Thirty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the uptight restaurant my father likes. I didn’t have time to dress up as I know my father would like, but I changed into a fancier cardigan and ballet flats. My battle dress. Too bad I can’t roll up in a tank and wear a suit of armor. Not that my father can’t pierce those sorts of shields. I square my shoulders and march inside.
My father’s already seated at a table right in the center of the restaurant, where everyone can see him. He’s town councilman and prides himself on knowing everyone “worth knowing,” as he’d put it.
He introduced me to Scott.
“Darling,” he says as I dutifully cross to him and bend down to give his cheek a kiss. “I took the liberty of ordering already.” He gestures for me to sit.
“Great.” I’ll have to pick at
