“But you’re not telling him about the letter because he doesn’t know who you are, right?”

“Something like that,” I say quietly, waiting for his lecture about honesty and being upfront.

But it doesn’t come.

That, in and of itself, has me pursing my lips and wondering what he’s not saying.

“Okay,” he says. “So you found the pitcher who’s no longer a pitcher. You’re volunteering at the place he volunteers and trying to do good things there. Then at nighttime, you’re getting to know him better. Then, what? You’re just coming back home in the near future?”

“I guess Dekk and Brex didn’t tell you the whole of it,” I say in regards to the getting to know him better part.

“Oh, they told me all right. I know you’re dating him. Doing things with him.” He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with that aspect, and I fight my grin.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Did you expect me to say something else?” he asks.

“You’re not going to tell me to get my ass back to New York because I’m slacking in getting shit done?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything. I could tell you that you have contracts piling up and requests coming in that need your attention. That regardless of your absence, I’m impressed with the progress you’ve made with marketing and social media and excited to see how this will help KSM move forward. I could sit here and badger you with questions, and tell you that it’s ridiculous to play out this charade, one that I hope won’t hurt you in the end. But I won’t. When you left here, you told me you’d be home on a set date, and I’m going to trust that you will be since you haven’t told me otherwise.”

I watch Gunner doing normal, weekend things and wonder how it’s going to feel to miss this when I do go home. The ease. The comfort. The having someone who gets me.

“Honey?” my dad says.

“Hmm?” I don’t trust myself to talk, because I think my voice would betray the nonchalance I’m attempting about leaving here.

To leaving Gunner.

“Remember this. The best relationships are the ones you never saw coming.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?”

His chuckle is low and comforting and a tad mocking. “Because I know you, and if my Chase wasn’t going to get the prize, she would have had her shit packed and be headed home as soon as possible. My Chase doesn’t like failing at anything and so—”

“I didn’t fail,” I say and then realize it only serves to prove his point.

“No, but you didn’t come home.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “That tells me all I need to know.”

“Dad.” The lone word is an exasperated sigh.