Chapter 69

Present

Kenzie was hanging off my hand as we made our way up the slightly overgrown path to the front door of the home Grace grew up in. My gaze was everywhere but the door as I scanned for threats in the unfamiliar neighbourhood, and Kenzie's head was swivelling on her neck as her attention was drawn this way and that by her new surroundings. Ahead of us, Grace was already pressing the doorbell and stepping back to watch our approach. We'd decided to carpool, so we all arrived together, eliminating any awkward moments if we happened to arrive before her, but I knew there was still a whole evening of awkwardness ahead of us anyway.

"Daddy, look, that kitty looks like Cinnamon! Can we take a photo for Uncle Tank?"

I glanced in the direction Kenzie was pointing, following her finger to a small, mottled cat sitting in a pot plant on the porch next door. It did, indeed, look like one of Tank's latest fosters. And my daughter had inadvertently broken the tension winding my muscles tighter than I'd ever known them. Nodding, I handed her my phone. As she lined up the shot, I rolled my shoulders and sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. I gave the street one last sweep and returned my gaze to Kenzie just as the door behind Grace popped open revealing a tall, gangly man with salt and pepper hair, and hazel eyes. There was the hint of a pot belly at his middle and the lines on his face telegraphed the hardships he'd endured over the years.

He didn't say anything, just looked from Grace, to me, to Kenzie who was still trying to get a good photo of the cat in the next yard. While I was distracted, Kenzie had crept off the path into the ankle-deep grass and was crouched down to try get a better angle. Grace's Dad, having taken in the scene, crouched down on the top concrete step, and let out a rather convincing, trilling meow. The Cinnamon look-alike pricked up its ears, lifting its head to look in his direction. He did it again and the cat came bounding over the fence separating the yards, and straight over to the front steps where Grace's dad was crouched, immediately rubbing up against the hand he'd extended.

Kenzie followed the progress with the phone, and I realised she'd set it to record video as she slowly approached the pair. She ended the video and crouched down to offer her own pats to the feline, cooing sweetly to it as she did.

"This is Drizella," Grace's dad explained, still crouched down, but no longer giving the cat love as it was rubbing up against Kenzie now. I would have loved to snap a picture of the moment, but she was still holding my phone. Luckily, though, Grace seemed to have the same thought, stepping back to my side so she could capture the memory for me.

"You'll have to send me that photo," I said, wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her snug against my side as her dad continued to explain where Drizella lived and some of the activities and foods she liked. Kenzie was completely enamoured when the cat rolled over and requested belly rubs. "She's stolen the show just like we predicted."

"I think Drizella's the major player here," Grace countered quietly, leaning her head against my chest. "Dad was more nervous about meeting Kenzie than you."

I looked from the pair to Grace and back, raising an eyebrow down at her as if to say, you sure about that?

She laughed. "He's way out of practice interacting with kids. Barely copes with adults most of the time. He'd probably prefer the company of Drizella over us any day. Ever since mom died and he just shut down for all those years, he hasn't really practiced his social skills outside of work and family. And since he's retired, well…"

I nodded my understanding. It must be hard to recover from such a devastating emotional blow. I may have something in common with the man, in that I'd also lost my wife and the mother of my child, but other than those bare facts, our experiences were worlds apart. I hadn't loved Phoebe. I had been so far from devastated by her death it wasn't funny. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd been through.

For a few minutes we just stood there, me absorbing Grace's presence, thankful that I have her, while we watched her dad and Kenzie talk about the cat. Bonding.

"Daddy, look," Kenzie said, turning to draw me in with a Santos-grade smile. "Pop taught Drizella how to do tricks."

I'd let myself relax, allowing the tension and nerves I'd been feeling in the lead up to this dinner fade away. Sure, I hadn't even been properly introduced to the man yet but seeing him interact so readily with Kenzie had put me at ease. One word that left my daughter's excited mouth, though, had me pulled tight once more, eyes widening as I looked from Kenzie to the cat, to Grace's dad and finally down to Grace who looked about as surprised as I felt. "Did she just-" I questioned quietly, even as I moved forward to see these supposed tricks the man had taught the cat.

Grace nodded mutely, keeping pace with me until we were all huddled around the cat.

It did indeed look like it knew some tricks, which was fascinating, but not nearly as fascinating as the fact that Kenzie had referred to Grace's dad as 'Pop'. I don't know what I'd expected her to call him when they were eventually introduced. Maybe Mr. Byrne, or Mr. Mike. But even as I had the thought, I realised that neither one suited the man before me. He didn't strike me as the kind of person who would put up with the mister title any more than Steph agreed with being called Ms Plum, or Mrs Manoso. I guess it was up to him to decide what people called him, and if he wanted to be Pop to this child he'd just met, I'd have to respect that.

"That's pretty cool," I said, mustering up some enthusiasm from under the shock of the name reveal. "I wonder if we can teach Uncle Tank's cats to do that."

"Maybe," she said, standing up as Drizella appeared to lose interest with the attention she'd been getting and wandered away. "I don't think Tiddles would, but maybe Cinnamon. They could be twins." Kenzie dusted her hands of on the navy blue skirt she'd picked out to wear to dinner and proceeded to take control of the introductions. "Pop, this is my Daddy. His name is Lester, so you can probably call him that." She turned to face me then, hiking her thumb. "Grace's daddy's name is Michael, but he said I can call him Pop instead of Mr. Michael. He said you can probably call him Mike, and that would be okay. We're having hamburgers for dinner, and he said I could help with the grill if it's okay with you."

"Of course," I agreed. And here I thought they'd just been talking about the cat. "It's nice to meet you, Mike," I added, extending my hand to the man.

We shook hands and he dipped his head mumbling a similar greeting before waving toward the house. Kenzie skipped forward and I followed behind, letting Grace have a moment with her father to hug and probably share a few words before they brought up the rear. Grace directed us toward the kitchen, pointing out a couple of the photos on the wall as we passed them. I only caught a glimpse of them on my way past, because I was trying not to let Kenzie out of my sight, but it was clear that while Grace had gotten her hair colour and a few facial features from her dad, her short stature came from her mom, who was a good two heads shorter than Mike. She was a beautiful woman in the photos on the wall, another trait she'd passed on to her daughter.

In the kitchen, a quaint and worn, but functional space that still held hints of a woman's touch despite the fact that Mike had been the sole occupant of the house for a number of years now, he managed to gather himself enough to offer drinks and a tour. We readily accepted and Kenzie slipped her hand into Mikes as he led the way back out of the room. He showed us the living room, dining room, and the rooms he still kept for both Grace and Emily when they came to visit. He skipped the master, but I was okay with that. It felt intrusive, especially knowing as much of his story as I did. He needed his private space.

"And that brings us back to the kitchen," he ended. "The grill is out on the deck and should be hot enough to start the meat by now."

"Why don't we grab those drinks and hang out on the deck while the burgers are cooking?" Grace suggested. "Do we need to prepare anything else?"

"It's all in the fridge," Mike said, grabbing the plate of burgers and the can of coke Grace handed him. "I thought we could eat outside and do build-a-burger like we did when you were a kid."

Grace's smile was soft and nostalgic, matching the expression on her dad's face as he passed us out onto the deck. Build-a-burger was obviously a good memory for them both. I pictured a young Grace and an even younger version of her sister, whom I'd only seen in photos, kneeling on the bench seat of a picnic table picking toppings for their burgers, their mom perhaps making smiley faces on the plate as she helped them. In my vision Mike made a great show of stacking his burger as high as possible, and they all laughed when it fell over on the plate, spilling salads, meat and bun onto the tabletop.

I blinked back the thought when Kenzie brushed passed my leg carrying a bowl of sliced onions out to the deck. I didn't know whether scenes like I'd just imagined ever happened in Grace's life, but they would have been few and far between once her mom got sick. And certainly not after she died and they were all filled with a potent cocktail of clashing emotions. I hoped that as part of their healing to get back to the place they were at now, that they'd gotten back to some of those happy roots.

I must have retreated into my thoughts again, because I startled back out of them as Grace pressed her entire body against mine to lean up on her tip toes and press a kiss to my jaw. "Where did you go just now?" she asked, wrapping her arms around me to stabilise her elevated position.

"I was thinking about what your childhood might have been like in comparison to after your mom died," I admitted without hesitation. "It must have taken a lot to get back to-"

"Hey," she interrupted. "You don't get to feel guilty about my mom dying as well. We already established that your guilt over Kenzie's mom is overblown. My life is what it is. I had a happy childhood and a difficult adolescence. I avoided my dad and sister as much as possible for a few years, but we've reconnected. We've been through family therapy. We're good. So, you can just stop that."

Rather than reply to her very accurate interpretation of where my head and heart had been tracking, I pulled her closer and leaned down to kiss her. The moan that escaped her was music to my ears and I slid my hands down her back to cup her ass, lifting her enough to deposit her on the edge of the counter so that she was at a better level for making out.

We were still lip locked a few moments later when the sliding door from the deck opened and Kenzie bounded inside. "Miss Grace, Pop needs the barbeque tongs. He said they should be in the drawer and that you and Daddy need to stop canoodling like teenagers. Daddy, Pop wants you to help with the burgers."

I sent Grace a raised eyebrow along with the grin I couldn't wipe off my face as I stepped back. "Is that so?" I asked my daughter, tugging at one of her piggy tails. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet directly beside me, sending me the Santos grin and gazing up at me with excited eyes.

"Yup," she confirmed. "I told him you always save the barbeque from Tío Luc when he burns the meat."

She wasn't wrong there. I'd lost count of the number of times my cousin Marisol's husband had somehow found himself in charge of the grill at Manoso family dinner and we'd had cremation on our hands instead of the succulent meats they should have been. Sending Grace a 'here goes nothing' look, I stepped out of the kitchen and crossed the short distance to where Mike was staring at the grill.

We stood in silence for a moment until Kenzie skipped out with the tongs and a spatula, handing them to Mike and promptly skipping back to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that she was going to help Miss Grace with the rest of the food.

As soon as the door slid closed behind her, I opened my mouth to try break the ice, thinking that with his awkwardness, he was standing there mentally spiralling the longer the silence stretched. I'd never had a problem filling silence in the past, so I was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure Mike didn't hate me based purely on the fact that I'd let him feel at a loss for longer than was necessary. Before I could get a single word out, though, he was giving me the kind of speech I expected from a protective father.

"Grace has been through a lot," he said quietly, still maintaining eye contact with the grill. "She took on a lot of responsibility at a young age, and I regret that she had to. She took good care of both Emily and me when I couldn't find the strength to do it, and while she's never mentioned it to me, I know she feels the loss of those wild and free days as much as she does the loss of her mother." He pressed the spatula against a burger so that it let out a sizzle, and flicked his eyes in my direction. "Even when she was angry at me, and annoyed with her sister, she never failed to check that we were taking care of ourselves. She's taken on the weight of the world for far too long. It's time someone shouldered some of the load for her."

There was a pause, and I was trying to think of something to say that would reassure him that I fully intended to take care of Grace as long as she would let me without sounding like an overbearing boyfriend that just wanted a kept woman. I thought I'd managed to find the right wording, but had obviously taken too long, because Mike was talking again.

"She's happy with you," he mentioned, finally turning away from the grill to face me head on. It was then that I realised that he was half a head taller than me. It wasn't something I'd noticed before while he was avoiding my gaze. I wondered if he had deliberately straightened to his full height for his next statement to give it the gravitas it needed. "She has a spark in her that I haven't seen since before her mother got sick, and I think it's because of you. I would have thought that after being thrust into the role of parent so early in life, she would avoid children at all costs, but she's defied my assumptions time and again. First by setting up her hair class to teach dads how to take care of their daughters, and now by accepting that beautiful little girl into her heart with open arms. I hope you realise what a gift it is to have Grace's love, and that if you do anything to break her heart, I will make your death look like an accident."

I wasn't sure what kind of skills this retired mechanic-come-janitor had up his sleeves to make good on that threat, but it didn't matter, the message was crystal clear: if I didn't treat Grace right, he'd have my balls in a vice.

"Duly noted, sir," I said, feeling the need to revert to the show of respect at that moment as I attempted to gather the calm I'd perfected in my military career to wash away the sudden jag of fear slicing through my gut. "Your daughter is very special to me, and I wouldn't dream of hurting her. But rest assured, if I ever did, I'd happily hand you my gun to carry out any necessary retribution."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, creating deep wrinkles on his weathered face. "You're not suicidal, are you, son?" he questioned. "I'm not actually going to kill you. I'm not that kind of person. It was just a figure of speech."

"Mike," I said, levelling him with my most serious expression, the one I only pulled out on special occasions. "I take Grace's safety and security as seriously as I do my own daughter's. If I'm ever a threat to that on any level, be it physical, mental, or emotional, I expect you to take the necessary actions to let me know."

"And I will," he replied firmly. "But I'm not gonna shoot you."

I decided not to argue the point. There were plenty of other people in my life willing to give me a beating or worse if I fucked up. I'm sure Mike had other ways of making sure I was sorry for whatever theoretical sleight I might commit.

"The meat looks about ready to flip," Grace mentioned, veering a little closer to us than she had while travelling back and forth between the kitchen and the table to bring out the containers of salads Mike had prepared in advance. She brushed a hand against my arm, drawing my gaze to hers so she could send me a questioning look. I replied with a nod and a smile, and she accepted that as reassurance that I was all right before turning a similar expression to her dad.

I didn't get a chance to view his reply as Kenzie danced over, standing on tip-toes to see the burgers sizzling away. "Can I flip one?" she asked excitedly, looking up at me.

"Not my grill, Muffin-head," I pointed out, holding out my empty hands to show that I wasn't in control of the barbeque. "You'll have to-"

But she'd already turned her attention to Mike. "Pop, can I flip a burger?"

He didn't even hesitate to hoist her up onto his hip so she could reach, handing her the spatula while my mind was still reeling at how quickly she'd managed to wrap this man around her little finger. As I watched her two-hand the spatula under the closest meat patty and turn it over with minimal guidance from my girlfriend's father, I started creating a mental list of all the disaster plans I needed to have in place for when she eventually started dating. I needed to be prepared for every possibility. Who knew what kind of power Kenzie would have behind the patented Santos Charm by then? She was already wielding it at expert level as far as I was concerned, and I shuddered to think what she could do to a teenage boy when she was older.