Falling for My Boyfriend's Dad

“Little girl,” he leaned forward, his tone low. “Coffee sounds great but I have something else in mind.”

I pulled back.

“What?” I threw him a teasing smile. “Is it something naughty?”

And he threw his head back again and laughed.

“Naw, not yet but I like how you think,” he said. “No, I thought I’d take you shopping.”

I colored.

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I have plenty of clothes, it’s not necessary.”

“Who said I was going to take you clothes shopping?” he asked wickedly. “One of my favorite stores is right here, just around the corner,” he said, grabbing my elbow and steering me through a throng of people. “Ah, here it is,” he said, stopping before a heavy, imposing glass door.

I looked inside and gasped. The store was like a winter wonderland, hushed, exclusive, filled with salespeople milling about in elegant black suits, glass cases glowing, lit from within. Because each drawer was filled with baubles, priceless gems that sparkled and shone with fire, red, blue, green, mixing together like the colors of the rainbow.

“Um, maybe not,” I whispered, cheeks flushing. “I can’t afford anything in here.” Honestly, I was intimidated to even go in. The salespeople would probably shoot me dirty looks and then stare me out of the store.

But the big man was casually confident.

“Who said you were going to buy anything?” he asked. “My treat,” he said with finality, and nodded as a security guard opened the big glass door for us. I hesitated for a moment, still a little nervous, but then an elderly woman with a huge sheepdog swept in before us, the animal huge and shaggy, snuffling and drooling like crazy. What the? The dog was cute sure, a ginormous ball of fluff, but he was going into Tiffany’s? Was that even okay? Surely the salespeople would kick them out, it wasn’t right.

But the woman was already inside, a suited man almost bowing as he took her jacket, another assistant grabbing hold of the dog’s leash. And seeing my befuddled look, Rob just grinned at me.

“Hey, if Lassie can go into a store so nice, I’m sure we can too,” he said with another wicked grin. And I smiled then, suddenly buoyed by his words, his confidence. Because yeah, if that sheepdog, drooling everywhere, was welcome in a fine jewelry store, then I could do it too, I wasn’t the poor little girl from nowhere wearing patchwork overalls with straw in my hair.

So I stepped into the elegant space, re-energized, happy, beaming. Mr. Martin often had this effect on me. Whereas I’d been shy and timid just moments ago, now I felt happy and sure of myself, like I belonged. And I definitely belonged because immediately a salesgirl was upon us.

“Hello Mr. Martin,” she purred. “So nice to see you again.”

I stopped short. Rob had been to Tiffany’s enough times that the salespeople recognized him? But the alpha male shot me a grin, and then did the craziest thing.

“Janine,” he said, looking pointedly at her name tag. “I’m gonna leave my credit card with you for safekeeping because we’re here to do some serious shopping.”

I gasped again, coloring. Why would he hand his credit card to a perfect stranger? Even if she was a sales associate, it made no sense, there was no need to put his card down before we’d even started browsing. But everything happened so fast. Mr. Martin slipped his card into the woman’s open hand, and it was then I realized why. Because the card was an American Express Black, the kind that only millionaires have with a sleek finish and discreet silver lettering, and he wanted to make sure she knew who was shopping, that some serious moolah was in the building.

“Oh of course,” she simpered, the card disappearing into her portfolio. Yes, the salespeople here carried leather portfolios, beautifully embossed, maybe especially for this purpose. “I think some emeralds would complement the lady’s green eyes today,” she purred. “Come with me, I have just the thing.”

I gasped again. I have brown eyes, not green, but Rob grinned at me again and whispered, “Let’s see what she’s got.”

And as if in a trance, I floated, mesmerized, to a private back room, sitting on an elegant overstuffed chair, the décor expensive, discreet yet sumptuous.

“Here we are,” said Janine, holding up a brilliant emerald that had to be at least five carats. “Isn’t this pendant gorgeous? Perfect for a beautiful girl.”

I gasped again because I wasn’t beautiful, I was just plain old me, Alison West. But Mr. Martin was already nodding his head as she snapped the lock around my neck, the gem dropping in hollow of my throat like it belonged there.

“That’s it, it’s gorgeous,” he muttered, eyes ablaze as he looked at me. “It’s perfect for her.”

And I flushed again, this time determined to make myself heard.