They decided to walk since it was an especially nice fall morning. The sun was bright but the air was still cool, the temperature hovering around sixty-eight degrees. When they got there, A.L. opened the door and motioned for Rena to go first.

She was two steps ahead of him when she turned abruptly. She had a lousy poker face and he could tell that something was very wrong. “I want you to remember that you’re in a public place,” she said, very fast.

What the fuck. He looked around her. It wasn’t hard. He was six inches taller. And there at the counter was his daughter, smiling, chatting, looking like the beautiful girl she was. And then he realized that she was talking to the boy—no, the man—he’d told her to stay away from. Golf Course John. She’d not yet seen him or Rena. She was too busy.

He stepped around Rena and shook off the hand that tried to grab his arm. Then he swung his body onto the open stool next to Golf Course John. He heard his daughter gasp.

“Better hang on to that coffeepot,” he said. “Be a nasty burn if you drop it.”

“Dad,” she said, her voice sounding squeezed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh no, that’s not the right question, Traci. What the hell are you doing here?”

Golf Course John had turned on his stool and was staring at A.L. “Mr. McKittridge,” he said. “I—”

A.L. held up a hand to stop him. “Right now I’m talking to my daughter.”

And his sweet little girl, bless her feisty heart, pulled in a breath of air, stood straight and said, “It’s nice to see you, Dad. Regardless of how awkward the circumstances. I’m assuming you’d like some coffee.” She looked past him. “Hi, Rena. Coffee for you, too?”

“Hey, Traci. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

Rena’s voice sounded far away but he was pretty sure it was only distorted by the head of steam he had going.

Traci turned to get two cups. Rena took the open stool to his left and Traci slid coffee in front of them. The restaurant was at least half full. There were other employees moving around, carrying food, dirty dishes. Customers were chatting. Laughing. All the normal activities of a restaurant.

Why the hell did he feel so damn abnormal? As if nothing was right?

“I thought this—” he waved his hand between Golf Course John and Traci “—was over.”

“Dad, can we talk about this later?” she asked. “I’m working.”

“You should tell him the truth, Tam,” Golf Course John said.

“Tam?” A.L. repeated.

“Traci Anne McKittridge,” Traci said.

Great. It had been going on long enough that they had their own secret shorthand. He turned to face Golf Course John. “You know this is not what I want,” he said, in his best hard-assed hiss.