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the only one who had any semblance of calm about him, and said, “Now, Dad, you want to tell me what’s going on here?”
    If she resembled anyone, it was her father. Her wide-set eyes, fair coloring, and determined chin were a delicate shadow of his masculine features. He straightened the collar of his polo shirt. The familiar gesture tugged at her heart. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he was still her father. This was the man who’d taught her to ride a bicycle, wiped away her tears when Tommy Painter stood her up for prom, and bought her a car when she graduated high school. Above all else, he was human with frailties and flaws like everyone else.
    “Your mother has been harassing me for weeks to pick up my things, so here I am,” he said. “Now I’m here, but she refuses to let me get past this room.”
    “He let himself in without knocking,” Felicia said, her voice shocking in its coldness. “And his whore was touching my things. You don’t live here anymore, Frank. I want your key back, or I’ll change the locks.”  
    “Mom, you said you wanted him to get his stuff,” Tasha began, trying to prevent another outburst.
    “I didn’t mean for him to show up unannounced with that—that hussy.” Felicia sank into the chair next to her. The lines in her face had deepened with the strain of the divorce. She looked older and more tired than Tasha had ever seen her. Her father had done it, drained away her youth and aged her with worry.
    “This is still my house,” Frank said. He turned to Tasha. “You understand, don’t you, ladybug?”
    “Dad, maybe you should set up a time to come back when things are a little more settled.” Tasha cast a worried glance at her mother, who grew paler with each passing second.
    “How could you bring that woman here, Frank?” Felicia burst into tears. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”
    “Why are you acting like you care?” Frank asked. “You never noticed whether I came or went during the last twenty years of our marriage. I find it hard to believe you care now.”
    Tasha’s heart squeezed and tears pricked behind her eyelids. It was high school all over again with her parents shouting while she stood by helplessly. This was the reason she would never give her heart to someone. Love, marriage, monogamy—they were all an illusion. She put invisible hands over her ears and tried to block out the insults. A gentle touch on her back distracted her from an impending meltdown. Luke stood behind her, eyes warm with kindness and empathy.
    “Tash? Maybe we should let them work this out.” His smile soothed her. “Why don’t you show me where the leak is?”
    Fifteen minutes later, he had the bathroom sink lying in pieces on the floor. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, trying to ignore the muffled shouting from downstairs, and watched him work. The muscles and tendons flexed in his forearms as he twisted the pipe wrench, strong and masculine, every inch a guy. Sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up at her.
    “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.
    “Not really.” She leaned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands. “Where did you learn to be so handy?”
    “My dad died when I was a kid. We didn’t have a lot of money, so it was up to me and my brothers to make the repairs. Necessity and all.” He flashed another look at her, one corner of his mouth turning up.
    “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she said. No wonder he was so self-sufficient. Sadness tweaked her heart, picturing him as a dark-haired little boy without a dad.  
    His casual shrug said more than his words. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember him too well, but everyone says he was a good guy. So you see, my dad left me, too.”
    “But not because he didn’t love your mom or because he was screwing the checkout lady,” Tasha replied.
    “No.” Luke stopped working and balanced a forearm on his thigh, studying her, choosing his words carefully.