On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [107]
“Oh, nothing, nothing, just how wonderful the meal was, and how unlike anything I’ve had in the city recently. So fresh and original! However did you come up with the menu?”
“He had help,” drawled a slow, honeyed voice as Lilah came up behind him. “Thank you for coming, won’t you excuse us?”
The guest nodded, looking more relieved than anything else to get away from the sudden odd turn their conversation had taken. But Devon couldn’t seem to get a handle on his emotions, couldn’t seem to force himself to look back across the room and see if his father was still there.
And then suddenly Phil was right in front of him, looking older than Devon would ever have believed possible, weathered and lined and gray.
I shouldn’t have stayed away so long, was all Devon could think. But maybe it doesn’t matter. He came here, to see me. A cautious hope flickered to life in his chest, warming him from the inside out.
“Dad,” he croaked out. Christ, how humiliating. He sounded like he had laryngitis.
A swift, indrawn breath reminded him of Lilah, who had moved to Tucker’s other side, her hand on the kid’s shoulder. Eyes shining like she’d just gotten the best birthday present ever, Lilah said, “Oh, Devon, is this your father? Mr. Sparks, I’m so very, very pleased to meet you. Thank you so much for coming to the dinner!”
“I skipped the dinner,” Phil said gruffly. “Ate at home; good, plain, simple food. Anything too rich doesn’t agree with me.”
“Ah,” Lilah said, clearly disconcerted. “Well. It was still nice of you to come all this way. Devon, are you going to introduce us?”
Oh, God. Devon squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat, then opened them. There was no way to avoid how much this was going to hurt—but he hadn’t thought it would matter! He never thought his father would show up here, reenter his life in any way. Devon’s head swam, and had to bear down hard to remember how to speak.
“Lilah, this is my father, Phil Sparks. Dad, this is Lilah. My . . . my friend,” he concluded in a strangled tone.
Lilah turned beet red, but her Aunt Bertie would be proud; she didn’t miss a beat in offering her hand.
Phil shook with Lilah, then turned his attention to the silent boy at Devon’s side.
“And who is this?” Phil demanded. “Out pretty late, aren’t you, for a—how old are you, boy?”
Tucker shrank into Devon’s side but spoke up. “I’m ten. And three-quarters.”
Phil stared down at the kid, and Devon could see the moment when realization dawned over his father’s hard face.
Numb with the inevitability of it all, Devon waited, braced himself.
“God Almighty,” Phil breathed. “I have a grandson.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lilah gasped. Devon squeezed his eyes shut.
Yeah, she read that little dialogue correctly. Devon had never told his family about Tucker.
He didn’t see the point, was all. They hadn’t spoken in years! And it wasn’t like Devon was part of Tucker’s life.
But that was changing, he reminded himself. God, everything was changing, so fast he could barely keep up.
He looked at his father, the familiar bone structure reflected in Devon’s mirror every morning, and in the small, round face starting up at them. The fierce surge of pride in his son nearly brought Devon to his knees.
Please let this go smoothly, he found himself praying.
“Yeah. This is Tucker, my son. Tuck? Meet your granddad.”
When Tucker retreated into the stony silence he favored whenever life threw too many curve balls, Devon realized he should’ve expected it. The kid stared up at Phil Sparks without a flicker of expression.
Phil sent a wry smile in Devon’s direction. “Takes after you, huh?”
Devon wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Um. How’s Mom? Did she come . . . ?” He craned his neck to search the room, but didn’t truly expect to see his shy, quiet homebody of a mother.
“No,” Phil confirmed. “It’s vestry week at St. Ignatius. You know how hard she works, putting together the charity auction and whatnot.”
Devon knew. And he also knew his dad would never let Angela Sparks miss a vestry committee meeting for something as trivial