Fuck, almost got through the entire night without having to answer this question. Growing up with a mostly absent father and a mom who preferred to get high over helping me with my homework, I didn’t have the best grades, nor the chance to excel in any given subject. I struggled and barely graduated from high school. College wasn’t an option for me because of my grades and finances.
I swallow hard and Amelia must sense my tension so she steps in and answers for me. “He works in sanitation, Dad.”
“Sanitation?” Mr. Santos lifts an eyebrow at me. Probably not what he wanted to hear, that his daughter is dating someone who works with trash for a living.
“Yes, sir.” I nod, trying to hold back the tremor in my voice. I want to impress this man; I want him to know that I deserve to have his daughter wrapped around me, that I deserve her love. “I, uh, work in the plant right now, but it’s not forever.”
“No?” He sips from his coffee, the easygoing man gone. Now, he’s a man on a mission.
“No, sir. I’m actually in the process of switching careers.”
He nods and says, “When people say they’re in the process of switching careers, that usually means they’re unemployed.”
“Daddy,” Amelia says as she sits up, “don’t be rude.”
“He’s not being rude,” I say, defending Mr. Santos. “He’s trying to make sure I’m good enough for you. I would expect nothing less from a loving father.”
If I’m reading the lip twitch from Mr. Santos correctly, we are in agreement now. And I’ve said the right thing. “So, are you unemployed?”
“No, sir. I have a steady job that pays decently. I might not make the kind of money I hope to make, but I know that will come with time and hard work. I truly am in the process of switching careers to construction. I know a new career means starting at the bottom of the ladder again, but I believe this switch will open up a new world of opportunity for me.”
He nods and stares me down for a few seconds. “I couldn’t agree more. And if you do end up making the jump over to construction, maybe my little Bedelia can teach you a thing or two.”
“Oh Jesus, Dad.” Amelia shakes her head and buries her body deeper into mine.
“What? Did you not inform your man of your woodworking skills?”
“Not so much.”
I look down at her, tipping her chin so she has to look me in the eyes. “You have woodworking skills?”
“She won first place for four consecutive years at the state fair for best birdhouse. I have them lined up in the backyard.”
Mind kind of blown. I never would have guessed in a million years that Amelia was good at building things; she just doesn’t seem to have that kind of coordination.
It’s kind of hot, knowing she knows how to handle tools.
“Well, I have to see these birdhouses now.”
“It’s too dark.”
“I have a flashlight,” Mr. Santos says, as he stands right before setting his coffee on the table in front of him. “Be right back.”
“Dad, that’s not necessary . . .” Amelia trails off as her dad is on the move for a flashlight. Lifting up, she stares me down. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Bonding.” I smile and shrug. “And I really want to see your birdhouses.” I tickle her chin only for her to swat my hand away. “My little Bob the Builder.”
“I hate you.”
“Winner four years in a row. That means this is a hobby. You could have your own woodworking show with those kind of accolades behind you.”
Not amused, she sits back on the loveseat, pulling away from me completely.
“What got you started? Catch a rerun of Home Improvement and the building bug bit you?”
“No, asshole.”
“Like the way a tool belt looked on you?”
Sitting up, she looks me dead in the eyes. “Yes, that’s it. I liked the way a tool belt looked on me. That’s why I started building, because I accessorized with objects from the garage one day and said, ‘Hey, this looks good.’”
“I thought so.” I touch the tip of her nose. “Nailed it . . . no pun intended.”
“You’re absurd.” She’s about to storm off when her dad walks onto the porch, holding three flashlights with a huge smile on his face.
“Ready?”
I stand and snag Amelia’s hand in mine, twining our fingers together, one of my favorite feelings in the world. “Never been more ready in my life.”
Chapter Twelve
AMELIA
Present day . . .
“Two weeks and I get to see your pretty face,” Amanda screams into the phone as I walk into the volunteer meetup for the play.
“I know, I can’t wait. I wish it was this weekend.”
“Me too.” She sighs. “But the governor is being a real prick and is making me work this weekend.”
“I think it’s because he wants to stare at your backside some more.”
“If he wasn’t such an asshole, I would bend over for him and give him all the staring time he wants. But his assholery has really deterred me from making a move on his fine body.”
Governor Paul is the youngest governor we’ve had in New York State and by far the hottest. The kind of hot that puts Mr. Prince Charming, Justin Trudeau, to shame. Definitely the hottie of politics, but according to Amanda, a complete and total dick. Such a waste.
“At least you get to slip out next weekend.”
“I know. I can’t wait to eat Nirchi’s while looking out your window at your ex-boyfriend. I have my ogling eyes ready.”
“There will be no staring at Aaron,” I whisper into the phone, not wanting anyone to overhear me.
“Eff that. There will be lots of staring, and if I bust one of your windows, I’m not going to be mad about it. After the picture you sent me of grown-up Aaron, I’m ready to be reacquainted.”
“You know that’s my ex you’re talking about, right? The one who broke my heart?”
“He broke your heart, not mine. But I’m more than willing for him to break my vagina if he wants to.”
I sigh as volunteers start to trickle in. “Have I ever told you what a great friend you are?”
She laughs into the phone, and her humor has done wonders for my mood. “You know I’m kidding. I’ll be prepared to give him the evil eye the minute I see him. Maybe I will throw some middle fingers in his direction. You know, a casual bird out of nowhere here and there. Keep him on his toes. He’s raking leaves and then all of a sudden, middle finger. That will teach him.”
“Totally.” I chuckle. “Nothing says lesson learned like a random middle finger coming out of nowhere.”
“Exactly, that’s what I’m talking about. He will rue the day he broke your heart. In two weeks, the middle-finger parade is coming to town and the tour route is headed directly for his house.”
“Can’t wait.” Aaron walks through the doors wearing a worn leather jacket that fits him perfectly, giving him almost a bad-boy look. With his toolbox in hand, he goes directly to our workstation. God, wouldn’t Amanda love a photo of him right now? His presence alone makes the room seem small, but when he spots me and smiles, I feel the walls closing in. “Hey, he’s here. I have to go.”
“Okay, don’t forget, ask him to spot a nail for you. Miss and hammer the hell out of his hand.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Emergency room visits are also lessons learned. No one breaks my girl’s heart and gets away with it.”
Shaking my head at my ridiculous friend, I say, “Thanks, Amanda. I’ll talk to you later.”