Chapter 33: Dahlia

“Dad—” “The last man who showed up—”

“Dad, please,” I said quickly. “He’s a—”

I stopped. Client felt strange to say now. Friend felt like a stretch. I had absolutely no idea what to call him.

Weston watched me flounder for what felt like a minute before he mildly said. “Client,”

“Client,” I repeated, pointing at my dad.

My dad looked at Weston for one more unhurried second. Then he picked up his tray, squeezed my shoulder on the way past without comment, and went.

I turned to Weston