Wetting his lips, he grins. “Now that sounds like something a preacher’s daughter would do.”

I want to punch out every perfectly aligned white tooth in his mouth. “Let’s go, Swarley.”

Chapter Three

Please let my dad and Deedy be dressed.

Please let Deedy be older than me by at least a decade.

Please wake me up from this nightmare that’s become my life.

No such luck.

The nightmare plays on.

“Hey, Avery, can I get ya some lemonade before we start unloading the moving van? It’s fresh squeezed.”

Swarley makes friends with the maple tree and half of the shrubs along the front of the house while I force a smile—the one where I pretend it’s not at all shocking to see my dad lounging in a wooden rocker on the porch with Deedy on his lap.

Cute. Cozy. Barf!

“Lemonade would be great. Thank you.” Get off my dad’s lap!

“Coming right up.” She kisses my dad on the cheek and flutters into the house, leaving my dad with a twitterpated grin.

He sighs all dreamy and … just … no. This is not happening. “So what do you think, Ave?”

I climb the porch steps. “I think you’re crazy if you think I’m unloading anything. My hand is injured and my nails were recently manicured.”

He pats his knee.

I shake my head. His lap is all Deedied. I’m never sitting on it again. The top step will work just fine. “How old is she, Dad?”

“Does it matter?” He scratches the back of his head. “How old is your boyfriend? What’s his name? Tony?”

“We’re not exactly together. He had…” I frown because beneath all the anger is this horrific embarrassment laced with a world of insecurities “…honesty issues.”

“What did he lie to you about? The balance in his bank account.” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “Chocolate. He said he hated chocolate, but I found out he actually likes it a lot.”

A hearty chuckle rumbles from Dad’s chest. “And that’s a deal breaker for your relationship?”

I stare at my nails, thankful I got the gel coating since it could be awhile before I get them redone. “Sadly, yes. It was quite the deal breaker. But enough about my latest mistake, stop dodging my question. How old is Deedy?”

“I’m thirty-eight.” The screen door creeks as Deedy steps onto the porch, handing me a lemonade garnished with a strawberry and mint leaves.

I love pretty drinks, but this one already tastes sour, and I haven’t even taken a sip yet.

“Thank you.” My voice breaks with a bit of embarrassment.

“Yes, I’m young enough to be Tommy’s daughter, but love doesn’t care about age.”