Not a denial, but Clark hadn’t expected one, wouldn’t have wanted it.
He couldn’t help it, he smiled at the description. It sounded so innocent in ways Riley wasn’t—painting a picture of someone who chased shooting stars and tossed coins in a fountain. But digging into the etymology of the word, magic meant transformative. And in that way, the adjective fit perfectly.
“Some of it’s her fault,” Clark said finally. Whatever Riley was, whatever she did, she’d changed him. “But I don’t think we should give her all the credit.”
By falling in love with her, in striving to be worthy of her love, Clark had grown to see himself differently.
“You always do this.” Alfie shook his head. “You find a way to follow the person with the worst idea.”
Clark magnanimously translated that in his head to: I wish the people you trusted took a bit more care.
His father frowned, making the lines on his face more pronounced. “I’m afraid she’ll hurt you.”
The comment might have fallen with a note of irony, considering the source, but loving Riley had helped Clark understand his family a little better.
Somewhere on that cliffside in Torridon, he’d accepted the fact that he adored—senselessly—complicated, extraordinary people. People who were exceptionally hard on everyone, but most of all themselves.
He liked the striving in their mistakes, the messiness of their attention, the unvarnished surprises revealed by the way they approached everyday life.
Clark loved the fierce way they loved him: like they wanted to protect him even when they couldn’t.
“We all hurt the ones we love,” he said, softly, pointedly. “It’s why we must learn to make amends.”
A joke about Riley breaking both curses and hearts came to mind, but Alfie wouldn’t appreciate it, so instead Clark said, “I’m made of tougher stuff than you think.”
His dad was many things: proud and gruff, charismatic, yes, and even caring, in his own way.
“I love you,” Clark told him. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me.”
His father, sensing more to come, seemed to brace himself.
“But I don’t owe you a career you admire or a partner you approve of. I need you to hear me, really hear me, when I say that I’m through having my life measured and weighed against your ambition.” He took a breath in and let it out slowly. “And if you can’t accept that—and don’t change how you treat me—I’m done.”
Color rose in his father’s cheeks. Clark expected another outburst, like the one they saw in Skye. Though he expected this time his father would order him out instead of leaving, since this was his hotel room, after all.
“It’s your choice. Accept your sons, warts and all, or lose us both.”
The sunlight from the window cut across Alfie’s face, making him look somehow both older and younger than his sixty-five years.
“All right,” he said finally, and then leaning forward, grasped the teapot, offering to top off Clark’s cooling cup.
It was more concession than Clark had ever had from him, more than he’d seen him give to anyone personally or professionally.
All right. The love in that single phrase beat like bird wings in the space between them, steady and climbing, soft but hopeful.
“I hear you.” He set down the teapot and sat back in his chair. “We’ll call Patrick.”
“All right,” Clark echoed, thinking it just might be, after all. Alfie Edgeware had a history of making good on slim odds.
If the last few months had taught him anything, it was that just because something hurt didn’t mean it wasn’t healing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After hanging up with her mom, Riley decided, for the first time since she’d arrived in Torridon, to take a night off from curse breaking. Both she and Clark had already battled professional setbacks and difficult family conversations today. They deserved a little R&R.
After treating herself to a long bath and a face mask, she swung by the local grocery store before it closed and picked up supplies for a romantic dinner. Well, her idea of romantic anyway—since it was red wine and mac and cheese. Each in boxed form, as was her preference.
She did also, virtuously, pick up a few heads of broccoli, thinking of Clark’s affinity for fiber. The desire to care for a man might be new, but Riley was pretty sure she was killing it.
Even if she secretly hoped Clark would make a comment about boxed wine being lowbrow so she could whip out all her favorite facts about how many high-end vintners had embraced the model to optimize both sustainability and production costs. If instigating opportunities for harmless, heated banter with her boyfriend was wrong, she didn’t want to be right.
When she arrived at the camper, she found Clark sitting at his desk with his laptop open in front of him.
“Hey.” He’d changed into a faded long-sleeved T-shirt and gray sweatpants—so at least they were on the same page about the leisurely direction of the evening.
“Prepare yourself for a culinary feast,” she told him, dramatically displaying the cloth bag of groceries hanging over her shoulder like Vanna White.
“Not sure there’s another kind . . .” he teased.
“Don’t be fresh,” Riley warned, even though she loved the haughty twist of his mouth, “or I won’t show you all four of the ingredients I purchased.”
“Wow,” he said when she’d finished laying them out on the coffee table. “Thank you. I’d make a joke about how there’s no dessert, but I think we both know what I’ll be doing with my mouth after dinner.” He folded his hands in his lap primly.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Riley said gleefully. “I take it the conversation with your dad went well?”
He proceeded to fill her in while she poured them both wine.
Even from their brief interaction, she knew that Alfie Edgeware had a keen, innate understanding of people, how they worked. He would understand that he couldn’t bully Clark now that his son had stopped living and breathing for his approval.
And if he forgot, Riley would be there to remind him.
When he finished, she wished she knew how to say I’m really proud of you without sounding condescending. But since she didn’t, she just handed him one of the glasses and placed a kiss on his cheek.
As they both took a sip, the screen of his computer caught her eye.
“What are you looking at?” She leaned her chin on his shoulder to snoop. “Is that—Do you just peruse Google Maps in your downtime?”
Scattered across America and Western Europe, little flags in different colors had been added, along with what looked like notes. Riley hadn’t even known that feature existed.
“No.” Clark huffed like he’d never done anything so dorky in his life, even though she could clearly see he had another open tab where he’d paused a multipart documentary about something called “non-market-rate housing.”
“I simply thought I’d do some research about other sites with evidence of ancient curses.” His voice held a hint of defensiveness. “Obviously, after you’re done here, you’ll need to figure out where to go next, so . . .”