Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
That was indisputable fact.
“But I still resent how it’s always been her first priority.” She threw the egg mixture into the pan, began to move it around using the cooking spatula. “Then I hate myself for being an unappreciative brat.” It messed her up at times, that confusion inside her. “I know exactly how much others in my position would give for that kind of financial support.”
Walking around the counter, Danny leaned against it with his back, his hands braced behind him. “I dunno,” he said. “I think you can be mad. I mean, your mum already had two gazillion dollars by the time you were born. Even if she had to duck out on Ísa to build her empire, she didn’t need to do the same with you.”
Catie made a face and waved the spatula at him. “See, that’s when I hit the wall. Because why should it have been on her to raise me and do all the kid-friendly stuff? I have a father who had plenty of time on his hands.”
Danny, who’d been a part of her life for so long that he was like furniture—annoying, irritating furniture with sharp edges that snagged her favorite sweaters—made a face back at her. “Yeah, but you didn’t choose Clive. She did. And she knew who he was—er—how honest can I be without you throwing my eggs in the garbage disposal?”
“It’s fine. I know who my dad is.” A good-looking gambler and cheerful companion allergic to responsibility. “He hit me up for money yesterday.”
Danny straightened, his expression tight. “Jesus, Catie. That is not on. The man needs a swift kick in the ass.”
Catie dumped Danny’s eggs onto a plate. “Shut up. Only I get to dis my dad.”
Not calling her out on her sudden about-face, Danny took the plate and went back to the table. Though he ate in silence, she could all but hear the gears turning in his brain, could predict what he was thinking. Because Danny had grown up in a wholly different kind of family. Far more traditional than her own if you wanted to put labels on it.
Catie had picked up enough bits and pieces over the years to know that, prior to marrying Joseph, Alison had worked her fingers to the bone to support herself and her two boys by her first husband.
Danny, however, had been born into a family where the father was the breadwinner while the mother took charge of the household and the children. More, he’d been raised by a man who believed the care of his family was his responsibility, making sure they were provided for an integral aspect of his masculinity.
It was as old-fashioned as anything… but it was nice too. Catie could still remember how she’d almost cried the first time Joseph Esera had hugged her, then given her five dollars to go buy herself an ice cream from the ice cream van that had stopped by their beachside campsite.
She hadn’t needed the money. It hadn’t been about that. It had been about seeing how a dad could be—giving, responsible, stable.
“Enough about my hang-ups,” she said as she stacked the dishwasher while Danny finished up his food. “How’s your mum doing in her studies?” Alison had gone back to university the previous year, was in the midst of a history degree.
“Loving it.” Danny’s scowl melted away. “I always knew she was into ancient cultures, but man, she glows when she talks about that stuff. She’s started writing a historical novel—fiction based on actual history with a bit of a romantic thread in it.”
“What? I didn’t know that!” Having finished with the dishes and wiped down the counter, Catie grabbed a seat at the table. “Tell me everything!”
“I don’t know any specifics yet. I think she’s a bit shy about it.”
“What’s your dad think of her being so busy?” After all, Joseph was used to a stay-at-home wife.
“He bought her a brand-new laptop for her birthday, loaded with special writing software he asked Ísa about.” Danny’s grin was wild with affection. “My dad’s not a reader, but he’s been asking to read her draft chapters as she finishes them—only Mum says he’s a terrible critic because he tells her he loves every word.”
Again, Catie felt that heart squeeze. “Jeez, you realize your parents are disgustingly adorable?”
“Nah, they’re real,” he said with the easy comfort of a man who’d grown up surrounded by an enduring love. “They have their arguments—last time I was home, Dad was in the doghouse because he forgot to line the bin with a bin liner and Mum dumped a bunch of gross trash in it before she realized and it got all filthy.”
“World War III right there, hotshot.” She’d been a toddler of three when her parents divorced, and while Clive was too charmingly slippery a character to get into fights, she’d seen the look on Jacqueline’s face when Clive dropped Catie off for visitation with her mother: a kind of pained disappointment that went to the core.