But it does.
All my life, I’ve looked up to a man who never even told me the truth. Ever since my dad died, I’ve tried to fill his shoes, to slide into his place to keep my family together. But I don’t even know who he is anymore.
I don’t who I am either.
“You lied to me, Mom. You both did.”
I push back from the table and grab the results that just destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself. Dairy sensitivity is the least of my problems. I am not my father’s son.
I shove the paper in the pocket of my jeans while my heart quietly shreds to pieces.
I leave without saying goodbye.
“You’re not sick.” Greer’s face wavers between relief and confusion as she takes a seat across the table from me at Tutta Bella Neapolitan Pizzeria at six o’clock.
My chest tightens at her expression. “Why does it seem like that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s not.” She blows out a deep breath and fiddles with the paper menu on our wood-topped table. “I knew you weren’t sick. But you’re the responsible one, Locke. When you called out today, I thought…”
Her voice trails off, and I touch a finger to the bottom of her chin and tilt her jaw so I’m looking into her deep blue eyes. “You thought what, Greer?”
Her mouth twists, and her voice comes out as a quiet confession. “I thought you had second thoughts.”
I stroke a hand over her cheek. “About us?”
She nods and blinks hard to clear tears from the corners of her eyes.
“God, no. I plan to keep doing what we did last night for a long time.”
“Oh.” Her delighted little gasp makes the knot in my stomach loosen. “So, is everything okay?”
Physically, sure. Emotionally, hell no.
I drop my hand from her face and reach for one of the paper napkins on the table, tearing off tiny strips and twisting them between my fingers. “I got the results of my food allergy test today.”
Greer squints at me and a small smile quirks the edges of her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re gluten-intolerant,” she teases. “It’s one of my three main food groups.”
“Dairy.”
She claps a hand to her chest. “Locke! Why’d you let me meet you in a pizza shop? You should have said something.”
I grin. This is exactly why I’m here. Even on the brink of questioning everything, I never, ever doubt that Greer Lively will make me feel like a million bucks. “No, the pizza’s fine. I can take a dairy digestive, or whatever.”
“So, what happened?”
I rub a hand over my face and try to keep the strain out of my voice. “The test is a blood test, right? And they tell you your blood type, too. I’m O positive. I never knew that before.”
“Okay.” It’s a question.
“My mom’s O positive.”
Her lips tremble like she doesn’t want to ask the question. “And your dad?”
“A positive.” I reach for the napkin again and squeeze it tight within my fist. “Apparently, I’m a sperm-donor baby. Only nobody bothered to tell me.”
I jerk my gaze toward the window. Outside on the sidewalk, a million people stream by, heading toward holiday parties and Friday night dates, oblivious to my frustration inside this tiny restaurant. But Greer covers my free hand with hers and squeezes, reminding me I’m not alone.
“Crap, Locke. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” I squeeze back, marveling at the feeling of her hand on mine. Even a week ago, this wouldn’t have been possible. We didn’t touch like this, but now we can. “Thanks.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I thought I did when I first called Greer, but I can stew in self-pity on my own. Right now my best friend’s here with me and I haven’t seen her all day. I don’t want to waste a moment worrying about the past when I can build my future with her.
“Maybe later,” I say and release the napkin from my hand.
“Just say the word.” Greer traces her fingers over the front of her menu, then leans forward with a sparkle in her eyes. “I know what can make you feel better.”
Sex? Hot, indulgent, earth-shattering sex? If so, sign me up.
“Pizza?” I guess instead.
Greer grins at me. “For starters. But I’ve got another idea.” She laughs at the expression that must be on my face. “Not that, Locke,” she says as if reading my mind. “But those sexy arms and brute strength will come into play.”
I lean forward, and my breath turns into a growl. “You think my arms are sexy?”
Her face turns pink. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.” She bites her lip in a way that makes me want to take her in the back room and show her just what my arms can do. But then she drops a menu into my hands with a smile. “It’s a surprise. Now eat up.”
19
Greer
“A Christmas tree?” Locke stares at the tiny tree lot next to Seattle Pops with an unreadable expression on his face.
The glow from a strand of white Christmas lights strung across the lot highlights his cheekbones, while the scent of Balsam and Douglas firs fills the air and mingles with the smell of the cinnamon-scented pinecones by the popsicle store’s front door.
I follow Locke’s gaze across the rows of Christmas trees, all arranged by size and standing in perky perfection waiting to be taken home. “You didn’t have a tree yet,” I say, folding my hands together nervously.
Maybe this was a stupid idea. Just because I’m ten years old at heart doesn’t mean Locke is.
I open my mouth again. “If it’s too much…”
“No.” He
