I stare down at my smart child. “She did.” I hesitate before I ask this question—a question I should have asked her weeks ago. “Do you want to meet her?”
Andi shrugs. “I guess.”
Well, fuck.
Running my hand through my hair, I nod. “Okay, the next time she stops by, you can meet her.”
“Sounds good.” Andi turns and heads back to the table to her coloring. I want to chuckle at the absurdity of it all and at the fact that Andi just takes things as they come. It’s a good quality to have. I wish I had some of that.
* * *
Trying the Harmons’back doorknob one more time, I return to the truck and to Andi who’s still buckled into the back seat. “She’s not home.”
Andi points toward the barn. “She’s in the barn.”
I guess that makes sense. I slide into the truck and shut the door.
“You’re not going to tell her we’re here?”
“Nope.” I start up the truck.
“But we went all the way to Emmetsville for her favorite pizza.”
“Yep.” I nod, backing out of the long driveway. Sure, I could have turned the truck around, but that would have put me closer to the barn, and I’m not getting closer to Isabelle Harmon. Not anymore.
“Isabelle’s too busy for us.”
“Oh. Okay.”
That was a shitty thing to say in front of my kid, but I’m pissed. And sad. And lonely for my girl.Ha! My girl?That’s obviously not the case. She’s not even close becausemygirl would have run out the second she saw me pull up. She would have wrapped her gorgeous arms around me, and she would have kissed me like I was the best part of her day.
Oh, shit. I feel my eyes get all wet and shit. I’m not crying over this bullshit—not in front of Andi anyway. Turning right onto the gravel road, I drive slowly toward our place. “I didn’t mean it like that. She’s just busy with the farm. I’m sure she’ll call us later.”
“Or maybe she’ll stop by.”
“Or… yeah. Maybe.” Not.
The second I turn into my driveway; I see the fancy black car. Fuck. The last thing I need right now is Ivy.
“My birth mother is here,” says my smarty-pants daughter.
“Yep,” I mutter. Pulling to a stop in front of the house, I look back at her. “You want to talk to her?”
“Sure.” Andi undoes her seat belt and opens her door. Sliding down from the cab of the pickup, she practically skips over to Ivy’s car.
Reaching over, I pick up the pizza and jump down too. Walking toward Ivy’s car, I watch her get out. She looks at me first. Then her eyes slide down to Andi. She blinks slowly, but she doesn’t smile. “You look like your daddy.”
Andi nods. “So I’ve heard.”
I chuckle at her dry response.
Ivy still stares. “I figured you’d havesomethingfrom me.”
Andi shrugs. “DNA.”
I laugh again. My kid doesn’t miss a thing. I’ve told her our DNA was a perfect match many times.
“Want some pizza?” my kid asks, adding, “it’s Izzy’s favorite kind.”
