Lib Novel Page 68
There was a pause as I watched her, admiring her strength and resilience. It was one of the countless things that had drawn me to her, kept me anchored in the storm that was my life.
“Abby, there’s something else,” I ventured, hesitating for just a second. “I want to tell your dad about us, about the engagement. I didn’t get a chance to do it the traditional way, to ask for his blessing before I asked you.”
She considered this, her lips curving into a half-smile. “I’d like that.”
“Thanks,” I said, relief flooding through me. But before I could savor the moment, she added, “On one condition.”
“Anything,” I replied earnestly.
“Let me break the news to your family. Let’s invite your siblings over for dinner and tell them together.” Her eyes were alight with excitement, and there was an undercurrent of mischief in her voice that intrigued me.
“Deal,” I agreed, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. “That sounds perfect.”
As she leaned in across the counter, her hand reaching for mine, I couldn’t help but think that despite the chaos of our lives, this—right here with Abby—was the one thing I knew I had right.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Nathan
Ihad done a lot of terrifying things in my life, but none of them measured up to asking a cop for his blessing to marry his daughter.
As I rolled my sleek black sedan to the curb outside The Copper Spoon, the familiar weight of dread settled in my gut. This wasn’t just any lunch date; it was a reckoning of sorts. Owen stood outside as if he had all the time in the world, his eyes raking over my ride with an intensity that could peel paint. Despite the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the sidewalk, a shiver ran through me.
There was no missing the chill in his scrutiny.
The friendly dad who had greeted his daughter the last time I was here was gone. This guy was here to make sure I knew he could destroy me if I destroyed his daughter.
“Nice of him to pick a spot where everyone’s packing,” I muttered to myself, pushing the car door open. The Copper Spoon was notorious for being a second home to cops, and here I was, walking into the lion’s den.
I straightened my jacket, a cheap attempt to armor myself against the tension that already thrived between us. With a deep breath, I stepped out and slammed the door shut, offering Owen a smile I hoped looked genuine.
“Owen,” I greeted him with a nod, my hand raised in a casual wave.
“Nathan.” His voice was gravel, rough around the edges, but his lips twitched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he mirrored my greeting.
It was like looking at my own reflection—a man adept at playing whatever role necessary to survive. We were two predators in sheep’s clothing, recognizing the danger in each other’s gaze behind the façade of pleasantries. The unspoken understanding hung heavily between us as we entered the restaurant.
The Copper Spoon was buzzing with the clatter of dishes and muted conversations from lunchtime diners. The air smelled of coffee and grease, a comforting blanket of normalcy that seemed misplaced given the circumstances. Owen led the way to a table tucked away in a corner, far removed from prying ears and curious glances. He moved with purpose, and I followed, trying not to think about how many people in this place could arrest me on sight if they knew who I was.
“Good spot,” I commented, sliding into the booth across from him.
“Best seat in the house.” Owen’s eyes scanned the room before settling back on me, a silent signal that he had done his due diligence in ensuring our privacy.
A waitress, her apron stained with the day’s work, approached with a pair of menus, her smile practiced and professional. “What can I get started for you gentlemen?”
“What do you think, Nate? Are we drinking this early?” Owen asked, raising an eyebrow as he set the menu aside. His voice was light, but his scrutiny was anything but.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said with a casual shrug, “I could actually go for a whiskey.”
Owen glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands inching just past three—then he returned his gaze to me with a snort. “Two whiskeys, neat,” Owen ordered, without diverting his gaze from mine.
The waitress jotted down our order and walked away, her steps blending into the ambient sounds of the diner. I leaned back against the worn leather of the booth, my mind racing with the weight of what I was about to disclose. I rarely needed liquid courage to get the job done, but when it came to Abby…this was too important for me to fuck it up.
We sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t comfortable either—a quiet filled with anticipation. It wasn’t long before the waitress returned, placing two glasses of whiskey in front of us.
“Anything else I can get you?” she asked, her smile lingering.
“We’re good, thanks,” I replied, dismissing her with a nod.
Her footsteps faded away, and I stared at the glass in front of me, the whiskey’s rich color doing nothing to calm the tightness in my chest. This was it—the moment of truth. Owen watched me intently, a silent invitation to proceed. I picked up the glass, the smooth surface cool against my palm, and took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the burn as it made its way down.