Meaning it was up to him to break the ice.

If he was still a praying man, he’d ask for God to put the right words in his mouth—but in view of the long gap since his last conversation with the Almighty, pleading for help seemed presumptuous.

Curling his fingers into his palms, he put forth the best argument he could think of for her to emerge from hiding.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Hannah. I can come back tomorrow if you’d rather wait until then to say hello, but your aunt will be at work—so it will be just the two of us.”

Surely having a more familiar face close at hand during their initial meeting would be an incentive to get it over with tonight.

After a few beats ticked by, Hannah edged out from behind Erica—though she kept a tight grip on the woman’s hand.

The photo he had was an excellent likeness. And in person, the Colby family resemblance was more pronounced than ever.

Hannah tucked her hair behind her ear as she regarded him, tugging on the huge purple sweater she wore over her leggings and sport shoes. The garment hung almost to her knees, and the sleeves had been rolled up several turns. Even for kids who favored the baggy look, this was excessive.

But hey, if she liked it, the outfit was fine with him.

He called up a smile. “Your sweater is a pretty color.”

Her lips remained flat. “It was my mom’s.”

Wardrobe choice explained. Wearing a piece of Natalie’s clothing would allow her to keep her mom close.

Somehow he managed to hold on to his smile. “I remember your mom liked that color.” Sort of. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a memory stirred to life of a comment she’d made to a customer once about purple being her trademark color—hence the purple T-shirts she often wore to work.

“She has one exactly the same.” This from Erica. “Natalie knitted them matching sweaters a few years ago, but Hannah’s doesn’t fit anymore.” She motioned them both into the living room. “Let’s sit and get acquainted.”

They all claimed seats, with Hannah choosing the chair farthest from his.

The next hour was stilted, at best. He and Erica chatted, but hard as he tried to draw his daughter into the conversation, all she offered were one-syllable answers.

Erica’s phone pinged, and she withdrew her cell from her pocket. Skimmed the screen. Tapped in a response. “The pizza I ordered is here.” She rose, and Jack followed suit. “I have a quick errand to run tonight. You two can continue to get acquainted over dinner.” Her gaze locked onto his.