Inappropriately Yours

by Cara Dee

  I wouldn’t say the last… Ah, there. I found the book by Evelyn Beatrice Hall. The Life of Voltaire. I held it up so Jack could see, then flipped through it briefly. It was the first volume. I wasn’t sure in which one I'd find the quote, though Jack understood where I was going, regardless.

  "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

  I was bothered by a lot about their relationship, such as their age difference and the fact that he was my college friend. Initially, when I flew up to Washington, I wouldn’t have handled myself as rationally as I did now. I was too angry, too driven by personal opinion and emotion. Now I'd cooled off, much thanks to Chloe. I wasn’t here to argue what I disapproved of; it wasn’t my place. I was here to argue what I believed was right.

  "I appreciate that." Jack understood the reference too well, without even hearing the quote. "At the risk of pissing you off further, though…"

  "Oh dear," I drawled, returning the book.

  When I faced him, he was standing with both hands in his pockets, appearing tired, though his expression was grim.

  "I'm serious about her, Aiden. If these past couple of months are any indication, I'll give everything to actually be the last man for her."

  "Jesus Christ." Defeat hung heavily on me, and I blew out a long breath and scrubbed my hands over my face. "Is this your way of telling me you love her?"

  He inclined his head. "That’s one thing I won't apologize for."

  "Jesus Christ," I repeated. The annoyance was back, although it felt different now. Part of me was itching to be as petulant as a toddler. "Seriously? Of all the women in the world, why her?" I waved a hand at the stairs.

  His mouth twitched. "Because she's her?"

  I shot him a look, and then the woman of the hour was returning down the stairs.

  "Here. I had to print it out." She stalked over to me and slapped a piece of paper into my hand. "If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me."

  I turned the paper over and frowned. American Airlines. It was the receipt for two airline tickets from Seattle to LA.

  "Jack wanted to call you over a month ago," she told me. "I was the one who chickened out and said no. I wasn’t ready for our bubble to burst, so I came up with a bunch of excuses."

  "Sweetheart," Jack started, and I winced at the term of endearment, "you don't have to—"

  He was interrupted by Isla. "It's true." She turned to me again. "I postponed the call and made him promise to let me contact you first. He felt guilty, Dad. And maybe actions speak louder than words and this means nothing to you, but it means the world to me. He put me first. Isn't that what any father wants for their daughter? Someone who will put them first?"

  The tickets were purchased last week and were for next weekend. I handed back the printout, not ready to answer her question.

  "He gave me an ultimatum a few days ago," she went on. "I had two weeks to tell you everything, and he booked the tickets for us so we could—as he said—do the right thing and tell you face-to-face."

  "How noble of him," I muttered.

  She continued as if she hadn't heard me. "I was scared, okay? I was afraid all this would end up being just a fling once we got back to the real world." Behind her, Jack came up and threaded their fingers together. "He promised it wouldn’t, and then he told me he was certain because he loved me."

  And she loved him, too. It was becoming abundantly clear.

  "I love him too, Dad." There it was. Isla's voice grew softer. "You're right, we should've come clean sooner, but it's not on him."

  I averted my gaze, frowning, and took in the sight of the living room again. Was it even Jack's home anymore? Sounded more like it was theirs. Christ, I'd missed a lot.

  It was getting increasingly difficult to stay angry, too. They weren't being assholes about it. They'd acknowledged and shown remorse for the one thing I could hold against them.

  "Damn Chloe." She'd warned me of this—that it'd be serious. I rubbed a hand over my mouth, getting stuck on a picture frame on the coffee table. There was a black-and-white selfie-like photo of Jack kissing Isla's temple.

  "Who?" Isla asked, confused.

  "Huh?" I faced her again.

  Isla raised a brow. "Who's Chloe?"

  "Oh." I'd given up hope on finding a way to stop myself from thinking out loud decades ago, though it never ceased to work to my disadvantage.

  As for Chloe, I knew bringing her up would make my daughter happy, and that meant our fight would be over—officially. And I would have to learn how to accept this new relationship between Isla and my old friend.

  "I've met someone," I said.

  For the second time in under an hour, Isla dropped her jaw.

  "Congratulations." Jack smiled faintly.

  I nodded once.

  "Wait—hold up." Isla the Investigator was about to make another interference in my life. She'd been oddly invested in my lack of love life the past several years. "When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me!" She had the nerve to get loud.

  Jack winced and squeezed her hand. "Otherwise a great opportunity to pick your battles."

  Best thing he said all night.

  "I'm picking this one," she insisted. "So…? Tell me about her. She's not one of your fangirls, right?" She made a face.

  I snorted quietly at the irony. If anything, I was Chloe's fan. "She's barely heard of me. Her son works in a bookstore around here somewhere, so she went behind my back and ordered my books through him." I would've given them to her.

  Jack furrowed his brow. "Around here?"

  "Yeah, she's local," I answered, a bit ticked off. The reason I came was forgotten now. We'd moved on—long before I was ready.

  In the meantime, Isla became suspicious. "How long have you been in town, Dad?"

  I had no issues admitting anything. "A little over a week. Yes, I stalked you once or twice. I created you. It's my right."

  She merely stared at me in disbelief.

  I shrugged.

  "I can't believe you," she told me. "But you know what? I'm happy for you. You're a great man, and I trust you to pick a woman who's good for you. Unlike some, I won't rain on your parade."

  "Why don’t you lay it on a bit thicker?" I clenched my jaw. "There is nothing inappropriate about my relationship, and she's not Jack's daughter, so there's absolutely no reason for you to get smart with me, Isla."

  "With all due respect, Aiden, what's inappropriate or not doesn’t matter," Jack told me. "Our relationship isn't under scrutiny—"

  "Are you sure?" I retorted.

  "It shouldn’t be," he argued irritably.

  "Hey," I snapped. "Can you give me five fucking minutes to get used to it? The last memory I have you two in the same room was when she showed you she could tie her own shoes."

  Okay, it wasn’t the last memory, but it was one of them. It was a huge adjustment for me. I needed time.

  Thankfully, they seemed to understand that.

  Releasing a breath, I rounded the couch and slumped down on it. I disliked being angry; it drained me of energy and rarely led to anything good. Of course, sometimes we couldn’t help ourselves. Overall, though, I considered myself mellow and easygoing. Anger was ugly.

  "Can I have a moment alone with him?" I heard Isla ask softly.

  "Of course." There was the sound of a kiss, and then Jack ascended the stairs.

  For the umpteenth time, I scrubbed my hands over my face. Arguing was exhausting.

  Isla sat down next to me, gently nudging her shoulder against my arm. "I'm sorry it came to this. I'm sorry for the outright lies. You didn’t deserve that."

  I inclined my head and rested my forearms on my knees.

  I kinda wanted Chloe here. In the short span of a week, I'd learned she was a fantastic voice of reason, not to mention a great comfort. I'd come to appreciate her opinions, and when she spoke, I listened.

  "Do you think Jack is a good man?" Isla wondered.

 
Of course I did. "Otherwise I wouldn’t have called him friend for over twenty years, pumpkin." And I knew where she was going with this. Leaning back against the cushions, I sighed heavily and lifted my arm for her. She was quick to get close and let me hold her. "If I didn’t think he was a good man, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, either. I'd have you hauled over my shoulder, and we'd be on our way to my place."

  She made a noise and lifted her head, eyeing me with a confused expression. "You have a place here?"

  "Yeah, I'm renting a loft a few blocks away." I ran a hand over my head, adjusting the rubber band. "Point is, I know he's probably good for you. Good to you. But you're my daughter."

  She rested her head on my shoulder. "I understand, Dad. I do." She hummed quietly, absently tracing the fibers of my jeans with a finger. "I'm relieved you know now, though. Especially if you're staying here a while. I have so many questions about…well, everything. My dad, the biggest kook on the planet, finally got himself a girlfriend."

  I snorted. "I prefer eccentric. Brat."

  She giggled.

  I smiled ruefully and shook my head. I suppose the anger was fading, at last. Or perhaps it would come and go while I got used to this change. Probably.

  "I want to meet her." Isla sat up again, this time shifting to face me fully. "You mentioned she has a son?"

  "Four." I quirked a brow.

  "Oh, wow. Four sons?"

  "Mmhmm." I grinned faintly. "They're good boys. I guess you'll meet them soon enough."

  "I hope so." Her own smile was soft. "I have a good feeling about this."

  Unfortunately, even I couldn’t argue with that. I'd run out of things to hold against her, I was more than ready to be on good terms with my daughter again, I'd reluctantly admitted Jack was a good man, and I did look forward to introducing Isla to Chloe.

  "You can go tell Jack we'll be all right." I gave Isla's knee a quick squeeze, then pushed myself off the couch. "Just…for your old man's sake, keep a lid on the PDA for a while, okay?"

  "Yes, sir." She stifled a smirk and saluted me. "Hey, do you want to read the draft of my next book?"

  At that, my eyebrows shot up. "Of fucking course I do, pumpkin." Damn, I didn’t know she'd come that far. I'd been disappointed when she hadn't wanted me to read her first one, although I'd understood it at the same time.

  "I'll email it to you tomorrow," she promised and stood up, too. "Jack's almost giving it his stamp of approval. It's only a first draft, though. I'm still working on it."

  "His approval is hard to come by," I noted, knowing a couple of my titles did not have it. "Well, send it over. I'll be happy to read it."

  "Thanks." She looked as proud as she was bashful. "I'm really glad you're here."

  I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Me too."

  With this cloud no longer hanging over our heads, I looked forward to catching up with her, as well. We'd both missed a lot, it seemed. It wasn’t like us to live our lives so separately. That would have to be remedied.

  Epilogue

  A year later

  Jack Grady

  "Oh, well done, you verbose shit," I muttered. Marking a whole paragraph of redundancy in a client's work, I checked the time down in the corner and decided to call it a day. Isla should be waking up any moment, anyway.

  I powered down my computer and left my study, then headed down to the second floor where I poked my head into our bedroom. She was asleep, and it would've been easy to let her catch another hour or two. If only we didn’t have plans.

  "Sweetheart?" I walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed. My hands were drawn to her body, even more so now, and I shifted the duvet off of her to reveal her perfection. "Isla, it's time to wake up." She'd taken a liking to sleeping in my boxers along with a flimsy top. Said top had ridden up in her sleep, and I couldn’t help but dip down and kiss her smooth, toned stomach. "I love you," I whispered. "I love you more than anyone can fathom."

  Isla shifted, slowly waking up. "What…what time is it?" She wove her fingers into my hair.

  "Almost five." I placed another kiss to her stomach before dropping one to her forehead, too. "Do you want me to wake you up in another hour or so?"

  She shook her head and sat up, snuggling close to me. "I'm meeting up with Chloe before the barbecue."

  "Okay. Call me if you need anything." I smoothed down her wavy bed head and smiled. "Want me to pick you guys up, or should we meet there?"

  "Meeting there is fine." She popped a kiss to my jaw, then climbed out of bed. "Ugh. I'm so glad I won't be traveling for a while."

  Fuck, so was I. With her second novel generating positive buzz and selling well, she'd been booked solid for the past three months. She'd been all over the country, and I hadn't been able to travel with her as much as I would've liked. Now she was home to stay for the foreseeable future.

  "I think…" Isla bit her lip and eyed her profile in the mirror. "I think the cravings have started."

  "Oh, yeah?" I smiled. "Anything I can get you?"

  So far, the only new development was her afternoon napping. Around three or four, she'd hit a wall of exhaustion and go to bed for a while.

  She shook her head and returned to me, stepping in between my legs. "I'm going out, anyway." While she kissed the top of my head, I was offered a spectacular view of her cleavage. "I'm having dirty, dirty thoughts about you and peanut butter."

  I smirked up at her, hands on her hips. "That’s a rather strange combination."

  "I've read it can get a whole lot weirder than that." She grinned. "I'm gonna take a shower. Care to join me?"

  Only always.

  *

  Isla Roe

  At little past six, I met up with Chloe at the salon where she was getting her hair done. The studio was small and bright, the three chairs all occupied, and it looked like I was walking in on something.

  "Isla!" Chloe gave me a bright smile while her stylist was removing foil from a piece of her hair. "I'm almost done. The girls are declaring war on Camassia's favorite radio talk show host."

  I chuckled and took a seat while two of the stylists spoke their agreement, which was followed by a shushing as the radio show in question was back after a commercial.

  "Finn Becker—he's such a pig," Chloe's stylist said.

  "I don’t know, Katie… I still think it's satire," Chloe replied thoughtfully. My mouth twisted up. One of the first things I'd learned about Dad's girlfriend was that she saw good in everyone. She was very sweet.

  "All right, thanks for calling in, man," the host said on the radio. "Hopefully, traffic's a little safer now that your wife's not on the road."

  "Whoa." I dropped my jaw. Even Chloe winced at that one.

  "That's what I'm saying!" Katie, a woman who looked a little younger than me, was noticeably outraged. "I hate the bastard. His brother was my teacher in high school. He's not much better."

  "I heard he's the next host for The Breakfast Hour," another stylist said.

  "Fuck that noise, I'll personally tear him to shreds." Katie sneered. "I can take a lot, but last week when he called all women unstable—on air—I seriously reached my limit for his bullshit."

  I listened in on the rest of the traffic report that seemed to go on forever, and Katie moved on to rinse Chloe's hair before blow drying it.

  Her hair looked exactly the same, shiny, thick, and wavy in rich browns, except for one streak at the base of her neck. I tipped my head, curious. One piece, about two inches thick, shone in a deep purple color. It wouldn’t show when her hair was down, but Katie was arranging it in a high, messy bun, revealing the little sliver of purple that blended in with the browns.

  Chloe wore a secret little smile when she inspected the change in the mirror afterward.

  "It's perfect, Katie. Thank you so much."

  I knew that smile. It was private. My dad was probably involved, much like Jack had given me more than a few of those smiles, too. It made me grin and get misty-eyed, the latter of
which I blamed on my own secret.

  This time, I wasn’t going to hide things from Dad for very long.

  "Damn emotions," I whispered to myself, blinking them back. I was getting way too sappy. Someone have mercy on Jack if I flipped a switch and everything was suddenly hell on earth. I'd been reading horror tales all week.

  *

  Chloe Nolan

  I made another appointment in six weeks with Katie before paying, and then I left with Isla, whom I kept studying for signs. I had dinner with her and Alessia the day before yesterday, and I couldn’t help but wonder…

  "Hey, is Gray seeing someone?" she asked as I unlocked my car.

  "Not that I know of. Why?" I got in and reached over to unlock her door. Lately, my boys were on my case to buy a new—modern—car, but I liked my old Beetle, dammit.

  Isla sat down and reached for her seat belt. "He accidentally sent me a message last night that I'm pretty sure was meant for someone else. I pointed it out to him, but he never answered."

  "Hmm." I pursed my lips, looking behind me as I backed out, then started making our way to the grocery store. "May I ask what the text said?"

  "It was sweet, just said 'Can't stop thinking about you.'"

  Although instinct told me to be happy, there was a niggling worry at the back of my mind, because I knew my son. He had the tendency to want what he couldn’t have, and I knew his history with his coach. I wish he'd stop hurting himself. Then I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to get cynical. Maybe finding someone who was available was actually what he'd done.

  "Hopefully, he'll bring this mystery guy over soon if that’s the case." I made sure to keep my tone light.

  The trip to the store was quick; we were only picking up some sides we'd ordered. However, it was enough to notice Isla's rather strange reaction to the free samples of some curry dish that we walked past. I could've sworn she liked curry.

  She was a treat to get to know, and I'd missed her while she was on the road this spring. For the first time in my life—while still outnumbered—there was another strong, female voice around.

  It also made me fall deeper in love with Aiden every time Isla and I had a girls' night or went out together. She was a bright, caring reflection of his parenting and him as a person.