Dare She Kiss & Tell?

Because it was either forgive him for letting her down or give up on their relationship forever.

She briefly pressed her lids together, seeking a happier place, and then exited, closing the car door with a determined thunk—praying her resolve was strong enough to withstand the next few minutes. Losing her newfound sense of inner peace at the first test was hardly the new and improved, more mature Carly she was striving to be.

A few minutes later she found her father under the back brick portico, standing next to one of the giant pillars that faced the Atlantic. He looked as if he’d aged since last week. And, despite her obstinate refusal to move on, she wasn’t getting any younger either.

“Dad,” she said, and then hesitated, at a loss what to say next.

He turned, and she braced, waiting for one of the subtle sarcastic slurs he always tossed in her direction. Or maybe she was the one who fired first, in an effort to beat him to it. Perhaps they’d taken turns. She couldn’t remember. Either way, it always ended with one of them, or both, too angry to continue the conversation.

Two stubborn people stuck in the same behavioral pattern for years. In retrospect, given all she’d lost, it seemed petty and pointless.

His face was closed off and hardly welcoming. “Hello, kitten.”

The stupid tears that lived just a heartbeat away bubbled to the surface, but she blinked them back. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He simply turned and leaned a shoulder against the column, staring out over the Atlantic, while Carly struggled to find the right words.

It was a full minute before he said, “I was just thinking about that time you disguised yourself as a waitress at a party I threw for the mayor.” He turned to study her. “How old were you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

It wasn’t the conversation she’d planned on having, and she certainly didn’t relish the thought of rehashing old arguments. Dealing with the current ones seemed ambitious enough.

“Fifteen,” she said. “You were so angry you grounded me for a month.”

He shot her a sharp look. “I didn’t have much choice.”

“A month is forever to a fifteen-year-old.”

“The mayor complained that you were stalking him at the gala.”

She chewed on her lower lip before responding. “That wasn’t entirely accurate,” she said, debating the wisdom of sharing the truth. Carly shifted on her feet. “I was actually trying to question his wife about his mistress.”

Her father’s heavy eyebrows shot up in surprise as he let out a faintly amused scoff. “You never told me that.”

She gave a small shrug. “I thought it best you didn’t know.”

“No wonder the mayor was so livid,” he mused.

A pause followed, and Carly wasn’t sure if he was amused by her stunt, impressed with her teenage chutzpah or annoyed by the memories of raising a frustratingly independent adolescent. And the closer she’d grown to adulthood, the more her father had been unhappy with his daughter’s choices. Now that she was grown up, it seemed nothing she ever did measured up in his eyes. It was a bitter pill that sat in her stomach, refusing to dissolve.

His brow dug deep furrows. “Why are you here, Carly?”

“I need—” Her throat clamped hard, blocking the rest of her words, but she forced her feet to carry her closer to her father. She scanned the turquoise waters of the Atlantic. The late afternoon sun was sparkling on the surface and the salty breeze was balmy. The cold weather that had arrived when she’d first met Hunter had finally passed and moved on. Much like Hunter himself. Pain pierced her. His absence was like an empty chair at a crowded table, a constant reminder he’d walked away. But he’d been right. It was past time to deal with her father as an adult.

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” she said. She drew in a breath. “I know raising me wasn’t easy.”

A small frown slipped up his face and he looked uncomfortable with the topic—or maybe he was simply suspicious of her intentions. It was several seconds before he responded. “I run a multi-billion dollar company with hundreds of people on the payroll,” he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and defeat. “But I never knew how to handle you.”

“I’m not a staff member to be managed, Dad,” she said. “I’m your daughter.”

He sent her an aggravated look. “Employees are easier.”

“Yes, because you can simply dictate what you want.” Carly sighed and crossed her arms. “People in real relationships don’t respond well to the method.”