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"That's my girl," he says. "Always hungry, just like your old man."

"Don't encourage her," I say, but I'm smiling.

He brings Lily back down and settles her against his chest, and she immediately starts playing with his beard, also longer than it was three years ago. I love the way it looks on him. Love the way it feels between my thighs when he—

I need to focus. My father is coming in less than an hour.

"You okay?" Angel asks.

"Nervous."

"I know." He shifts Lily to one arm and pulls me against him with the other. "But it's going to be fine. He's coming because he wants to make things right. That's a good thing."

"I know. I just—" I stop, trying to find the words. "It's been three years. Three years of building this life without him. And now he wants to be part of it, and I don't know how to feel about that."

"You feel however you need to feel," Angel says. "And if at any point you want him to leave, you tell me and I'll make it happen."

I look up at him. "You'd kick my father out of our house?"

"In a heartbeat. If it's what you need."

God, I love this man.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He kisses me, then pulls back when Lily grabs his beard and yanks.

"Ow. Okay, little monster, that's enough." He extracts her fingers from his facial hair and sets her down in her playpen in the corner of the kitchen. She immediately starts playing with her blocks, stacking them one by one before knocking them down with a squeal.

Angel comes back and wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Lasagna smells good."

"It better. I've been working on it all morning."

"You didn't have to go all out, you know. Sandwiches would've been fine."

"I know. But this is—" I stop. "This is important. He's never met Lily. He's never seen this house. He's never seen what we built here. I want him to see that I'm okay. That I made the right choice."

Angel turns me around to face him. "You don't have to prove anything to him, Bree."

"I know. But I want to anyway."

"Okay. Then we'll give him the full show. House, family, everything."

"Thank you."

"Always."

My father arrives at exactly noon.

I watch from the living room window as his car, a sleek black Mercedes that probably costs more than our house, pulls into the driveway. He sits there for a moment before turning off the engine, and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am.

"You want me to get the door?" Angel asks from behind me.

"No. I'll do it."

I cross to the front door and open it just as my father reaches the porch.

He looks older than I remember. Grayer at the temples, more lines around his eyes. He's wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, casual for him, and he's holding a wrapped gift in one hand and flowers in the other.