Count Your Lucky Stars (Written in the Stars, #3)(87)

“Your diary?” Dad guffawed, the recliner rocking with the ferocity of his laughter. “Jesus, no. I probably would’ve had a heart attack a decade before I did, if I had done that.”

Her jaw dropped. “Dad! That’s not funny.”

“Eh.” He seesawed his hand from side to side, nose wrinkling. “Come on. It’s a little funny. If I can’t laugh at myself, what the hell am I supposed to laugh about?”

Her lips twitched. “Nudist retirement villas, obviously.”

“Jesus.” He dragged his hand down his face. “And you said Margot put that idea in your head?” He tsked, shaking his head. “Consider me doubly glad I never read your diary.”

Her chest loosened when she laughed. “Me too, Dad. Me too.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “It’s good seeing you laugh, Liv. You haven’t done nearly enough of that in the last few years. It seems to me like moving to the city’s been good for you. And maybe . . . Margot’s been a part of it, too?”

A flicker of warmth flared to life inside her chest, catching, growing, spreading outward until her fingertips tingled. She pressed her fingers to her lips and nodded, sniffling. “I’m really happy, Dad,” she whispered.

Dad heaved himself out of the chair and wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a hug. Olivia buried her nose in his chest, breathing in the smell of his laundry detergent, the one he’d been purchasing for years because it was the one Mom had used. “I’m happy you’re happy, Livvy.”

When he finally released her and took a step back, his face was red and his eyes were suspiciously damp, or maybe they only seemed that way because her vision was downright blurry. She bit her bottom lip and sniffled. Dad rested one of his large hands on her shoulders, the heavy weight pleasant, grounding. “Are these happy tears, or . . . ?”

Using the sleeve of her sweater, she mopped beneath her eyes. “I’m just worried I messed up. What I said wasn’t great. I don’t know.”

Like Margot, everything Olivia had said had come from a place of care only . . . her words had been reactionary, in response to Margot pushing her out of her comfort zone. She didn’t regret what she’d said as much as she regretted the way she’d said it, lashing out. Not fighting fair. Margot had made it clear she cared about Olivia, but had she?

“This isn’t your first rodeo, kid. You know not every argument means it’s over.”

No, but sometimes all it took was one argument. And this was their first, their first real one, not a mere difference of opinion. It could be make-or-break. Besides . . . “Look how my first rodeo, as you call it, turned out. That’s a shit—crappy example.”

Dad snorted. “Fair point. But Margot’s not Brad.”

“Thank God,” she muttered, making Dad laugh.

“What is it you said that you’re so worried about? Something about Margot having a fear of abandonment?”

She nodded. “It’s—not just me. It’s with her friends, too, and . . . I stand by what I said. Just not how I said it.”

Dad puffed out his cheeks. “And she wanted you to stay? To wait until after the wedding to drive here?”

She nodded.

“And you left anyway?”

“I had a reason,” she defended. “And I’m coming back tomorrow.”

Dad squeezed her shoulder. “Sometimes the things that trigger our fears don’t make the most sense. Sometimes they aren’t the most logical.”

She winced. The same could be argued for her own actions. “True.”

Except maybe Margot’s fear was rooted in something logical. Not the truth, but Margot’s version of it, her version of the past that she’d believed to be true up until only today. Believing that eleven years ago Olivia had chosen Brad over her. That Olivia had thrown their plans out the window in favor of following Brad across the state.

“You want to know how you make it right?”

She lifted her head and blew out a breath, ruffling the strands of hair that never quite made it into her sloppy bun in the first place, others having escaped confinement since. “I am all ears.”

Dad chuckled and patted her arm. “You show up tomorrow and you keep showing up.”

Olivia nodded. Show up and keep showing up. She could absolutely do that. Prove to Margot that she was in this, all in. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime.” He stepped back and tucked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “You eat dinner yet?”

She shook her head and pressed a hand to her stomach. “No, I was too nervous to eat.”

Dad’s mouth twisted briefly before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “I made chili. With ground turkey, don’t worry. I’m sticking to the heart-healthy diet.”

Her stomach growled. “Sounds good. Is it okay if I spend the night here?” She bit her lip, shrugging softly. “Maybe we could find a movie or something?”

As long as she hit the road no later than ten, she should make it downtown with time to spare.

“Sure thing, kid. You should know you’re always welcome wherever I live.”

She smirked. “I’ll withhold judgment on visiting you wherever you move, in case that whole clothing-optional community idea grows on you.”