Part 7:
Aunt Sarah said you went on a date, and I want to hear everything. He groaned into his pillow, every muscle, protesting. Sleeping in wet jeans on top of the covers probably wasn’t his smartest move, but he’d been too tired to care when he’d stumbled in at 1:00 in the morning. Sophie, inside voice, Sarah called from the doorway.
And maybe let your dad actually wake up before the interrogation. Ethan rolled over to find his daughter standing beside the bed, still in her dinosaur pajamas, brown eyes wide, with the kind of manic energy only children possessed before 8:00 a.m. Was she pretty? Did you kiss her? Are you getting married? Jesus.
So, he sat up, wincing at the ache in his back. How about we start with good morning? Good morning. Now answer the questions. Sarah appeared behind Sophie holding two cups of coffee like a peace offering. I tried to make her wait in the car. Clearly that worked great. Ethan took one of the mugs gratefully. What time is it? 7:30.
You’re welcome. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed studying him with that older sister expression that meant she was cataloging every detail for later analysis. So, how did it go? Sophie bounced on her toes. Did you like her? Ethan took a long drink of coffee, buying time. How did he explain last night to an 8-year-old? How did he explain it to himself? It was good, he said finally. Weird, but good.
Weird how? Sarah pressed. She was the one I helped. The car that broke down. Sarah’s eyes went wide. You’re kidding. Nope. Fixed her Jaguar, rushed to the restaurant. She’d already left because I was late. And then we figured it out and met at a diner instead. That’s so romantic, Sophie squealled. Like a movie. It’s something.
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, realizing it was probably sticking up at weird angles. She’s Sarah. She’s Vivian Hart. His sister’s expression went blank. I’m sorry. What? Vivien Hart. Hart Industries. The Viven Hart. No, no, that’s not. Catherine said she was in finance. Catherine lied or didn’t know or decided billionaire CEO was too intimidating to lead with.
Sarah stood up pacing the small bedroom. Ethan Vivien Hart is worth like I don’t even know. Billions. Actual billions. I’m aware. And you ate burgers with her at Rosy’s diner. Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Sophie looked between them, confusion creasing her forehead. Is billions a lot? Yes, sweetheart. Sarah said it’s a lot.
Does she have a castle? I didn’t ask about her real estate portfolio, Sofh. His daughter climbed onto the bed, settling cross-legged beside him. But did you like her for real? Not just because she’s rich. Ethan looked at his daughter, too perceptive, too aware of adult complications, too familiar with the weight of things that shouldn’t concern 8-year-olds.
Yeah, he said honestly. I liked her. She’s different than I expected. Good. Different. I think so. Sophie grinned and it was like watching the sun come out. Then you should see her again. Maybe I will. No. Maybe. You definitely should. She poked him in the arm. You smiled when you said her name. Did not. Did too. You got all smiley and weird.
Sarah laughed. She’s right. You do look smiley and weird. I hate both of you. No, you don’t. Sophie hugged him fiercely, her small arms wrapped around his neck. I’m glad you went on the date, even if you got all muddy. He hugged her back, breathing in the smell of her strawberry shampoo and the lingering scent of Sarah’s house.
Me too, kiddo. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. All three of them looked at it. Is it her? Sophie whispered like the phone could hear them. Ethan picked it up and his stomach did something complicated when he saw Vivien’s name. “What does it say?” Sarah demanded. He opened the message. “Good morning.
I’m assuming you survived the drive home without the truck dying. Should I be worried?” “She’s asking about the truck,” he said. Sophie peered over his shoulder. “That’s boring. Tell her you had fun.” “I’m not taking dating advice from an 8-year-old.” “Why not? I’m smart.” Sarah grabbed the phone from his hands, ignoring his protest. Let me see.
Okay, this is good. She’s initiating contact. She’s being playful, but not too eager. She’s Can I have my phone back? In a minute, I’m analyzing. She typed something and Ethan lunged for the phone. Sarah, what are you? Relax. I just said the truck is fine and you had a good time. See, professional and friendly.
I could have written that myself. Yes, but you would have overthought it for 20 minutes first. She handed the phone back. You’re welcome. The response came almost immediately. “Good. I’d hate for my handiwork to be wasted.” “Are you working today?” Sophie read over his shoulder again. “What’s handiwork mean?” “She fixed the truck yesterday,” Ethan explained, then caught Sarah’s raised eyebrow.
“Long story, I’ll tell you later,” he typed back. Shops open 9 to5. “Why?” “Just curious. I like to know where my mechanics spend their time.” Sarah made a strangled noise. She’s flirting with you. She’s not. She absolutely is. My mechanics. That’s possessive flirting. You’re reading too much into it. And you’re not reading enough.
