Destiny hops to her feet, swings her closet door open, and pulls out her glittery pink suitcase. The gaudy thing topples over in her rush.
“We’re not leaving tonight, baby girl. Relax.”
“Sorry! I’m just so pumped.” Her cheeks redden. “Hey, Dad, you should go do your stuff. I have to call Libby and tell her the news.”
“Of course. I’d wouldn’t dare intrude on the high school gossip line.”
“I have no idea what that even means, but bye!” She gives me a parting smile that shows off all her teeth.
If this is the hard part and she’s grinning like the devil, then maybe I can pull this off without a disaster or ten.
9
Coffee Snob (Eliza)
A couple days later, I’m boarding a private jet for the first time in my life.
A week ago, the idea of a Hawaiian trip was outrageous.
Going to Hawaii specifically to play with coffee beans from a Kona farm never even occurred to me. But in roughly six hours, we’ll be touching down on the island.
A literal tropical wonderland where I’ll be breathing the jasmine-like scent of blooming coffee cherries.
Holy hell.
“I’ll get that for you.” Cole takes my bag as we climb up the steps to the jet.
“It’s cool. I’ve got it.”
“Don’t be stubborn. It’s bigger than you.”
“Not really, and you’ve got your hands full.”
He already has his own bag slung over one shoulder and Destiny’s bag in his hand. “Madame, I’ve carried far heavier loads than this. Trust me.”
I might not believe him if he didn’t have the muscle to back it up—but it’s also four a.m. If he wants to carry my bag that badly, fine.
I’m exhausted.
The life goes out of me the second after I step on the plane and I’m standing in what I guess must be the center aisle. Hard to say because this spotless white cabin with the stained wood and gold finishes resembles no plane I’ve ever been on.
It feels like a leather-wrapped bus, all plush and comfy with a few clusters of recliners and a round table with bench seating in the corner. Just scanning the place is overwhelming.
Cole drops the bags he’s carrying on the bench around the table and sits beside it. An attendant scurries up a minute later to stow them properly.
Destiny drags into the jet behind him with a loud yawn. “Can I go back to bed yet? I’m dying here.”
“Since when do you ask? Just go,” he tells her.
She collapses on the first available recliner and puts the foot rest out, curling up like she’s done this a thousand times before.
“Hey, Dess.” Cole stands over her when I look up, waiting for her eyes to open. “You need a blanket?”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles groggily.
He opens a small compartment next to the seat and gently tucks a fluffy blue-and-white blanket around her.
For a second, she’s five years old, not fifteen.
And he’s just a dad, not an office dictator and the bane of my existence.
My heart melts helplessly. I also have a horrible desire to be tucked in by this man—this Cole. The one who can actually be decent rather than a grumpasaurus rex.
But a memory of an older, devilishly attractive man folding a sheet around me comes back.
Derek could be kind, too. And I let him melt my heart with a big greasy lie that made me the other woman in his life.
I flinch with surprise when Lancaster finally sits down beside me again.
“Did she turn in the big project yet?” I ask, nodding at a gently snoring Destiny.
“Solid A. Why do you care?”
“Sorry, it’s not my business. I just got kinda invested when she was shadowing me.”
He nods. “Understandable. She could’ve had the entire summer off, but she insists on squeezing in a few credits for college over the summer. I enrolled her in a private school after Aster died, so if I needed to take a trip, she could tag along without getting behind during the school year. They’re generous with remote work and making up credits elsewhere.” He shrugs. “In the early days, I’d bring along a tutor to help her, too. She was too smart and disciplined for it by the time she hit middle school.”
“Aster is her mom?” I don’t know if I should point out the name he mentioned, but I do.
For a second, he rakes me with that harsh blue-eyed lightning. I think I’m about to get chewed out until his expression abruptly softens.
“Was her mother, yes,” he says numbly.
There’s a new tension in my shoulders.
Does it mean anything that he called her by name? Or that he didn’t say “my late wife.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”
“You’re a good dad, Lump,” I add, not daring to meet his eyes.
“And still a blackhearted lump of coal, apparently. What would I do without your constant reminder, Miss Angelo?”