“And I’m not here to ruin it.” He grips my chin in his thumb and forefinger, and I melt at his touch. I’m stunned by his audacity to—after so much time has passed—take such liberties with me. “What’d’ya say we start over? Pretend it never happened?”
“You can forget we slept together?” I shriek. “Just like that?” I snap my fingers.
What the hell is wrong with me? Now I’m appalled at the notion of being forgotten… I don’t even recognize myself right now.
“Well, no… I’m just trying to help you get past this.”
I snort. How very ladylike of me. I clap a hand over my mouth before hearing a distinctive grunt behind me.
No. No, no, no, no, no…
“Dad,” I say brightly, as I turn around, pulling out the remains of my acting skills. Watching the color draining from Wyatt’s face is almost worth the sheer mortification I’m suffering at his mere presence. “What can I do for you?”
“I was coming by to tell you the Andersons are here to meet with you.” His eyes bounce between the two of us. “In the main parlor.”
“Well,” I say, dipping from between the wall and the man my father’s attention is now laser focused on. “I won’t keep them waiting.”
Never have I ever wanted to disappear the way I want to right fucking now.
“Did I hear what I think I just heard?” The intimidating boar of a man rests his broad shoulder against the wall beneath the banister. Gone is the jovial guy I just spent over an hour chatting construction with—along with every ounce of oxygen from this room.
“Sir?” I ask, not wanting to volunteer any more than absolutely necessary. I have no clue how much he heard, and right now, I’m having a hard time even remembering exactly what was said.
Did someone turn the thermostat up?
“Don’t play dumb with me, son. You just said you had relations with my daughter.”
I roll my head shoulder to shoulder to alleviate the sudden strain while sweat beads my brow. “It was a few years ago.” Now would be a great time for the floor to split open and swallow me up. “I—I’m real sorry.”
Hank holds out a hand, silencing me. “Don’t apologize. My daughter is of age to make her own decisions about who she allows into her life and her…her…” The big burly man is suddenly at a loss for words.
“Her affairs?” I offer.
He nods, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “Exactly.”
“What happened between us won’t affect the work I do for you,” I assure him, my palms beginning to feel clammy.
“That’s good, but I still got a few things to say. Wanna be sure we fully understand each other.”
“Okay.” I take a step away, which he follows with two forward. My back is literally against the wall. He’s so close I can smell his breath. It takes all my effort not to pull a face.
“While she might be just another notch on your bedpost, Whitney is the love of my life.”
I must be seeing things, because I swear the old man’s eyes start to water.
“She’s been hurt.” He clears his throat, and it takes everything in me not to recoil from the spittle that lands on my cheek. “Let’s just say, I wasn’t a fan of it… Whatever you two do on your own time is between you and her and the Lord. But mark my words—the minute you make my baby girl cry, it’ll become about you and me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I wo—”
“I’m not looking for empty promises.” He finally backs a few paces away, allowing me to draw in a huge breath of clean air. “I saw the way you two looked at one another.” He shakes his head as if an eventual fallout is imminent. “Just remember, you knock that girl up, it’s a two-for-one deal.”
“Huh?” It’s probably the most immature response I could come back with, but the only one I can seem to conjure at the moment.
“She didn’t tell you about little Prissy, did she?” He shakes his head. “I’m not surprised. Got a six-year-old daughter, me and her momma been helpin’ raise. That little girl’s daddy ain’t worth a shit.” He mutters something nonsensical beneath his breath. “Look…just don’t start nuthin’ with my girls you ain’t plannin’ on finishin’, and we’ll get along fine.”
“No sir,” I answer, not having the slightest clue how the mention of one little hookup evolved into a lecture on relationships and children. But I’m not a dad, and I haven’t had one since I was four years old. So, while the man scares the shit out of me, it’s also heartwarming to witness him champion his daughter this way.
“All right then.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes affectionately. “I got a body to take care of… I’ll see you in the chapel tomorrow morning at seven.” And just like that, he’s back to smiling and agreeable.
“I’ll be here.”
I wait for him to disappear down the hall before I start for the door. A little wad of black fabric on the floor of the last step catches my eye.
“Well, that isn’t safe,” I mutter to no one at all, nudging it with my boot. Hmmm. What have we here?
Panties.
Whitney must’ve dropped them when she tripped.
Why the heck was she carrying around lingerie?
Ever curious, I scoop them up and head in the direction of her office.
My timing could not be more perfect; I arrive just in time to see her walking out the elderly couple she was meeting with.
She waits until the door shuts behind them to give me her attention. “Well, you’re still standing.” Her eyes make a slow perusal of my form. “That’s good.” She shrugs. “Or bad, depending who’s asking.”
I wave a hand through the air as if it was no big thing. Like I wasn’t just practically shitting my drawers. “Went well,” I lie. “He gives us his blessing.”
Her cocky smile slowly morphs into a scowl. “His what?”
“Relax,” I say slipping past her into the office. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m just fucking with you.”
With a loud huff she follows me inside, kicking the door shut behind her. “You don’t know shit about my panties.”
Swear to all that is holy, I couldn’t have planned for a better opening if I’d tried. “Oh, I know a little.”
“A lot can change in two years, Wyatt, including a woman’s taste in lingerie…” She looks at me pointedly. “Also in men.”
Ouch.
I punch a hand to my chest, recoiling dramatically from the blow before reaching into my pocket to retrieve the scrap of fabric that’s burning a hole in my thigh. With deliberate slowness, I shake them loose then drape the skimpy elastic over the tip of my index finger.
Her mouth falls open. “Where did you—?” She pats the front of her skirt, feeling for the lump that’s no longer there. Just as I suspected…definitely hers.
“Black,” I say, beginning to tick off all the things I just so happen to know about her lingerie of choice. I give my finger a twitch, so they sway just slightly. “Lace.” I nod my approval. “Thongs.”