Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

What I didn’t realize was that Dad was equally determined to make sure I was okay before I went back to Hartwell and as good as his intentions were, he went about it the wrong way.

That day we went to Angie’s Diner, and Winnie, the sixty-year-old owner, and Angie’s daughter greeted me like I’d never left. I thought that was nice. Part of my fear of coming home was how everyone else, not only my family, would react to me. Dad and I hung out there, and we talked more about life. He told me stories about Leo and Levi that made me laugh, and I grew more excited than nervous about meeting them at dinner the following day.

My time with Dad that day was peaceful, and I was lulled into a false sense of security.

Everything went to shit at seven o’clock.

“Dress nice, we’re having steak,” Dad had said later that afternoon.

I hadn’t thought anything of his comment. Or the fact that he’d asked me to set the dining table, even though it was only him and me. It was kind of a tradition around here to dress nice and eat in the dining room when we were having steak to show our appreciation for Dad’s favorite food and gratitude for being able to afford it.

When the doorbell rang at seven, I knew I’d been extremely naïve.

“I’ll get it,” Dad said before I could question him.

My stomach roiled slightly with unease when the doorbell rang. I think my body knew before I did.

The murmur of masculine voices sounded from the living room, and as they grew closer, I began to recognize the voice that didn’t belong to my dad.

I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Dad came through the kitchen doorway, his expression wary but stoic, and I braced myself.

Michael stepped inside behind him and jolted to a stop in shock.

Shit.

Not only had my dad invited him for dinner, he hadn’t told him I’d be there.

The whole world seemed to disappear, and it was like my body had abruptly awoken from a very long sleep. My heart was pounding, my fingertips tingled, and my blood pumped through me with restless, voracious energy. Michael was here. Michael was standing right there. Alive and vital and masculine and … everything.

His dark eyes met mine and I saw the muscle jump in his cheek as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. The beard he’d worn the last time I’d seen him had been shaved off and now the lower half of his cheeks and jaw were covered in a layer of sexy stubble.

The urge to cross the room and clasp his face in my hands so I could feel that stubble prickle my skin was overwhelming.

Thankfully, I managed to curb the urge.

“What’s going on, Cian?” Michael’s gaze never left mine.

I wondered if it was impossible for him to look away. It certainly was for me.

God, I’d missed him.

Longing crawled across my chest and dug its sharp fingernails in through my bone and flesh. An impossible, aching weight.

“Look—” My dad stepped between us, his expression determined. Still, I saw a flicker of wariness in his blue eyes when he turned to Michael. “Mike, I didn’t tell Dahlia you were coming either. I thought we should have a meal together. I’m not suggesting we sit and hash things out. Let’s sit, have steak, and catch up.”

Michael shot him a look of disbelief.

Oh, Dad, this was a bad move.

And I feared it was only going to end in my tears.

“C’mon.” Dad put an arm around Michael’s shoulders and led him out of the kitchen, presumably to the dining table.

The air rushed out of me and I reached for a kitchen chair to steady my trembling legs.

Dad returned, trying to hide the fact that he was worried, but I knew him too well. I shook my head at him. “Dad.”