Page 52 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“Yeah. This has been a great night.”
“You look beautiful, honey. That dress suits you.”
I leaned further into his chest. “Thanks, Dad.”
I loved my bridesmaid dress. True to everything else about this wedding, it was classy. A simple black chiffon V-neck dress with an A-line skirt cut at tea length. I didn’t have to wear Spanx, I could wear a normal bra, and the skirt had pockets for my phone and lip gloss.
Bonus, it made me feel pretty.
“Coby sure did look grown-up today in his suit,” Dad said.
“Isn’t that the truth? Can you believe he’ll be four this summer? It feels like just yesterday I was bringing him home.”
Dad gazed adoringly over my shoulder. I craned my neck to see Coby and a slew of other boys racing around the tables. Coby had shed his jacket for dinner but had refused to take off the bow tie his aunt Sabrina had bought special, just for him.
“It’s hard for your old man to believe you’re all grown-up,” Dad said, pulling me a bit closer. “Beau’s married. Michael’s barely looked away from Alana all night. You’ve got Coby and the inn. I’m getting old. I miss the days when you kids needed me around.”
“We still need you, Dad.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “Especially me. You have to train my dog.”
He smiled at my joke and twirled me again. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”
“No. Of course not. You know I can’t hold a grudge for long.” The minute someone apologized to me, anger and resentment just flittered away.
“That’s because my Maisy-girl’s heart is too sweet for grudges.”
“Some might call me a doormat.”
He scoffed. “Absolutely not. You’re forgiving, not a doormat. And I think that’s a damn strong trait. When someone hurts you, the easy thing to do is cut them out, but you don’t. You give second chances when people probably don’t deserve them. You keep your heart open instead of becoming bitter and jaded. There’s nothing doormat about you.”
“Okay, Dad.” I patted his chest, trying to stop him before he got all worked up, but he kept on ranting, drawing attention from a couple of dancers close by.
“Remember that time Jessica Cummings wrote that mean note about you in sixth grade and got caught passing it in class? Not a lot of kids would have let that go. Not to mention the fact that you then volunteered to be her debate partner because no one else could stand the little brat.”
“Dad,” I scolded. “Jessica wasn’t so bad.” She’d called me a bug-eyed goody two-shoes in the note, but she’d apologized the next day. We’d partnered for debate and had actually become friends until we’d lost touch after high school. I wonder what she’s doing these days. Tomorrow I’d send her a Facebook message and say hello.
“My point is, you’re one of the most loving—one of the strongest—people I know.”
I smiled. “You’re just biased.”
“I am. But I’m damn right too.”
“Thanks.” I hugged him tighter as we finished our dance.
When the song ended, I looped my arm through his and let him escort me back to our table, where Mom was into another glass of champagne with Sabrina’s mom. Both were laughing and talking too loudly.
“Uh-oh,” Dad muttered.
“You can say that again. You’d better cut Mom off soon or she’s never going to be able to host brunch in the morning.”
“I think you’re right.” He let me go and walked to the back of Mom’s chair, gently rubbing her shoulders. Dad wouldn’t be cutting her off. He’d let Mom indulge as much as she wanted and take her home. Then tomorrow morning, he’d wake her up with coffee, orange juice and painkillers.
And I would be setting my alarm two hours earlier than planned so I could get to their house first and help Mom with brunch.
Grabbing my chair, I spun it around from the table so I could watch people on the dance floor. About two seconds later, Gigi came up from behind and slid a chair next to mine.
