Chapter 24

Kent

My rideshare pulls up to Amelia's building as the evening settles like a gentle sigh over the city. I saw her after my shift ended this morning, and we had a wonderful couple of hours, but today was my first day off after three days on overnights, and I needed sleep. So, I left her to her Saturday and job hunting, and we made plans for dinner tonight.

I slept for a while before the alumni chat fired up and woke me. I tried to ignore it—they sure like to chat—but eventually they talked me into helping them rearrange furniture at Leah's. I left with just enough time to get ready, and then my phone blew up all over again on the way home—my family this time.

As Amelia slips into the seat next to me, her dress whispering against the leather, I clear my throat. "Change of plans for dinner," I tell her, meeting her eyes in the dim light. "Cordelia and William are back from Japan. We're all meeting at Hawksworth."

Her brow furrows slightly, a trace of disappointment crossing her features. "You should go alone, Kent. Enjoy your family time without me."

But I shake my head, adamant. "You're part of this now. They'll want to see you too."

She nods and puts on her seatbelt, but I can feel her anxiety ramping up. I'm not sure why she's so concerned.

"Did you find anything online today that was worth checking into?"

"There was a blind ad that I applied to. That usually means I won't hear back, but I definitely won't hear back if I don't apply."

I squeeze her hand in support as we pull up to the Rosewood Hotel.

We're crossing the opulent lobby when her phone sounds. She pulls it out, but it's an unknown number. I watch her face change as she reads the screen, I'll bet it's her mother. An invisible weight seems to settle on her shoulders. "Go ahead into the restaurant," she insists, worry creasing her forehead. "I need to take this."

I hesitate, unwilling to leave her side, especially not when Sophia is involved. "I'll wait," I say firmly, and her grateful smile warms me.

"Hello?" she answers tentatively.

"Amelia? It's Mom. Listen, there's someone new… He's from West Van," her mother's voice wavers through the line loud enough that I can hear every word. I watch Amelia's hand tighten around the phone, her nails a stark contrast against the pale casing.

"Mom, it's good to hear from you. But remember, you have to stay sober for yourself, not just for him," Amelia says.

"Is Kent there?" Sophia asks. "How's he doing?"

"Yes, we're here together, waiting to go in for dinner," Amelia replies, glancing up at me.

"Oh, well, I'll let you go. But this is my new number. Please tell him I said thank you…for everything," Sophia says. She sniffs and clears her throat. "Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, Mom. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" As Amelia ends the call, she looks at me, her eyes a tumult of fear and hope.

I reach out, touching her arm lightly. "You gave her good advice," I assure her. "And she sounded more stable, right? Who knows? Maybe this new guy will be a positive influence."

"Maybe," she echoes, but doubt lingers in her voice.

We move toward the restaurant, my mind churning. Tonight, I decide, I'll be her anchor if she needs one. I concentrate on the warmth of Amelia's hand in mine as we weave through the mingling scents of polished wood and roasted coffee beans that fill the Hawksworth Restaurant. My father stands at the head of the table like a watchful sentinel as we approach. He can't stand tardiness. His gaze drops to our intertwined fingers, and I feel an instinctive twitch in my muscles, the urge to release her hand before he can comment. But Amelia holds fast, her grip firm, and something steadies within me.

"Traffic was a beast," I murmur, meeting his eyes with a calm I don't fully feel.

"Ah, the city's arteries are clogged again," he says, his mouth turning down in disapproval.

We move on to greet Cordelia and William, whose smiles make the room seem brighter. Cordelia enfolds Amelia in a hug, and William clasps my shoulder with brotherly affection. "Good to see you both," he says warmly.

"Couldn't miss hearing about Japan," I reply, feeling Amelia's laughter against my side.

As we settle into our seats and scan the menus, the waiter appears with pen hovered over notepad, ready to catch our choices like fireflies in a jar. We order, and once he retreats, Cordelia leans forward.

"Tokyo was incredible, but Kyoto… It was like stepping into another time," she says.

"Tell us everything," Amelia urges.

"We visited temples, gardens, shrines… But the tea houses were something else—tranquil, intimate. You would have loved the ceremonies, Amelia. The grace and precision, every movement deliberate," Cordelia reminisces.

"Sounds perfect," Amelia agrees.

Inside, I'm cataloging every smile, every shared look between them. It's a tableau I want to freeze in time, this moment of connection between two women I care about so much. If only these minutes could stretch on indefinitely, untouched and pure.

Only father has been an undercurrent of unease all evening, his discomfort palpable in the crease between his brows. It's an expression I've come to read well over the years, often preceding some sort of rebuke for any deviation from his meticulously set expectations. Tonight's apparent transgression—our tardiness.

"Kent," Cordelia says, her voice ringing with the afterglow of marital bliss, "it looks like you're giving up your bachelor ways."

I look over at Amelia, noticing the way the candlelight dances in her eyes, casting flecks of gold in their hazel depths. "I'm crazy about her," I say, the words spilling out like a confession. "Actually, I've been thinking of taking her to London to meet Mum."

Cordelia's hands meet in a delighted clap, but it's a fleeting distraction from the growing tension at our table. My father lays down his silverware deliberately, the sound abrupt against the delicate plate.

He turns to Amelia, his gaze sharp and searching. "How long do you intend to carry on this farce, Ms. McCall?"

Amelia's face pales, and her hand, which had been resting on mine, goes limp. The accusation in his tone slices through me, unexpected and cold.

"Father, what are you talking about?" My voice is steady, but inside, confusion churns like storm clouds.

"During the wedding," Charles begins, "I found it surprising when Amelia sought me out to inquire about my work." His eyes never leave her, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Then we returned to Vancouver, and lo and behold, she's part of the pitch team trying to keep their contract as the hospital advertising agency. You failed in that endeavor," he notes. "So, I really don't see the point of this any longer."

"Father, she was making conversation, being friendly. There's nothing nefarious about asking after your job," I assert, trying to keep defensiveness from creeping into my voice. I look to Amelia for confirmation, for something that will dispel the growing haze of doubt. But she stares down at her lap.

The tension at the table is a living thing, slithering its way around us, tightening with every second of silence. Inexplicably, Amelia's eyes remain downcast, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and I can feel the weight of every gaze upon her.

"Did you date my son just to get close?" My father's words cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. "To pry information for your pitch?"

Amelia visibly recoils as if the words carry physical force, and she seems to snap out of whatever haze she was in. "Absolutely not," she counters. "Yes, I worked for Creative Seed, and yes, I wanted our relationship with Mercy Hospital to succeed. But that is not at all why I've been spending time with Kent. And as you noted, Creative Seed lost the account, and I've parted ways with them. There's no reason for me to see Kent now except that I want to. That's always been my reason."

"And actually, Father," I add, "I've known about Amelia working on the hospital account since we met. What's the big deal?"

The question hangs between us, and I see something flicker in Father's eyes—bewilderment, maybe even a hint of respect. "You knew? And you think it's acceptable that she might ply me for information?"

Before I can respond, Cordelia cuts through the tension with a smirk. "Since when has anyone been able to pry anything out of Charles Johns?"

Dad is quiet for a moment, and then he nods. "Good riddance, then," he adds after a moment, his disdain for Creative Seed clear. He locks eyes with Amelia again. "Theirs was the worst presentation of the lot. You're better off without them."

Amelia says nothing for a long moment, then returns his nod with a smile. "Thank you."

The server arrives, and thankfully, the conversation switches back to honeymoon talk and Cordelia and William's plan for children.

"Maybe if we have kids, we can finally convince Rhonda and Spencer to move over here," Cordelia says.

I nod. "I'd love it if they were close. I talk to them all the time, but until the wedding I didn't realize how much I miss seeing them."

I'd like to think Father and Amelia came to some sort of understanding, but nonetheless, he mostly glared all night. As the meal came to an unceremonious close, he paid the bill and made his usual hasty exit, brusque and unapologetic. After he's gone, Amelia and I migrate with Cordelia and William to the 1927 Lobby Lounge. The space is a capsule of time, reminiscent of a 1920s speakeasy, all dark woods and hushed ambience. They recount more tales of their honeymoon, but their jovial mood doesn't quite reach me. Everything feels unsettled, and I'm not sure why. It was good to clear the air this evening, and Father just is who he is. Nothing is going to change that.

My phone pings in my pocket, a sharp jolt back to reality as I pull it out. It's Phoebe. A crisis, she types. I'm already jumpy, and I find myself on my feet before I've processed much, urgency coursing through me.

"Sorry, I've got to run," I announce to the stunned faces around our table. "Phoebe's got an emergency. She's stuck in a less-than-desirable neighborhood in Richmond." The words tumble out rapid-fire as I look around me, keys already in hand, trying to sort out what to do. "Amelia, I can drop you home on my way?"

She shakes her head, face unreadable. I don't know what that means. Why is she being difficult about this now? Does she want to stay with Cordelia and William? I hesitate, torn, but the pinging phone in my hand is a siren call I can't ignore. My friend is in trouble, and everyone here is safe. I've got to go.

"Take care, then." I wave and smile at each of them before striding out the door.