“Are you okay? You got really quiet in there.”
Sighing, he lets go of the knob and faces me. He pushes his hair out of his one eye. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just tired, and I have a shit load of work to do tonight. I really want to get the deck done for Ben and Mia. Mia, especially. She’s really excited about it.”
I step closer, looking up at him, pushing the same strand of hair back again when it falls into his left eye.
A part of me thinks he’s just saying this to satisfy me with an answer. But why would news about my dad affect him to the point of wanting to leave? Then again, he didn’t seem tired five minutes ago.
Reed frowns. He must see my silent questions, the concern I know I’m doing a horrible job at hiding. Grabbing my face with both hands, he kisses my lips softly, then once more. “I’m really, really happy for you, sweetheart. I am. Okay? I’m just tired.”
I close my eyes through a nod. “Okay.”
Releasing me, he pulls the door open and walks the distance to his truck, never once turning back. I close the door and lean my back against it.
Maybe he is tired. Ben said something at the club about not having any of the stairs built yet. I have no idea how long a project like that takes, or how much labor goes into it. Maybe Reed knows he has a lot of work to do, and he’s anticipating a long night. That has to be it. What other reason is there for his sudden change of mood?
Nodding at my inner conclusion, I walk back down the hallway and into the kitchen. I reach for my phone in my back pocket. “Do you have his number handy?”
Hattie holds up a small piece of paper, as if she was anticipating my question. She hands it to me across the island as Danny pours himself a drink. I leave my phone in my pocket for now.
“Did you talk to him?” I ask her, reading the phone number.
“I did.” Danny takes a quick drink of his tea. “Seemed like a nice guy. He said things just never worked out with your mom. She thought it was best if she raised you on her own.”
A wave of frustration has me clenching my fist at my side, my lungs taking in slow drags of air. That wasn’t her decision to make. I could’ve at least known about this man. She never once brought him up, never once shared his name with me when I asked about him. She acted like she didn’t even know who he was, and all this time, she knew. How could she keep this from me? I’ve missed twenty-two years with someone.
No, not just someone. My own father.
I look between Hattie and Danny, swallowing down my irritation. “I’m going to go upstairs and call him. Thank you both so much for finding him for me. And for everything else. I really don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay either one of you.”
“Beth.” Hattie’s mouth pulls down, the lines next to her eyes softening. “You never have to repay us for being your family. We will always be here for you. Our home is yours for as long as you want it to be, you have a job at the bar until you decide otherwise, and Danny will harass any boy you bring home, free of charge.”
Hattie and I share a brief laugh as Danny finishes his tea, not disputing that last remark. I wave at them on my way out of the room. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I sit on the edge of the bed, phone in one hand and paper in the other. I’m nervous as hell, but I want to do this. I want to know this man, and a little nervousness isn’t going to stop me from making this phone call.
I dial the number, chewing on the pad of my thumb while I wait for the call to connect. I don’t have to wait long.
“Hello?”
I smile at the deep voice that greets me. “Hi, is this Jon Schilling?”
“Depends on who’s askin.’ If you’re selling shit, I ain’t buying.”
“Oh, no. No, I’m not selling anything. I’m . . . sorry, this is awkward.” I shift uncomfortably on the bed. Just tell him who you are. It’s the whole reason you’re calling. “My name is Beth. I believe you spoke with my Uncle Danny earlier. I’m Annie Davis’ daughter.”
I’m your daughter.
My heart starts beating wildly in my chest as his response is delayed. I bite my thumb again, move around the bed so my back is resting against the headboard, then move back to the edge. I grab the piece of paper off the bed. “I’m sorry. Maybe I have the wrong number. Is this . . .”
“Beth,” he interrupts with a kind voice. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I get those annoying telemarketer calls all damn day. How are you? How, shit, I don’t even really know what to say. Um, how . . . how have you been?”
I laugh quietly, scooting further onto the bed. “I’m good. Great, now, actually. I never thought I would speak to my dad, so, I’m really, really good.”