He just chuckled. “Yikes. Don’t piss off that one, huh?”
I cackled. “Oh my, Lucas. If you think Cassie has a temper, you should meet my daughter Lexie. She’ll scalp you, skin you, and castrate you faster than you can blink, and she can do it with nothing more than a few words.” I laughed, imagining her meeting a man like Lucas. “In your case, she might try to literally scalp you, skin you, and castrate you.”
“Well, warn me if she comes to town. I’ll hide in the woods till she leaves.”
Cassie’s laugh was unexpected. “Oh dear god, if Lexie were to ever meet you, Lucas, I would sell tickets. That would be quite a show.”
Lucas nodded, musing. “If you sell tickets, I’ll go in with you fifty-fifty, and turn up the charm a notch or two just to really piss her off.”
Cassie frowned, but it was meant to hide a grin she couldn’t quite help. “This is your idea of charm, is it?”
Lucas winked at her again. “Darlin’, you ain’t seen charm yet.”
“Call medarlin’again, and see what happens,” Cassie snapped.
“Sure thing, sweet pea.”
This got Lucas another snarl from Cassie, which just made Lucas chuckle.
I frowned at Lucas. “Don’t antagonize her, Lucas. Please? She’s been through enough.”
Lucas sighed. “I’m just teasin’, Liv. I don’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“I know that, Lucas, but—”
“Mom,” Cassie cut in. “I can handle it myself. I broke my leg, I didn’t have a nervous breakdown. I’m fine.”
“You’re in an emotionally vulnerable state right now, Cassandra, and you don’t need to be—”
“Mom,” she hissed. “Stop.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
The rest of the ride home was tense, more specifically between Cassie and me. Lucas seemed oblivious to it, humming under his breath as he drove, taking us to my condo.
Cassie’s questioning glance as he pulled up to my building asked why he knew where I lived, if we were just friends, and my answering look told her to keep her mouth shut about it and mind her own business—my daughters and I have developed a rather complex set of looks over the years, so we can have entire conversations without a single verbal word being exchanged.
As we pulled into a visitor spot near the door, Cassie eyed the four-story building nervously. “Which floor do you live on, Mom?”
“Third,” I answered. “But there’s an elevator.”
Cassie suppressed a sigh. “I never take an elevator unless it’s more than five floors up. Haven’t for years. I hate elevators.”
I winced. “You may have to make some concessions for the time being, honey.”
She nodded. “I know. But…” she huffed. “I’ll be fine.”
Lucas waited until she slid out of the back seat and headed for the front door, watching the limp in her step. “Stubborn one, ain’t she?”
“All of my girls are violently allergic to dependence on anyone for anything. Even Torie, my most laid-back child, started working at fourteen, bought her first car the day she turned sixteen, moved out at eighteen, and refuses to ask for help unless she’s literally starving. I visited her once and her apartment, which she shares with four other girls, contained nothing but a package of hot dogs, two boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and a six pack of beer. Oh, and ketchup.” I sighed. “They had plenty of money for pot, though.”
“I mean, priorities, right?” Lucas said, his voice wry.
I groaned, watching Cassie standing on the steps up to the door, spinning in a slow circle, taking in the view—which even from here was magnificent. “I’m worried about her, Lucas. She’s independent to a fault. I don’t know how this is going to work.”
“One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time,” Lucas said, as if reciting something he’d told himself a million times. “That’s how I got sober, how I got into shape, and how I’m repairing my relationships with my boys.”
I eyed him, full of curiosity. “I have a million questions for you.”
