Count Your Lucky Stars (Written in the Stars, #3)(86)

“You want to talk about it?”

She swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat. “Not really.”

Dad hummed. “Would you feel better if you talked about it?”

She dropped her face into her hands and huffed. Damn his Dad logic. “Maybe? I don’t know. We—we both said some things and . . .” She took a deep breath and started over from the beginning. “Brad called me. He—”

“Why is Brad calling you?” Dad’s face wrinkled.

She pressed her fingers to the space between her brows. “Are you going to let me finish?”

Dad grumbled something under his breath, words she couldn’t quite make out, and waved for her continue.

“I—okay, he calls me sometimes. About silly little things. I answer because . . . I asked him to keep an ear out.” She cringed, dreading Dad’s reaction. “If he heard anything. You know. About you.”

Dad frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Because.” She wiped her palms against her legs and stood, needing to move. She stepped around the coffee table and stood in front of the fireplace, wringing her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie, which were too long. “You tell me you’re fine, but what does that mean? I worry, okay? And, I mean, clearly for good reason, since you decided to put the house up for sale without ever mentioning it to me.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.” Dad huffed. “And I had every intention of telling you, but then you mentioned this big wedding you were working on and I—I decided to wait until after.”

“We could’ve avoided this if you’d just talked to me. I worry because you leave things out and because you say things like I’m fine.”

Dad threw his hands up. “Because I am fine, Livvy. I am and—okay, I can admit, keeping you in the dark about the house was a mistake.” His brows rose, lips twisting in a wry smile. “Clearly. But when I say I’m fine, I wished you’d believe me. I have it all under control, okay?”

She knotted the excess fabric of her sleeves between her fingers and nibbled on the inside of her lip. “That’s what Margot said.”

Dad bobbed his head. “And I’m guessing you didn’t like hearing that.”

No, she’d hated it. Hated it even more now, because Margot’s points had been decent. But that still didn’t excuse the fact that Margot had told Olivia she was overreacting.

“Not particularly. Brad texted me the link to the property listing after I’d sent him to voicemail, and when I called you and you didn’t answer, I kind of freaked out a little. Margot thought I should wait for you to call me back or wait until after the wedding to drive down, but I was worried, okay? And she accused me of overreacting and told me I needed to stop putting everyone’s needs before mine, and I accused her of”—she cringed—“having a fear of abandonment, which was a pretty awful thing to blurt out, I’ll admit, but also may be true?”

Dad frowned. “Obviously I wasn’t there, so I don’t have all the specifics, but it sounds to me like you both said some pretty hard things you felt like the other needed to hear?”

That was a . . . fair assessment of the situation. “I guess.”

“Can’t say I disagree with her, Liv. You’ve spent enough time taking care of other people. And, just to offer some perspective, saying what she did probably wasn’t the easiest. Think about it. She probably knew you might react poorly, but she said it anyway because she thought you needed to hear it.” Dad stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “It sounds to me like Margot cares about you.”

“That’s what she said. That she said what she did because she cares.”

“It’s not always the easiest to let someone care about you, is it?” Dad’s brows rose pointedly.

God. Her chin wobbled, and she bit down on her lip to keep it from quivering. It really wasn’t. Despite being something she desperately wanted, it was hard to let it happen. To let herself have it and—shit. Margot really was right. Olivia didn’t need anyone’s permission to be happy.

Only her own.

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip. “She’s not the only one. I mean, I care about her, too.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least, kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why? Because I care about everyone?”

Dad chuckled. “Because it’s Margot. I might be your dad, and I might not always know the right thing to say or how to say it, but I’ve got two eyes, and it was obvious to anyone who looked at you two that you weren’t just friends.”

Her face burned at the insinuation that Dad knew more about their past—or at least her feelings—than he’d ever let on. She rolled her lips together, weighing out how much she wanted to share. “She was my best friend.”

Dad’s brows rose.

“She was. But fine. I had a crush on her, okay? And for a while I thought . . .” When Dad’s lips twitched, she set her hands on her hips, huffing softly. “You didn’t snoop through my diary, did you?”

Oh, Jesus. She pressed a hand to her cheek, skin on fire. Talk about mortifying. She’d never be able to look Dad in the eye again if he’d read even half of what she’d written.