Page 17 of Off Limits Daddies
"We need to talk."
She wraps her arms around herself. "I know. This is ... God, this is so awkward."
"Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it." I run my hand through my hair. "Mia, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea you'd be working here. If I had known?—“
"How could you have?" She trails off, her cheeks flushing. She looks away, and I force myself to focus on the Shakespeare quote poster on the wall. "To thine own self be true." The irony isn't lost on me.
"I just need you to know that I would never have put you in this position if I'd known we'd be colleagues."
"I didn't know either." Her voice is quiet. "And ... well ... what we did ..." She takes a deep breath, her cheeks pinkening. "I don't usually do that. Actually, I never have before ... you." Her voice fades off and she quickly looks at her feet.
I lean against one of the desks, gripping the edge. I need to keep some distance even though the classroom suddenly feels very small. "Look, I know this is complicated. But I want you to know that I can be professional about this. We can pretend that night never happened. Clean slate. Whatever you need."
The words taste like lies. Because I can't pretend. Not when she's standing five feet away and I'm remembering everything about that night.
Relief floods her features. "Really? You'd be okay with that?"
"Of course. We're adults. We can handle this." Even as I say it, I'm not sure I believe it.
"Thank you," she says softly. "I was so worried you'd think I make a habit of this kind of thing. Going home with strangers. I don't. I really don't."
"I know you don't. You don't have to explain yourself to me, Mia."
But she continues anyway. "I've never done anything like that before. Never. But that night, I just ... I needed ..."
"An escape," I finish gently. "I know."
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I can see the question in her eyes.
"I could tell that night that something was wrong. That you were dealing with something." I study her face, seeing the samesadness I glimpsed at the bar. "You seemed like you needed an escape. I got the sense that you were dealing with something heavy."
Her eyes widen slightly, surprised that I noticed.
"My father," she says after a pause, and her voice cracks. "He's sick. That's why I came back to Riverside. After swearing I'd never come back."
"I'm sorry. Is it serious?”
She nods, and for a moment I think she might cry. But she blinks rapidly, forcing the tears back. "Cancer. Stage four. The doctors say it's just a matter of time now. Six months at best.”
My chest tightens. I want to cross the space between us, to pull her into my arms. But I can't. We've just agreed to be professional.
"God, Mia. I'm so sorry."
"I haven't seen him in nearly ten years." She finally looks at me, and the raw pain in her eyes nearly undoes me. "I left without saying goodbye and we haven't spoken since."
I don't know what to say to that. The weight of it hangs between us, heavy and complicated. Ten years is a long time to carry that kind of silence.
"That must be incredibly hard," I say finally. "Coming back now, under these circumstances."
She nods, her throat working. "It is. But I couldn't not come back. Not when he's dying."
We stand in silence for a moment. The afternoon light shifts across the classroom floor. Outside, I can hear the faint sounds of the parking lot, cars starting, teachers heading home.
"Mia," I say, and something in my voice makes her look up. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay," she says cautiously.
"I don't regret that night. Not for a second."
