too many carbs.”
“Blue Hair—uh, Elijah—would probably take offense to the ‘bad music’ part.”
That earned Kris a small smile.
“He’s tough. He’ll survive.”
“True. He survived all those facial piercings.” Kris took Nate’s arm. “Okay. No tough talk tonight, only bad music and carbs.”
Skylar squealed when she saw her brother, and she dragged both him and Kris onto the dance floor. Michael, obviously not up to the task of doing the Cupid Shuffle—damn, that was a throwback—sat a nearby table, watching his daughter with indulgence and his son with trepidation.
Except for a curt nod, Nate didn’t acknowledge his father, but Kris supposed it was better than nothing.
The night flew by far too fast for her liking, and not just because she’d spent countless hours perfecting the details just for the gala to end in the blink of an eye. She may be a cold bitch sometimes, but even she was not immune to the joy and smiling faces around her.
The mentees were having the time of their lives with their dads and mentors, and that was enough. Tonight, there was no melancholy over the people they’d lost, no worries about money or school or family issues. It was all about pure, unbridled fun.
Kris didn’t even mind when a mentee spilled her soda on her new Alexander Wang dress. The girl apologized profusely, but Kris waved it off. You couldn’t see the stain on the black fabric unless you looked closely, and they invented dry cleaners for a reason.
As the party wound down, the music segued from upbeat pop into slower jams.
“I hope everyone’s having a good time,” Blue Hair said into the mic, grinning when the crowd responded with cheers and whistles. “We’re coming to the end of the night—” A chorus of boos. “ButI think we should wrap this up in an appropriate fashion. Dads, this is your time to shine. It’s father-daughter dance time.”