“Run over anyone today?”

I read Black’s text and giggle out loud. I haven’t seen him or talked to him in two days—not because I didn’t want to, but I just haven’t. Dad came back and I’ve been spending time with him.

“What’s so funny, Princess?” Dad asks and I look up from my phone.

“Just a text from a friend,” I answer, with a sly grin, because it’s more than that, but I don’t want to talk to Dad about it yet.

“Not yet, but the day is still young.” I reply to Black.

“Are your friends missing you already?” Dad asks.

It would probably surprise him to know that I don’t really have friends. I was so busy trying to learn and hone my craft that I had no friendships out of class. I was so tired after working that I never tried to contact the few friends I had at school anyway.

“Something like that. What are we doing today?”

“You’re going to hate me, Princess…”

“Dad,” I sigh, already knowing what’s coming.

“It’s an emergency committee dinner.”

“What is an emergency committee dinner? Everyone got hungry at the same time and have to go grab Big Macs together because they’re starved?” I grumble sarcastically. I shouldn’t be upset, I know, but I was looking forward to spending time with him. He wasn’t around a lot as a bank president, but this is kind of ridiculous. I mean, we haven’t seen each other since Christmas. Maybe I’m being a giant kid, but it still hurts that he keeps shoving business in front of me.

“It’s a working dinner. We’re in a huge gridlock over the expenses on the proposed water plant for Mason. I need to sway the council to vote to approve the additional cost.”

“And that can’t wait one night so we could actually have dinner together?” I ask. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like I’ve heard my mom ask that same question a hundred times before. Does Dad even realize that?

“How about I go to the dinner and get this done and tomorrow I leave work early and we go bowling?”

“Bowling?” I ask, and if I sound like he’s grown two heads right in front of me, there’s a reason. I haven’t been bowling since I was seven. My parents took me to an all-night bowling alley and it was all done up with black lights and the pins and balls would glow in florescent pinks, blues, yellows and greens. It was fun… when I was seven. Still, he’s making an effort and it seems like the only way I’m going to get to spend time with him.

“What do you say, Princess? It will be like old times,” he says and I look up at him.

I love this man. He wasn’t around a lot. He was and is definitely a workaholic, but he taught me to ride my first bike. He used to build forts made of sheets and pillows in my room and he’d read to me at night when I was sick and couldn’t sleep. He’s a good man and most of all, he’s really the only family I have left since my mom passed. I want us to be closer. I ran away to France. It was good for my chosen career, but that wasn’t why I left. I need to try and repair our relationship. It’s what mom would want and it’s really what I want too.

“Okay, Dad. Bowling it is,” I answer giving in.

“That’s my girl,” he says ruffling my hair and getting up. He leans down and kisses the top of my head and takes off to his room—I guess to get ready for his meeting… Big Mac dinner… whatever.

I sit there for a few minutes wondering what I can do for dinner now. I don’t really want to cook. Normally cooking relaxes me and I could spend hours in the kitchen, but when you’re only cooking for yourself the appeal just isn’t there.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it back out—already smiling. I don’t know what it is about Black, but he makes me happy. He’s sexy, but he can also be funny and goofy and he makes me laugh easily. I don’t laugh a lot, I haven’t in a long time, not since mom got sick really…

“How’d you like to go out with this cop I know?”

I read his text and I’m not imagining the way my heart seems to kick inside my chest.

“Are you fixing me up?” I text back.

I expect him to text back, but within a minute my phone is ringing.

“Hi,” I say softly into the phone, feeling warm all over.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says back and that could sound cheesy coming from anyone else but him.

“You’re so smooth,” I answer—grinning.

“All over, baby. Now, about dinner.”

“Are you really trying to fix me up?” I ask, wanting him to admit the dinner is with him—or at least I hope it is. If not, I’m obviously a fool and should give up on ever trying to read signals from men again.

“Something like that, but you’ll like this guy. He’s really hot. At least that’s what all the girls say.”

“Does he have big feet?”

“Feet? Uh… do you have a foot fetish, Princess Addie?”

“No, but these are things a girl likes to know. You know what they say about big feet. It means everything else is big too.”

“Everything else? Damn. In that case, he has big feet. Huge, really. His shoes have to be special made and shipped to him from the Netherlands.”

“The Netherlands?”

“Everyone knows, Princess, that the Netherlands are home to the tallest men in the world. They’re like a land of giants and their feet are so big they can only make their shoes out of wood—nothing else will fit.”

“Oh, I do remember something about wooden shoes.”

“And now you know the rest of the story,” Black says and I can hear his laughter in his voice and for some reason that makes me happy.

“Does he have all of his teeth?”

“His teeth?” he asks, and I stifle a giggle because I’m enjoying playing with him.

“Oral hygiene is very important in prospective dates.”

“No worries there. He takes anything oral very serious.”

“What about his hair?” I ask, trying not to dwell on thoughts of Black being serious about oral. I don’t really succeed. I can feel my body react and I have to squirm a little on the couch while I try to control my thoughts.

“His hair? No worries there. He makes sure his hair is clean and soft enough you can run your fingers through it constantly.”

“Damn it. I’m sorry, but this just won’t work with your friend.”

“What? Why not?”

“I only like men without hair.”

“You don’t like men with hair?” he asks, and he sounds like he’s trying to gauge if I’m serious or not.

“Nope I like their heads to be smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“So you only like bald men?”

“Yep. Something so smooth I can run my tongue over.”

“Well, that does sound… interesting, but I’m afraid he likes his hair.”

“Damn it. I really think this might be a deal breaker.”

“I bet you’re loads of fun for the guys in the old folk’s home,” he grumbles and I have to hold my head away from the phone as a laugh pops out that I can’t hold in. “What if he agrees to think about shaving his hair off if the date works out?”

“I guess I could agree to that concession.” I sigh out, sounding as if I’m in mourning.

“Then it’s a date?”

“I suppose. What time and where?”

“My friend would prefer to come pick you up. He’s old school, really likes to treat a girl right.”

I almost agree, but then remember he doesn’t know who I am. It’d be hard to explain that he could pick me up at the Mayor’s house, because then I’d have to explain the mayor is my dad…

“I need to run out anyway,” I lie. “Besides first dates can always end badly. I can just meet him…”

“You do realize that I’m the—”

“Just this once?” I plead, interrupting him. I’ll tell him the truth over dinner—if I can just get up the nerve…

“Okay,” he gives in, but he doesn’t sound happy. “How about we meet at the Marina? There’s a restaurant there overlooking the water.”

“We?” I prompt with a grin.

“I mean of course your date and you,” he backtracks.

“Sounds good. Can’t wait to see you again, Black—I mean I can’t wait to see my date.”

“He can’t wait to see if you like him enough to give him your address,” he mutters.

“Bye, Black,” I whisper, again chickening out before I confess who I really am.

“Bye, Addie,” he says and then in a moment I hear the click of his phone. I hold my phone in my hand for a few minutes afterward—worrying.

Will he really be upset when he finds out who my father is? Should I be this worried? Is Black really the type to pull away from a woman if he finds out he kind of—but not really—works for her father?

The problem with being too chicken to confess your secrets is you’re left with a bunch of questions… and not one answer.