“I’m not going to ask you if Izzy lied,” Dad said. “Because I think, if he did, you would have told me that already. Is that right?”
Wyatt jerked his head in a nod.
“You won’t remember this,” Dad said. “Back when I first met Justin and you kids, I turned up at your house with lemon bars and lasagna, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into. And when I got there I knocked on the door, not even knowing if someone would answer, and you suddenly appeared at the window, and you waved at me, and I knew in that moment that I wanted to look after you, all of you, for as long as you’d let me. And that’s never changed, and it’s never going to change. So talk to me, Wy, please.”
Wyatt drew in a shaking breath. “I don’t want to go to Paris. I don’t want to work for Alain Donadieu. I don’t want to be a p?tissier.” He scrubbed his knuckles over his wet cheeks. “I want to be a baker.”