“Sure,” Chloe replies, glancing at Dylan. “Do you want one?”

“Yeah, go on then. I’ll have one.”

I walk downstairs to the kitchen. Black, marble tiles meet dark-gray cupboards and a feature wall of exposed brick. The kitchen island in the middle always has a bowl of fruit filled with grapes and fresh red apples.

Opening the fridge, I find what I’m looking for. I remove three bottles of beer and shut the fridge.

“I really shouldn’t turn a blind eye,” Mr. Reid says, entering the kitchen.

Turning, I lean back against the fridge. “Probably not.”

Mr. Reid looks rough today, with dark circles beneath his eyes, his tie hanging loose, and his buttons undone. It’s as if he remains strong all year, but on this date—this one single day—he lets himself fall apart.

“Hand me one, please.”

I do, watching him search a kitchen drawer for an opener. He pops the lid and brings the bottle to his lips, downing half of it in one go.

Swallowing thickly, I chew on my lip, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

It feels inadequate. Something lame you say to fill the silence, not to comfort or to soothe someone else but to make yourself less uncomfortable in the presence of palpable grief.

His tired eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, he simply looks at me, pinning me to the fridge door with his pain. “Look after my daughter tonight. Take her mind off all this and ensure she has a good time.”

“I will,” I promise.

His eyes slide down my body and then back up again. He clears his throat and takes another swig of his beer, not breaking eye contact. I can barely breathe when he looks at me that way, seeing but unseeing. I open my mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break this awkward, tense silence, but I’m saved when the doorbell sounds.

Mr. Reid leaves the room, and I inhale a deep breath, my chest rising and falling in quick succession as I grip the counter behind me.

“Willow!” he calls out, deep and gravelly.

I place the drinks down, push off the counter and walk on unsteady legs into the hallway where Dylan’s friend, Luca, looks uncomfortable beneath Mr. Reid’s heavy stare.

“Hi.” I gesture to the stairs. “I’ll just let the others know that you’re here.”

I walk off before he can reply. The stairs creak as I ascend, in no hurry to make it to the top. Luca is good-looking with his short, black hair, dark eyes and olive skin, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him.

When I open the bedroom door, I find Dylan on top of Chloe on her bed. Her red dress lies pooled around her hips, and her creamy thighs are wrapped around Dylan’s waist. She moans into his mouth, not yet aware of my presence. I clear my throat, and she shoves him off like it’s her father in the doorway instead of me. She quickly covers her breasts and her cheeks warm when she rights her clothes.