My father.

“So what should we do today?” he finally asks.

I toy with the strap of my seatbelt. “You don’t have something planned?” Then why did you pull me out of school? I want to shout.

“I thought I would leave it up to you. Ladies’ choice.”

This lady chooses to go back to class.

But I have to remind myself that continuing to avoid Steve isn’t going to make this awkwardness go away. Might as well face it head on.

“How about the pier?” I suggest, naming the first place that pops into my head. It’s November, so it’ll be too cold to sit outside, but maybe we could go for a quick walk or something. I’m pretty sure I brought some gloves.

“That’s a very good idea.” He starts the engine, and the entire car vibrates from the power of it.

As Steve drives through the massive front gates of the school, my gaze strays to the right, in the direction of the French Twist. Just like that, my body tenses again, the memory of what he’d done returning in full, angry force.

“Why did you get me fired from my job?” I blurt out.

He glances over in surprise. “You’re upset about that?”

“Yeah. I am.” I cross my arms. “I loved that job.”

Steve blinks a couple of times, as if he can’t understand what I’m saying. I’m wondering if I should try saying it in a different language, when he finally snaps out of his trance.

“Shi—I mean, shoot. I thought Callum was forcing you to work.” Steve shakes his head in dismay. “Sometimes he does strange things to enforce responsibility in his kids.”

“I haven’t seen any of that,” I answer tightly, feeling oddly defensive of Callum.

“Oh, he used to threaten the boys with military school all the time.”

My annoyance rises up again. “Working at a bakery is nothing like military school.”

“Your shifts start at five in the morning, Ella. You’re what? Sixteen? Surely you’d rather be sleeping in.”

“I’m seventeen and used to working,” I retort, then force myself to soften my tone. My mother always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. “But you didn’t know that, so I get why you made assumptions.” My voice goes even softer. “But now that you know I love my job, can you go back and tell Lucy that it’s okay for me to work?”

“I don’t think so.” His hand waves dismissively. “My daughter doesn’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.”

Steve hits the accelerator and the car zooms forward. I resist the urge to cling to the dashboard, fear for my life overshadowing the irritation that his comment evokes.

“Now, tell me about yourself,” he says as he drives down the road like a maniac.

I bite my lip in frustration. I don’t like the way he just ended the bakery conversation. You’re not working. The End. His parenting skills need work. Even Callum, who’s not winning any father awards, was willing to have a lengthy discussion about me working.

“You’re a junior, right? What did you do before coming here?”

Steve is completely oblivious to my unhappiness. His blue eyes are fixed on the windshield, his hand skillfully shifting gears as he weaves through traffic.

Feeling unusually petty, I respond in a saccharine tone. “Didn’t Callum tell you? I was stripping.”

He nearly drives off the road.

Crap. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I proceed to hang on for dear life as he swerves back into the correct lane.

“No,” Steve sputters. “He forgot to mention that.”

“Well, I was.” I stare at him in challenge, waiting for him to lecture me.

He doesn’t. “I can’t say I’m thrilled to hear it, but sometimes you’ve got to do whatever it takes to survive.” Steve pauses. “You were on your own before Callum found you?”

I nod.

“And now you live in the shrine of Maria. I’m surprised Brooke didn’t have that portrait taken down.”

There’s a giant painting of Maria that hangs over the fireplace, and when Callum and Brooke announced their engagement, Brooke sat under it with a smug smile. The boys were so mad about the engagement, the way it was announced, even about Brooke’s ring—which was a match for the one Maria wore in the portrait. The whole setup was like a human-sized middle finger.

“She didn’t have the time,” I mutter.

“I suppose not. I imagine the first thing she’d do is redecorate the place from top to bottom. Everything in that house has Maria’s fingerprints all over it.” He shakes his head. “Those boys all idolize her. Callum, too, but no living person is a saint.” He tilts his head slightly, sliding a glance in my direction. “It’s not good to place a woman on a pedestal. No offense, sweetheart.”

Is that…resentment in Steve’s voice? I really can’t tell. “None taken,” I mumble.

If Steve had intended to make the conversation between us even more awkward, he picked the perfect topic.

“So this car is really fast,” I say in a desperate attempt to distract him from the Maria train of thought.

A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth. “I hear you. No more questions about Maria. What about your mother? What was she like?”

“Kind, loving.” What do you remember about her? I want to ask, but before I can, he’s already moving on.

“How are you enjoying school? Grades okay?”

This man has a serious case of ADHD. He can’t stay on one topic for more than two seconds.

“School’s fine, I guess. My grades are fine.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.” He throws me another curveball. “You’re dating Reed?”

My mouth snaps open in shock. “I…ah…yeah,” I finally admit.

“Is he treating you well?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like seafood?”

I fight the urge to rub my confused eyes. I don’t understand this man. All I know is that he drives too fast and has spitfire conversations that make my head spin.

I can’t make sense of him. At all.

* * *

“That. Was. The. Worst.”

Hours later, I stomp into Reed’s bedroom and throw myself onto his bed.