Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Poverty he got. He couldn’t fault her for being poor when he’d had to scrape for every penny, too. It was the innocence that got under his skin. How on earth did she think she could cross the country without someone conning her, robbing her, exploiting her—or worse? If she wanted to get out in the world so badly, the street rat in him thought she should have to face it head-on, without his help. But even as he thought it, he used his body to shelter hers, shifting their positions so she was next to the pastry case and wasn’t being jostled by customers coming in and out of the front door. Ugh, Ren was right. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her, which meant he had to find a way to ensure she got back to Spokane.
At the counter, she ordered a giant pink doughnut and a cup for water—refusing money when he offered to pay. He got two breakfast sandwiches and a cup of black coffee before gesturing that she lead them to an empty table in the back.
It took no time for him to shovel down his breakfast, but when he came up for air, he realized Ren had only taken a few bites of hers. After wiping his hands on a napkin, he dropped it to his empty plate. “Was the doughnut stale or something?”
“No, it’s really good. I just have no appetite.” She pushed the plate toward him. “Want some?”
Fitz had never said no to free food in his life and took down half the doughnut in a single bite. “All right,” he said. He’d let her put this off long enough. “Let’s hear it.”
She exhaled and looked past him, eyes unfocused, out the window. “Do you remember that DNA test Audran had us do?”
He answered around another bite. “Uh, yeah. That was only like a week ago.”
“When we got our result printouts,” she said, cupping her hands around her water, “mine indicated a paternal match.”
“Yeah?” he asked, popping the last bite into his mouth. Lucky you, he thought.
She turned her eyes back to him. “Yeah.”
He could tell she was waiting for something to click, but he shrugged. “What?”
“My parents live on a homestead,” she said, slowly. “We don’t have a telephone. We use a pump for our water. My mother and father think that the outside world is poison. That technology is poison.” She pointed to her now-empty plate, a few rainbow sprinkles the only remains. “That food we don’t make or grow ourselves is tainted.”
“But are they wrong?” he asked, wiping his mouth. “It was delicious, but that pink frosting alone probably had fifteen things in it that could kill me.”
This made Ren laugh, but sadly. “I think you’re missing the point.”
“Then explain it to me like I’m a toddler.”
“My dad—or whoever Steve is—would never give his DNA to a company. He would never, not in a million years, spit into a vial and mail it off like that. There’s no way he’s the paternal match on my printout.”
Fitz sat back in his chair like he’d been shoved. He’d been so wrapped up in his own family problems, so determined to push forward with his own plan, that he hadn’t stopped to consider someone else might get a bombshell from that DNA assignment. “You think he’s not your real dad?”
“I don’t know.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a piece of paper she’d carefully folded. When she spread it on the table between them, he glanced down. It was a photo of a man, printed on computer paper. He had light hair, big, friendly light eyes, and the smile of an optimist. He looked polished and—Fitz was familiar with the type—rich.
And he looked exactly like Ren.
“Oh,” he said on an exhale. “I’m guessing that isn’t the guy back at your homestead.”
Ren shook her head. “That’s the guy in Atlanta. I think he might be my dad.”
“You think?” Fitz reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose while he thought this through. “Did you contact him before leaving town yesterday?”
She frowned. “Of course not.”
“So you’re going to drive all the way to Atlanta and just—what? Stand outside his door and wait for him to come out so you can ask him if he had a daughter twenty-two years ago?”
“What? No.”
Bracing his elbows on the table, Fitz leaned in. “I’m asking what your plan is, Sunshine.”
For a beat, he froze. He wasn’t sure where the new nickname came from. But if she noticed it—or the gentle tone—she didn’t react. “I’m going to talk to him,” she said. “I just—haven’t figured out what I’m going to say yet.”
“Okay. Listen.” He held his hands out in front of him. “Call me insane, but driving all the way to Atlanta to meet someone who may or may not be your father seems like a lot of trouble when you could just ask your mom about him instead.”