Page 30 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Her mother was a storm—half Sicilian, half Italian, a force you never saw coming until it was too late. And Marlow? She’s cut from the very same lightning.
“How’ve Xavier and Will been treating you? They still playing fair?”
I’ve had her shadowing just about everyone in the front office—publicists, the sponsorship team, even squeezing into meetings with Will and Xavier. Total trial by fire. But that’s the point. If she’s going to thrive in this world, she’s got to see it from all angles. No sugarcoating. No surprises. And I’ve made damn sure she’s going in with her eyes wide open.
She tilts her head, thinking it over. “Hmm... Xavier’s knowledgeable but tougher than you with his expectations. Will’s letting me tell him what I need to learn from him. Two very different leadership styles, but I appreciate both.”
I take a slow sip of my drink. “But you’ll tell me if they’re too hard on you?”
She exhales dramatically. “No, Daddy. Because I’m a grown-up who handles my own problems. Like you taught me.”
“By slashing a fucker’s tires if they hurt you?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Orby having a conversation?”
“Fine,” I mutter. “But I will murder for you.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Speaking of murder. The guys on the team being respectful?”
She groans. “Oh my God, enough! Let’s talk about you. How’s your dating life going? Met any quality women lately?”
She set me up a few weeks ago on some popular dating app—Caché Elite—an exclusive thing for executives and professionals. My profile’s there, face blurred, bio carefully worded. I’vegot a pile of matches, but none that hold my attention. I only checked in the first place to see if Eslin had a profile.
She doesn’t.
I shrug. “I’m more focused on getting you up to speed than speed dating, munchkin.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop calling me that. I’m twenty-eight.”
“Nope. It’s my right as your father. Nicknames are forever.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re my favorite.”
Dinner is incredible. She serves up the enchiladas hot out of the oven, perfectly sauced with melty cheese, sides of spiced black beans and cilantro-lime rice. The tortillas are crisp on the edges but soft inside, packed with slow-cooked chicken and roasted green chilies. I make a mental note to ask her to cook this again next week.
Halfway through the meal, she narrows her eyes at me over her glass of wine.
“You know,” she says slowly, “you really should get back out there. You can’t still be hung up on that woman from Vegas.”
My stomach knots, my fork pausing mid-air.
I mask it with a quick smirk, take another bite, stalling just long enough to pull it together.
Because the truth? Of course I’m still hung up on her. On that night. Oneverythingabout her.
But I can’t say that. I won’t. Not when Marlow’s orbit is so close to Eslin’s now. A few loose words and she could be one step from figuring it out.
So I wave her off, casual. “I’m just busy right now. Plenty of time for dating later.”
She studies me for a second, suspicious. But finally lets it go, returning to her plate.
I exhale, quiet, the weight of the unspoken truth settling heavier in my chest.
If she knew...if Marlow knew who Eslin really was to me—what she means to me—everything would unravel.
