Caleb’s POV
I found the man I’d been calling my father for the past few years waiting for me in the back of the bistro, nursing a glass of red wine as he stared out the window. His wave of gray-white hair was parted to the side, a suave curl fanning over his forehead while the rest was slicked and tied back. He wore a simple black turtleneck and matching blazer, a matted silver lining the lapel, the only claim of luxury he’d allow to shine in a town like this. The host led me to the table just as Patrick Cross lowered his foot propped on his knee, angling himself towards me but not looking at me, just his glass slowly inching towards his lips. Mild displeasure graced his face, his lips pursed against his wine glass, never a drop miraculously on his matching gray beard. We hadn’t spoken si
