The Best Friend Zone

I’ve just gained massive respect for this man.

He puts things in a perspective that’s often too skewed.

“Live for her to fulfill her dreams, whatever they are, dancing or something else,” he continues. “Live for her to find the destiny she’s always craved, but was always too stifled to search for, to grasp. My Gloria, she made mistakes. That’s the one thing we struggled to give our daughter—free reign—but the past few months have helped me realize it’s the thing she needs.”

What else can I do but answer honestly?

“I’ll do what you’re asking, but I need to tell you…I’m not steering her decisions. It’ll always be up to her, and whatever that choice is, I’ll be right behind her in any capacity she needs.”

He sits thoughtfully for a moment before he nods.

“I believe you will, Quinn, and I can’t ask for more.” He leans across the table, his hand extended. “Whatever the two of you decide, know that you have my blessing.”

I stand to give him the respect he deserves, and wait for him to stand up before taking his hand and shaking it fiercely. “Thank you, Mr. Coffey.”

“Call me, John,” he says, smiling like the sun.

I nod as we both sit back down.

“Tory’s always loved Dallas, you know. I’m guessing she’ll be happy there. Frankly, I expected her to move out there years ago.”

“She was busy here,” I say, taking a long pull off my own beer. “All in the timing.”

“Timing, yes. She waited because you weren’t there.” He takes another long drink off his beer and then holds up the bottle. “There’s a lot to be said about fate. Her moving back, finding you again, finding herself…it’s like everything’s coming full circle.”

I lift my beer bottle and clink it against his.

“I’ll drink to that, John.” He’s so pleasantly different from his wife.

I wonder how the hell they’ve been married for so long.

“Gloria will come around,” he says a minute later, almost reading my mind. “She’s been stuck, reliving her younger years through Tory, being the overprotective mama bear she is at heart. She’s a good woman, even if her instincts are wrong—believe it or not—I wouldn’t love her as much as I do if she wasn’t. She just needs time, like Tory, to figure it all out.”

Once again, I’m impressed with this man and his calm.

I look forward to getting to know him better. We spend the next half hour or so talking about a variety of subjects, until the sliding glass door opens.

“Look who’s here!”

John and I both turn and watch as Gloria, hugging his arm, escorts a short, thin man with spectacles onto the deck. I have to do a double take.

The guy’s wearing a professorial sweater vest that looks like it came from the last century, tight jeans, and has his curly hair tucked up in a frizzy, uneven man bun.

“Jean-Paul couldn’t resist a chance to wish Tory well while she’s in town,” Gloria says. “Say hello.”

John Coffey looks at me with an apologetic frown. The subtle glint in his eye also reminds me so much of Granny Coffey when she’s up to some mischief that I have to bite back a laugh.

“Jean-Paul,” John says with a broad, fake-as-hell grin, motioning at me. “Meet Quinn Faulkner, Tory’s boyfriend.”

For a second, I stop and stare.

Gloria’s mannequin-like smile tells me everything I need to know.

I’m being tested. She wants to see if I’ll go full Neanderthal and turn this little get-together into a shit-fight over a snail.

I ain’t gonna lie—it’s hell plastering on the phoniest smile of my life and walking up to this pissant.

“We’ve met over the phone,” I say cheerfully, then greet Jean-Paul with a handshake that nearly rips his arm off.

Believe me, it doesn’t take much.

My gaze goes to Tory, who steps outside behind her mother with a worried look. I flash her an everything’s okay grin.

The look in her eyes says, yeah, I can’t believe it, either.

This was the worm she considered marrying at one point.

Now, he’s nothing.

Just a stranger with a plastic, desperate smile and a mumbled, “Pleasure to meet you.”

He’s playing nice for Gloria’s amusement. Probably so he can cling to her money after I’ve made her daughter off-limits till the death of the universe.

“Mother invited Jean-Paul to join us for dinner,” Tory says with a mortified smile.

“Awesome,” I lie, holding my hand out as she instantly arrives at my side for a searing kiss that borders just on obscene before I glance at Jean-Paul again. “Nothing like a good grilled steak, right, buddy?”

“Jean-Paul doesn’t eat meat,” Gloria cuts in. “I have a delicious, seasoned portabella mushroom for John to grill him.”

Pulling Tory closer, I whisper, “Okay, now we have a problem. Eggplant is one thing, and so is your ex being here, but I’m not replacing my steak with a goddamned mushroom.”