Hair loose.
“What are you doing here?”
She handed him a folded program.
“Apparently listening.”
He looked around.
“How did you know?”
“You mentioned the concert.”
“One time.”
“I remember things.”
The Single Dad lowered his voice.
“This is weird.”
“Probably.”
“Why are you here?”
The CEO looked toward the stage.
“Because she loaned me her father for an entire night.”
“I thought I should see what was important enough to bring you home.”
The Single Dad stared.
Then looked toward his daughter.
He did not know what to say.
The lights dimmed.
The concert began.
The trumpet section missed several notes.
One child came in early.
A clarinet squeaked violently.
The CEO smiled.
The Single Dad whispered:
“You don’t have to pretend this is good.”
She whispered back:
“I’m not.”
He almost laughed during the quiet section.
His daughter glared at him from the stage.
He stopped.
After the concert, the Daughter ran toward him.
He hugged her.
“You were great.”
“I missed one note.”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“That means you weren’t listening.”
The CEO smiled.
The Daughter noticed her.
“Who’s she?”
The Single Dad hesitated.
The CEO answered:
“I own the airplane your dad saved.”
The Daughter’s eyes widened.
“The silver one?”
The CEO looked surprised.
“You know it?”
“Dad says it’s beautiful but overcomplicated.”
The Single Dad closed his eyes.
The CEO stared at him.
“Does he?”
The Daughter nodded enthusiastically.
“He says rich people build extra problems into stuff so they can feel special.”
The Single Dad whispered:
“We’re going home.”
The CEO began laughing.
The Daughter looked pleased.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
The CEO wiped one eye.
“You said something extremely useful.”
They went for ice cream.
The CEO had not planned that part.
The Daughter demanded it.
The Single Dad tried to refuse.
The CEO said:
“I’m apparently wealthy enough to purchase three ice creams.”
The Daughter immediately liked her.
They sat at a small outdoor table.
The Single Dad drank coffee.
His daughter ate chocolate ice cream far too quickly.
The CEO chose vanilla.
The Single Dad noticed.
“Vanilla?”
She looked offended.
“What’s wrong with vanilla?”
“You own a silver airplane with diamond paint.”
“Crystalline metallic accents.”
“Exactly.”
“And you choose vanilla.”
She stared.
“Vanilla is elegant.”
The Daughter whispered:
“It’s boring.”
The Single Dad nearly spit out coffee.
The CEO looked at the child.
“Your father is a bad influence.”
The Daughter nodded.