The Wedding Pact Box Set - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,349

been lost on a deserted island, or he’d been held prisoner by pirates—and now that he’d come to his senses he’d searched high and low for his little girl.

But suddenly there he was, standing on her front porch, glancing at the landscaping under the picture window with a look of disgust as he pushed the doorbell repeatedly.

Libby’s stomach tumbled with nerves and she swallowed her nausea as she opened the door, prepared for him to swoop her into his arms and shower her with love.

He eyed her up and down dismissively before looking over her shoulder into the living room. “Is Gabriella here?”

Libby stuffed down her disappointment. He hadn’t seen her since she was a tiny baby. How would he know her now? She held on to the doorknob and twisted it nervously. “She’s at work.”

“Oh.” He took a step back as if to leave.

He couldn’t leave! He’d just shown up! She scrambled to come up with a reason for him stay. “She’ll be home any minute if you want to come in and wait!” It was a flat-out lie. Her mother was going out with friends after work, but he didn’t have to know that.

He eyed her again, as though appraising her trustworthiness. She flashed him a warm smile and he gave a slight nod. “Well, I can wait for a few minutes.”

She backed up and opened the door wider for him to cross the threshold. “Gabriella’s done good for herself, huh?” he said walking around the room, picking up a knick-knack and examining it before setting it back in its place.

Libby shut the door. “Yeah, I guess.”

He turned to study her, his right hand twitching. “You say she’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Yeah. Can I get you something to drink?”

He hesitated.

“A beer?”

She knew she’d made the right offer when a grin spread across his face. “Yeah. Sure. Gabby still drink Miller Light?”

“Uh . . . I think she has Corona and Boulevard.”

He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, releasing a sharp laugh. “That’s Gabby. Always thinking she’s better than where she came from.”

Libby had no idea what he was talking about, but this wasn’t going how she’d dreamed it would. “Which one?”

Annoyance filled his eyes. “Get me the Corona, kid.” Libby was on her way to the kitchen when he called after her. “You got a lime? Ain’t that how the high and mighty drink it? With a lime?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know . . .”

He rolled his eyes. “You ain’t too bright, are you? Never mind.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Just get me the damn beer.”

She stumbled into the kitchen, resisting the urge to cry. Why hadn’t he told her he loved her? That he missed her and wanted to make up for lost time? She considered calling Megan, who lived closer than Blair. If her friend hopped on her bike, she’d get there in five minutes. But Libby looked at the clock on the microwave and realized that Megan was at a piano lesson and Blair was shopping with her mother. Libby could have called Gabriella—her mother made her use her first name so men wouldn’t think she was her kid—but she would be furious to hear Libby had let a stranger in the door. But he wasn’t a stranger! He was her father!

“Hey, kid! Where’s the beer? You get lost in the fridge?” He chuckled at his cleverness.

Libby pulled herself together and pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge, popped the top open and walked into the living room.

He was still on the sofa, his arm draped over the back. When she walked into the room, his expression changed. His hard, dark eyes softened and he licked his bottom lower lip.

She stopped in the doorway and took a moment to study him. There was no doubt he looked older than his picture, but it had been twelve years. He was thinner, and his face was covered with salt and pepper stubble. His jeans were filthy and his T-shirt was stained. He’d worn holes into the elbows of his black leather jacket as well as his white athletic shoes.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twelve.” She waited for him to connect the dots.

His eyes blinked wide. “Twelve. You look like you’re fifteen.”

She didn’t answer. She was used to her mother’s friends assuming the same thing.

“You’re a pretty thing.”

She was used to hearing that too. She shared her mother’s thick, dark, wavy hair and olive complexion, and was already showing the