33. Chapter Thirty-Three Nathan

Chapter Thirty-Three: Nathan

I had done a lot of terrifying things in my life, but none of them measured up to asking a cop for his blessing to marry his daughter.

As I rolled my sleek black sedan to the curb outside The Copper Spoon, the familiar weight of dread settled in my gut. This wasn't just any lunch date; it was a reckoning of sorts. Owen stood outside as if he had all the time in the world, his eyes raking over my ride with an intensity that could peel paint. Despite the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the sidewalk, a shiver ran through me.

There was no missing the chill in his scrutiny.

The friendly dad who had greeted his daughter the last time I was here was gone. This guy was here to make sure I knew he could destroy me if I destroyed his daughter.

"Nice of him to pick a spot where everyone's packing," I muttered to myself, pushing the car door open. The Copper Spoon was notorious for being a second home to cops, and here I was, walking into the lion's den.

I straightened my jacket, a cheap attempt to armor myself against the tension that already thrived between us. With a deep breath, I stepped out and slammed the door shut, offering Owen a smile I hoped looked genuine.

"Owen," I greeted him with a nod, my hand raised in a casual wave.

"Nathan." His voice was gravel, rough around the edges, but his lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he mirrored my greeting.

It was like looking at my own reflection—a man adept at playing whatever role necessary to survive. We were two predators in sheep's clothing, recognizing the danger in each other's gaze behind the fa?ade of pleasantries. The unspoken understanding hung heavily between us as we entered the restaurant.

The Copper Spoon was buzzing with the clatter of dishes and muted conversations from lunchtime diners. The air smelled of coffee and grease, a comforting blanket of normalcy that seemed misplaced given the circumstances. Owen led the way to a table tucked away in a corner, far removed from prying ears and curious glances. He moved with purpose, and I followed, trying not to think about how many people in this place could arrest me on sight if they knew who I was.

"Good spot," I commented, sliding into the booth across from him.

"Best seat in the house." Owen's eyes scanned the room before settling back on me, a silent signal that he had done his due diligence in ensuring our privacy.

A waitress, her apron stained with the day's work, approached with a pair of menus, her smile practiced and professional. "What can I get started for you gentlemen?"

"What do you think, Nate? Are we drinking this early?" Owen asked, raising an eyebrow as he set the menu aside. His voice was light, but his scrutiny was anything but.

"Sounds like a plan to me," I said with a casual shrug, "I could actually go for a whiskey."

Owen glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands inching just past three—then he returned his gaze to me with a snort. "Two whiskeys, neat," Owen ordered, without diverting his gaze from mine.

The waitress jotted down our order and walked away, her steps blending into the ambient sounds of the diner. I leaned back against the worn leather of the booth, my mind racing with the weight of what I was about to disclose. I rarely needed liquid courage to get the job done, but when it came to Abby…this was too important for me to fuck it up.

We sat in silence, the kind that wasn't uncomfortable but wasn't comfortable either—a quiet filled with anticipation. It wasn't long before the waitress returned, placing two glasses of whiskey in front of us.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asked, her smile lingering.

"We're good, thanks," I replied, dismissing her with a nod.

Her footsteps faded away, and I stared at the glass in front of me, the whiskey's rich color doing nothing to calm the tightness in my chest. This was it—the moment of truth. Owen watched me intently, a silent invitation to proceed. I picked up the glass, the smooth surface cool against my palm, and took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the burn as it made its way down.

"Owen," I began, setting the glass back down with a soft clink, "there's something I need to tell you."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. "I'm listening."

Taking a deep breath, I locked eyes with him. "I asked Abby to marry me," I confessed, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "And I know I'm doing this in the wrong order…but I'd like your blessing."

Owen's expression didn't change at first, and for a second, I thought he hadn't heard me. Then, without a word, he lifted his glass and downed the whiskey in one swift gulp. A chuckle escaped him as he shook his head, putting the glass down with a clink.

"Abby's always done exactly what she wants," he said with a wry grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't need my blessing, Nathan."

My throat tightened. "But I want it," I insisted, the words carrying more weight than I anticipated. "I want to do this right, Owen. For her."

He studied me for a moment longer, his laughter fading into something more serious, more discerning. It was clear he saw through the veil of civility we both wore. There was an unspoken understanding between us—two men who recognized the dangers of our respective lives.

"Abby doesn't wait for anyone's endorsement," Owen remarked, his tone softer now, almost resigned. "But if it means anything to you, you have my blessing."

His gaze held mine, and in it, I saw recognition—a silent acknowledgment of the darker side of my world that Abby had become entangled in. I swallowed hard, the whiskey leaving a trail of fire down my throat, then I put the glass back on the table with a heavy thud, trying to steady my nerves.

There was no turning back now.

"I'm guessing Abby told you everything," I said, my voice low.

Owen's eyes darted around the restaurant, his cop instincts never at rest. Satisfied that our conversation remained private amidst the clatter of dishes and low hum of other patrons, he leaned in closer. "I understand that sometimes work can get dirty at the flower shop," he replied with a knowing glance.

I paused for a moment, letting the weight of Owen's unspoken understanding settle between us. The sounds of the Copper Spoon faded into a distant hum as I gathered my thoughts. "The real reason I came here alone," I began, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest, "is because I want to ensure that Abby doesn't get her hands dirty—with the plants, of course."

Owen's eyes never left mine, but I saw a flicker of something—concern, perhaps?—cross his features before he nodded slowly.

"Nathan, I know my daughter," he said, his voice a quiet rumble. "Abby's strong-willed; if she sets her mind to something, there's not much that can stop her."

I knew he was right. Abby had a fire in her that matched my own, and it was one of the many reasons I loved her. But it also scared the hell out of me. If she decided to wade too deeply into the murky waters of my world, it could swallow her whole.

And that was something I couldn't allow.

"Strong-willed is one way to put it," I agreed with a faint smile, trying to keep the mood from turning too grave. "But I'm asking you to take extreme measures if she tries to get in too deep."

Owen studied me for a long moment, then gave another slow nod, the father in him speaking louder than the officer. "I think she's already in too deep if she's marrying you."

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm serious, Owen. I mean it when I say extreme measures. I don't want to scare you, but if Abby got caught up in the crossfire because of me—"

"Stop," Owen cut me off, his hand raised like a barrier between us. "What exactly are you asking?"

"Arrest her," I muttered. "Keep her from me…by whatever means necessary."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "There's no fuckin' way…"

"You might have to, for her sake. For her safety," I insisted, the weight of my own words anchoring me to the spot.

Owen's face hardened, the lines of his weathered skin deepening as he grappled with the thought. Before he could respond, his eyes shifted past me momentarily, a cop's habit of always scanning the surroundings.

"Is something going on, Nathan? This isn't about the recent fires, is it?" His voice was sharp now, the detective side overtaking the concerned father.

I shook my head, the motion firm. "No, nothing like that. I've got it under control." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. "This is just about making sure Abby stays safe."

Owen held my gaze, searching for sincerity or deception—I couldn't tell which. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, though his eyes remained guarded.

"Alright," he said at last, his voice low. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect Abby, but you've got me nervous now." His eyes, like chips of flint, stared into mine. "What aren't you telling me?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "I think," I started, then hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "I think Abby would be better off without me."

The declaration hung in the air between us like a heavy fog. Owen shook his head slowly, taking a long breath as he processed what I'd just said. He let out an exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Look, Nathan," Owen finally said, his voice steady despite the storm I could see brewing in his eyes. "There's no way in hell I'll ever agree with how you make your living. But I'm not blind. I can see it in her eyes—Abby's happy when she's with you. And despite everything, it's clear you care about her. "

"Thanks," I muttered, the words barely more than a rasp. My throat felt tight, constricted. "I just...I hope it all works out."

"My daughter is stubborn," Owen continued. "There's no way for me to talk her out of anything. I raised her to go after what she wants, and I guess you're what she wants. So I'm not going to stand in the way of this. But you're a grown man, and I expect you to make sure she's safe. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," I replied. "Nothing matters to me more than your daughter's safety."

"If you're lying to me, Zhou, the last thing you'll have to worry about is your…plant shop activities," Owen continued. "And I want to make this clear. This isn't a threat, it's a consequence. I'm sure you're familiar with those."

I practically flinched. No one really dared speak to me like that, and I could see where Abby got her guts from. I should've hated this cop, but I couldn't help but admire him.

What would I have been like, if I'd had a father like this?

"Yes," I said. "I'm deeply familiar with consequences."

Owen's gaze softened for a fraction of a second, and he nodded. "Good. For what it's worth, I hope it works out, too. And Nathan," he added, the cop in him never off duty, "if you ever want out, if you're looking for an exit from your...business, you know who to talk to."

The offer hung there, a ladder out of the dark. It was a lifeline—one I might need sooner rather than later.

"Understood," I said, giving him a nod before standing up. The chair scraped against the floor, sounding louder than it should have as I pushed it back and walked away.

Exiting the Copper Spoon, I could feel the weight of Owen's eyes on my back, heavy with a father's concern and a cop's suspicion. Once outside, I pulled out my phone, my fingers working over the screen until I found Jack Kensington's number. The call connected on the third ring.

"Jack, it's Nathan," I said without preamble, my voice low as I paced beside the curb where my car was parked. "Can you get up to San Fran for a meeting? Something's going down, and I might need a friend outside of this mess."

"Sure thing," came his reply, no hesitation. "You just say the word."

"Thanks, man," I said, ending the call.

The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows over the street, the day's end signaling the beginning of something else—something uncertain. The city lights began to flicker on as dusk settled over San Francisco, and I felt the night wrap around me like a cloak. There were moves to be made, alliances to forge, and demons to confront.

But for now, it was just me and the road, with Abby waiting back at home.

"Whatever it takes," I whispered to myself. "Whatever it takes to keep her safe."