Dockside (20 page)

She saw his hand clench into a fist. It was the hand that held the garnet. He looked over at Sonnet and his eyes swam with tears, but they didn’t fall. It must be so painful, Nina thought, holding them in like that.

“It’ll never be enough,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Angela contradicted, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “It will.”

“A
re you sure this is the right thing to do, Dad?” Daisy asked, her pen poised over the signature line on her letter to Logan O’Donnell.

Greg felt the churchlike hush of the bank pressing in on him. The antique gothic building’s soaring ceilings and marble floors provided a cool refuge from the summer heat, but Greg was sweating from nerves. That, and the suit he was wearing. It just seemed right to wear a suit for the occasion. Daisy had written a letter informing O’Donnell that he was the biological father of her child. She would agree to a DNA test if he requested it. She absolved him of all legal and financial obligation, hoping to avert a custody battle down the road. The kid would be an idiot not to agree to Daisy’s terms, which basically let him off scot-free. Of course, he’d already proven he was an idiot, so Greg wasn’t sure how O’Donnell would react when he got the news from Daisy.

Greg glanced around, not sure what he was looking for—a sign? Someone to advise him? He wasn’t likely to find that here. Shane Gilmore, the bank president, was on his phone in a glass-walled cubicle. Brooke Harlow, the asset manager, was away from her desk. Across the counter, the notary waited, her mouth forming a prune of disapproval as she scanned the letter and filled out a form. She had hair of blue steel and the kind of holier-than-thou judgmental air Greg had come to despise. He was sick of strangers who looked at Daisy and thought the worst.

“Let’s have a seat,” he said, guiding her away from the counter. The damned notary could wait until hell froze over, as far as Greg was concerned. Sophie had advised them to notarize the letter and send it by courier, signature required. Daisy sat down on a lobby bench, the papers in her lap.

Greg considered what Nina had told him about her own experience with the father of her child. A young man—even a careless, hormone-driven boy—had to at least be given the information that he’d fathered a child. Nina claimed she had never regretted the way she’d handled Sonnet’s father, not telling him until he’d graduated from West Point and gotten engaged to another woman. It was, Greg realized, consistent with Nina’s independent nature—a way to insure her role as sole parent to her daughter. Did Daisy want to go it alone? The agony of indecision on her face indicated that she wasn’t sure.

She fiddled with the pen. “Mom said it’s my call and no one else’s.”

So she and Sophie had been communicating, he reflected. That, at least, showed a bit of progress. “Your mom’s right.”

“What, did you guys, like, talk about it?”

He nodded, perversely pleased that he and Sophie were on the same page for once. They got along fairly well, now that they were an ocean apart and rarely spoke.

They weren’t exactly the perfect role models for Daisy’s situation, either. As young parents with an unplanned child, they’d done their best, and that had been good enough for a long time, but not forever. When Sophie had presented him with his newborn daughter, he’d felt a love so intense it bled into his feelings for Sophie. Within mere moments, he’d convinced himself—and Sophie—that the marriage was meant to be. They believed they were doing the right thing for the sake of their child.

“Your mom and I both want you to make your own decision,” he said.

“So if I blow it, I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

“Daisy—”

“I get that, Dad. Believe me, I do.” And with that, something seemed to spur her to action. She marched over to the notary, signed each copy of the form and pushed it across the counter to the steel-haired woman.

Give her hell, Greg thought. His daughter’s implacable pride was evident in her posture and the set of her chin as she slid the papers into a long, legal-size envelope.

“Greg.” Brooke Harlow came out of the back office, a polite smile on her face. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Same here,” he said, briefly taking her hand. He hadn’t seen her since their not-quite-a-date on the lake, but he hadn’t forgotten how attractive she was. Her every hair was slicked into place, and she wore a straight skirt and high heels that showed off her legs. Greg suffered an untimely reminder of how long it had been since he’d gotten laid. Lately it seemed everywhere he turned, he encountered women—smiling, helpful, attractive women. He spotted them in line at the post office, browsing the aisles of the hardware store, using the pumps at the gas station, haunting his dreams. They’d always been there, of course, but deprivation had made him more keenly aware of them. He wondered if they could tell.

“I guess you’ve been busy,” Brooke said, her tone open-ended. She gave him an unmistakable once-over, focusing on the hand-tailored Brooks Brothers suit he was wearing.

Her manner surprised him. He’d actually written her off based on that first disastrous date. Now she seemed to be telegraphing ask-me-out signals.

“I’ve been plenty busy, but a guy’s got to eat,” he said. “Maybe we could go to dinner sometime.”

Her face lit up, her eyes bright with a “mission accomplished” expression. “That sounds—”

“All set, Daddy-O.” Daisy joined them, preceded by her conspicuously big abdomen. “Hi,” she said, checking out Brooke with just a hint of wariness in her eyes. She claimed it was fine with her if Greg wanted to date, but she had definite opinions about the women he picked. Long-haired bankers in spike heels didn’t impress her the way they did Greg.

He introduced them, and Daisy said, “Hello, Ms. Harlow. I was just getting something notarized.” She patted the thick envelope and smiled, clearly aware of the effect she was having on Brooke.

Brooke’s expression was almost comical. Hell, it
was
comical. Greg could see the surprise chasing across her prom-queen features, though she managed to paste on a smile.

Greg didn’t say anything. He surveyed the bank lobby and acted as though he didn’t feel anyone’s scrutiny. He felt it, though, seeping through the layers of his suit like the summer heat. In a town like this, no one got to be anonymous. It was impossible to have secrets. For long, anyway. Within hours, it would be put out there that Daisy Bellamy’s situation had come as a shock to the bank’s new asset manager.

Brooke cleared her throat. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said to Daisy. Then she turned to Greg with an apologetic smile. “I’d better get back to work. It’s good to see you, Greg. Good luck with the new property.”

She walked briskly to her office, high heels clicking decisively on the marble floor. Greg watched her go with a twinge of regret.

“I guess I caught her off guard.” Daisy offered him a rueful smile. “People don’t look at you and automatically think, ‘Grandpa.’”

“Yeah, if they did that, I’d shoot myself,” he admitted. “I was just in the process of asking her to dinner.” He held the door for Daisy and they stepped out into the bright summer day.

“Sorry, Dad.” An awkward silence pulsed between them. This was surely a new family dynamic—the grown daughter coming to realize her father wanted to date. “I’ll wait out here while you go back and talk to her.”

“No, it’s fine. I changed my mind.” That was true. The moment he’d seen the way she looked at Daisy, Brooke had lost all her appeal—high heels or no. And honestly, he could understand Brooke’s reluctance. She was barely thirty. The idea of dating a man with kids wasn’t so outrageous. But the idea of dating a man about to become a grandfather was a bit much for a woman Brooke’s age.

Damn. He shouldn’t be thinking about dating at all. He had kids to raise and a business to launch and he ought to know better.

Heat blazed up from the sidewalk, and he hastened to peel off his suitcoat and tie. Had he really dressed for work this way every day in the city?

“I mean it, Dad,” Daisy said as they headed for the car. “I don’t want women to run the other way just because of me.”

“If they run the other way because of you, I wouldn’t want to date them in the first place,” he insisted, starting the car and blasting the air conditioner.

“Great, you just eliminated about ninety percent of the female population.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Because of me, not you,” she said. “I do want you to find someone, Dad. Just not…a clone of Mom.”

“Is that what Brooke is, a clone of Mom?”

“Dad. She looks like Mom’s younger sister.”

“Your mother doesn’t have a sister.”

“But if she did, she’d look like that bank teller.”

“Asset manager.”

“See? That’s very Mom-like. Why settle for bank teller when you can be asset manager?”

She knew him and Sophie better than he thought. But then, she’d had a ringside seat, watching her parents as she grew up. He noticed she had slid the envelope under the seat. “Do you want to mail that?”

“I’ll, um, take care of it myself later.”

He didn’t push. It was a big step, and he wanted her to take all the time she needed.
Like her mother had.
The thought chilled him. Sophie had certainly taken her time, waiting until after Daisy was born to bring Greg into the loop. Would anything have been different—for him and Sophie, for Daisy—if he’d been with her from the start?

He loosened his collar, and they headed to the printer’s to pick up proofs of the inn’s new brochures. The artwork and layout evoked another place in time—a simpler, romantic era when the most pressing item on the agenda might be a tee time at Avalon Meadows. There were shots of Willow Lake in full summer glory, a mirror to the blue sky, surrounded by rising layers of woods and mountains. There were catchphrases—“escape and find yourself,” “relax, renew, reconnect”—and an earnest promise that guests of the inn would enjoy the best in service and comfort. Daisy’s photography highlighted every page, and the graphic designer praised her work.

“Where did you study?” she asked.

“High-school photography class,” Daisy said. “But mostly, I’m self-taught.”

“Do you do freelance work?”

Greg stepped back, letting Daisy and the graphic designer talk and exchange cards. When she’d visited earlier in the summer, Sophie had given Daisy a box of printed business cards. This was something Greg never would have thought of, but now he was glad Sophie had.

As they drove away from the printer’s, he said, “I’m proud of you, Daze. I like it when other people see your talent.”

“I have a lot to learn when it comes to photography,” she said.

Greg waited. He sensed she was leading up to something.

“I wasn’t real keen on college, but now I’m thinking I should take some classes. In fact, if I moved to New Paltz, I could go to the state college there.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, dismissing the idea. “New Paltz is miles away.”

“I know where it is, Dad, and no offense, but I’ll go where I want.”

He crushed his back teeth together to keep from replying. Then he couldn’t help himself. “I thought we agreed you’re staying at home.”

“You agreed, Dad. I said I’d see.”

He clenched his jaw again, and this time, it stuck. He ought to know better than to get sucked into an argument with her. She was staying with him, period. She really didn’t have any other options, though he wasn’t going to hurt her feelings by pointing that out. She needed his support.

Hell, who was he kidding? His daughter was eighteen. She had a trust fund—all the Bellamy grandchildren did. He was scared shitless that she’d leave, go somewhere he couldn’t protect her. Nina had warned him about this. No, not warned him. But she had definitely seen it coming. So she was either eerily tapped in to Daisy’s mindset, or maybe the two of them had been talking. Greg dismissed the idea. No way would Nina do that, put ideas about leaving home into Daisy’s head.

She angled the A/C vent toward her face. “There are a lot of things I want to do. I’ll just have to find a way to make it work, you know, with the baby.”

He never knew what to say when she spoke of the baby in such concrete terms. To Greg, it was still an abstraction; the idea hadn’t quite sunk in that, yes, he was going to be someone’s grandfather this summer. Discomfited, he found a radio station they both liked and turned up the volume.

“I’m starved,” Daisy said after a while. To Greg’s relief, she seemed oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s time to meet Nina, anyway,” she added.

Greg resisted the urge to accelerate. It was a business meeting, he reminded himself. Yet he couldn’t deny that doing business with Nina was a pleasure. Somehow, he had known that would be the case. It was funny. Though he barely knew her at all, he sometimes felt he knew her better than most of the people in his life.

Today they’d chosen to meet at the Sky River Bakery. Nina was there already. She had commandeered an outdoor seat at an enameled steel café table shaded by a broad-brimmed umbrella. She spied them and motioned them over. Greg noticed that Daisy was carrying the envelope from the bank with her, as though she didn’t want to leave it in the car.

Connor Davis sat with Nina, both of them bent over his contractor’s book, deep in discussion. She and Connor both offered him a brief greeting and scooted their chairs to make room.

As he took a seat next to her, Greg caught her scent—a mingling of sunscreen, shampoo and the glazed donut she was eating. He felt a now-familiar jolt of attraction, strong enough to drive away the echo of Brooke Harlow’s high heels. Which was interesting, since Nina seemed to favor shorts and flip-flops, short hair and no makeup. She wasn’t his type at all, he reminded himself. Except…damn…she was.