“She means are you asking about why she took his side—which I would love to know the story behind—or why he was around Rose?” Charity’s gaze swung between Mom and me, ignoring my dad completely. “What? Just thought I’d help interpret.”

“He used my unicorn,” Rose said with a shrug before shoving in a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“I’m sorry, honey?” Mom questioned.

Rose swallowed and looked at both of my parents, then chose Dad. Girl had guts. “He used my ice pack. The unicorn we keep in the freezer. You know it, Grandpa. You gave it to me when I was little and called it my boo-boo pack.”

Because she was so big now. I held my pressed lips between my teeth to hide my smile and then quickly took a bite of broccoli.

“I do remember it, Rosie.” Dad’s tone changed to the one he reserved for Rose. The one he used to use when we were small and hadn’t disappointed him yet.

“Well, his face had a bump, so Aunt Willow let him borrow it. He didn’t even care that it was a girl ice pack or anything. He’s pretty big, though. Takes up the whole kitchen.”

Someone save me—this was about to get ugly. I swallowed the broccoli, which slid down my throat as smooth as ash.

“You took Camden Daniels into her apartment? Where Rose lives?” Dad growled.

“What do you think he was going to do, Dad? Graffiti the place? Clog the drain and start a flood? He’s not a kid anymore,” I retorted. “Oscar Hudgens hit him with zero warning, and Tim Hall was coming at him, so I took him upstairs and got him out of the line of fire.”

“And you thought the apartment was appropri—”

“That’s my apartment,” Charity interjected, addressing Dad directly.

Hell had officially frozen over. While she’d always brought Rose around and encouraged their relationship, she’d given up trying with Dad after Rose turned two and now spoke to Dad exactly three times a year.

Happy birthday.

Merry Christmas.

Happy Father’s Day.

It was March, and none of those applied.

Mom’s fork hit the plate, but neither Charity nor Dad looked away from each other.

“It’s my apartment,” she continued. “Mine. I own that whole building, and I get to say who goes into my bar. My home, for that matter, too. It’s mine. Just like Rose is mine.”

Dad put his silverware down with care.

Maybe now was a good time to stand up and twirl around in my super-short red skirt like a matador with an angry bull.

“I’m sorry that it bothers you that Camden was in my home, but I trust him. I trust Willow.”