“I’m not a baby, Dad,” JoJo said. “I can tell when two people don’t like each other.” She laughed. “And I thought you were going to try to date her.”
“Why is that funny?”
“I don’t think she can stand you.” Jolie grinned.
Hollis took another drink.
“My mom wants to talk to you,” she said. “Before she decides if I can stay another month to do the show.”
“Okay. I can call her.”
“Are you going to let me stay?”
He glanced at her, saw the pleading behind her eyes and thought about what Emily had said. He should tell Jolie that it was all he wanted—for her to stay the entire summer, to get to know her better, to be what he hadn’t been before—a father—but for some reason none of those words came out.
“I’ll talk to your mom,” he said, finishing the lemonade and extending the glass in her direction.
She reached her hand out to take the glass, her face a mix of sadness and worry. He wanted her to know he’d almost single-handedly brought the children’s show back to the arts center. He wanted to tell her he’d done that for her so they could spend more time together. He wanted her to know he was sorry he’d been such a jerk, but explaining all the reasons behind his behavior meant telling Jolie a whole truth he wasn’t ready to share.
So instead he chose silence, and he prayed it didn’t break her heart.
Jolie turned to go inside, and Hollis picked up the sledgehammer again.
“Hey, JoJo?”
She turned back.
“I really hope she says yes.”
His daughter watched him for several seconds; then her face softened ever so slightly. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t a frown, and it was the first sign of a genuine connection he’d had with her since she arrived on the island. Maybe since long before that.
And he said a silent prayer it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER 23
EMILY AVOIDED HOLLIS THE REST OF THE DAY, which wasn’t difficult because he’d placed himself out on the patio and had cleared almost the entire concrete slab by himself.
He’d smack the thing with the sledgehammer, break up enough to throw chunks of concrete into a wheelbarrow he must’ve brought from home, and then haul it off to the place where old concrete went. (A Dumpster? The back of a truck? A black hole somewhere?)
The trouble was, starting around 11 a.m., he did all of his work shirtless. Shirtless! How was she supposed to stay mad at him?
Emily had sworn off men. Too much trouble. Too much risk to the heart. But as she watched Hollis from the kitchen window, she felt her resolve crumbling.
Hollis might be moody and overprotective, but he was also a distractingly good-looking man. His torso and arms were toned the way an athlete’s should be, and he’d spent enough time in the sun that his skin had darkened to the perfect shade of bronze.
“I think it’s clean.”
Emily jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice behind her and slammed her hand down on the faucet to turn off the stream that had been running for far longer than it took to wash a glass.
Gladys gave a knowing glance through the window and into the backyard, taking in the view that had been so distracting to Emily that she hadn’t heard the old woman enter the room at all.
Gladys stood behind her with a raised brow. Emily set the glass in the sink and grabbed a towel to dry her hands.
“Mrs. Middlebury, what are you doing here?”
“I came for your answer,” Gladys said through thin lips.
“Already?”
“It’s Monday.”
It was, in fact, Monday. Through the window, she spotted Jolie running toward Hollis. The girl had gone home at some point and changed into her polka-dot bathing suit and was no doubt trying to convince her dad to call it a day.
“Miss Ackerman?”
Emily watched the exchange between Hollis and Jolie. The girl’s face fell. She hugged her towel to her chest and walked back the way she’d come, clearly deflated.
Emily fought the urge to run out there and give Hollis a piece of her mind.
Are you really this dense? she’d say in her most demanding voice. Any idiot can see that girl just wants your attention! Do you want her here or not?
“I don’t have all day.” Gladys’s clipped tone pulled Emily from her imaginary argument.
She inhaled a sharp breath.
JoJo had been so excited that morning when she thought Emily was directing this show. How could she say no?
Once upon a time, she was Jolie. Once upon a time, she’d been lost and lonely and wishing for the attention of a father who was as far away as Hollis probably felt from his daughter.
Don’t do it, Emily. You’re just setting yourself up for another failure. You’re not a teacher. You’re not a director. You don’t even know if you like kids. You have a house to renovate.
She had a plethora of excuses not to do this.
And yet, there were plenty of reasons to jump in, too. Hollis and Jolie’s relationship, for one thing. If Jolie was in the show, she’d stay on the island for at least an extra month. Clearly that was time they needed.
“Miss Ackerman?”
Hollis was right: she’d likely be in the way if she hung around the house all summer. What else was she going to do? Go to the beach and lie around?
Why would she do that when she had the option of doing something that mattered to someone?
Something that, once upon a time, had mattered to her.
The pros and cons teeter-tottered in her mind as her gaze settled on Hollis. He might not even know he needed extra time with his daughter, but it was clear to her. She owed him nothing. They weren’t attached. Why did he matter so much to her already, after only a few days?
He’s always mattered.
She pushed the thoughts aside and faced the old woman who’d ruefully invaded her kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said quietly, before she lost her nerve.
“What was that?” Gladys studied her as if expecting Ackerman poise and confidence.
Emily had neither of those things. Not today.
She straightened. “I’ll do it.”
Gladys gave her one stern nod. “Very good. I’ll send over the documents we need. Feel free to stop in to the theatre anytime. We’ll have auditions at the end of the week.”
Emily’s heart sputtered. “The end of the week? That’s too soon. I haven’t even picked a show.”
“I have every confidence in you, as does Mr. McGuire.” She inclined her head toward the eating area, where Hollis now stood—skin glistening with sweat, shirt in his hand. “Isn’t that right, Mr. McGuire?”
“What are we talking about?” He looked genuinely confused. And also sexy. He looked really sexy.
Get a grip, Emily! It’s just a torso. A well-defined, probably rock-hard torso.
“The children’s show is back,” Gladys said. “I guess you got your way after all.”
Emily stopped admiring Hollis’s bare chest and frowned. What did she mean?
Gladys gave Hollis a pointed glare before walking out of the room. “See you this weekend, Miss Ackerman,” she called as she left.
“What was that about?” Hollis asked, wiping his face with the T-shirt.
“You tell me.”
He gave an innocent shrug.
“Did you talk to her about the children’s show?” She crossed her arms.
Hollis tucked his T-shirt into his back pocket, answering her question with his silence.
She watched him for several seconds. “I didn’t realize it mattered to you.”
“It matters to Jolie,” he said. “And to you.”
“Me?” She laughed. “The program matters, but I didn’t want to take it over.”
He looked away.
“So you’re the one who told her about my experience,” Emily said, putting the pieces together. “About Broadway.”
“I might’ve mentioned something.”
“You might’ve?” She took a step toward him, wanting him to feel the full weight of her interrogation.
“I did.” An endearing look of guilt made his face resemble a little boy’s. It was almost enough to wash away the memory of their argument that morning.
Almost.
“I think you’ll be really good at it,” he said.
With that, the chip on her shoulder fell.
“You do?”
When Hollis looked at her, he really looked at her. She could see him studying her eyes, her face, all the things she wasn’t saying. He nodded. “Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “No, actually.”
“Really?”
She wouldn’t get into all the reasons why not.
“You used to love that place,” he said.
“That was a long time ago.”
He inched toward her, his movement so slight she almost didn’t notice. And yet, with every one of her nerve endings tuned toward him, how could she not?
“Maybe I’m not the only one who got lost along the way?” He reached out and put a hand on her arm.
“I’m not lost.” Why she bothered lying to him was a mystery. She could see he didn’t buy it.
“You’ll be great at this, Em,” he said so genuinely she almost believed it.
“We’ll see, I guess.”
His smile said he had more to say.
“What?”
“They say people don’t change, but you’ve changed. You’re different. More cautious or something.”
She looked away. He was right. After her giant failure, how could she not be?
“Jolie’s going to be happy anyway,” she said, desperate to change the subject.
“She’ll be over the moon,” he agreed.
The tightness between them loosened, though she wished he had a shirt on. It would be so much easier to have a conversation with him if he did.
She walked to the fridge and filled up a glass with ice and lemonade. “I don’t get you, Hollis.” She handed him the glass.
“What do you mean?” He took a drink.
“You and Jolie.”
He sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this, Emily.”
“You obviously did this for her.”
“That was one of the reasons.”
She didn’t want to know the other reasons. Her heart was too tangled up as it was.
“Okay, but why don’t you tell her?” she asked, begging her emotions to stay in the game here. “That girl idolizes you, and knowing something like this—it would go a long way.”
“Look, I’m really sorry I snapped at you earlier, but Jolie and me—it’s complicated. It’s not the same as you and your dad.”
“No, it’s not. Because you’re here, right in front of her, but you still seem a world away.”
His jaw twitched as if he was chewing on words he wasn’t sure he should say aloud.
“You act like this is easy,” he said. “I’m making up for a lot of lost time here.” Hollis pulled out a chair next to the table and sat. He tugged the shirt over his head—thank goodness. “And I don’t . . .”
She walked out from around the island and stood next to the table. “You don’t what?”
He shook his head. “It’s stupid.” He met her eyes, and that’s when she saw it—a quiet desperation. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
She sat down across from him. “Can I help?”
He folded his hands on the table, the muscle in his jaw twitching around thoughts he kept inside.
“Hollis—”
“I don’t deserve a second chance with her.” The words were so abrupt they had to be unplanned.
She stilled. “But you’ve got one.”
“I know, but . . .”
“You have to at least try.” What she wouldn’t have given to know that her dad was trying with her—even if he failed miserably.
“I am trying.” He rubbed his temples with both hands, then looked at her again. “Hard. But she hates me, and I don’t know how to show her that I’m sorry. You know, I’m not like Hayes. People aren’t so easy for me.”
No, Hollis didn’t need words to attract the people around him. It happened because of those piercing eyes, that smile, the way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the room.
“I think you’re wrong,” Emily said. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s just trying to make you work for her affection a little bit.”
“No, she hates me. And she should. I screwed everything up.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I mean, would you forgive me?”
The question caught her off guard.
“If it was your dad, come back after all these years, would you forgive him?”
“That’s different,” she said. But was it really? Even she had struggled with the similarities.
“How?”
“I’m an adult,” she said. “I don’t need a father anymore. She’s just a kid, and she does.”
He turned the glass of lemonade around in a circle. “I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know what to say to her or how to talk to her. She makes me feel stupid.”
“She’s a preteen girl. That’s what they do.” Emily spoke with authority she didn’t have. She’d only ever been around a few children in her adult life, and never for long stretches. But she had been a teenage girl. That counted, right? “Tell me how I can help.”
“I’m not like you either—I’m not a natural with kids.”
She laughed. “A natural? Are you joking? Your daughter is the only kid I’ve ever liked. Well, with the exception of this boy I met on the ferry ride over here. I’m convinced he and I could be great pals if I ever saw him again.”
His face softened, then grew serious. “What do I do?”
“I’m no expert on parenting,” she said.
“No, but you have a dad who screwed up.” He looked away, frustration obvious on his knit brow.
“I think you’re overcomplicating this, Hollis,” Emily finally said. “You don’t have to have some deep conversation with her.”
“I feel like I don’t know her.”
“Think of how you’d get to know someone new. You wouldn’t dive right into their deepest, darkest secrets.”
He tossed her a look that instantly lightened the mood. “That’s ironic coming from you.”
“Okay,” she said. “Most people don’t get to know other people like that.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is deep diving for personal information how you always make new friends?”
No. Her motto was more “Keep everyone at arm’s length and you won’t get hurt.” The less personal information shared, the easier it was to walk away.
“Emily?”
She forced a smile. “You’re trying to take a page out of my playbook, aren’t you? You’re getting awfully pushy.”
He shrugged. “Seems only fair for you to know how it feels once in a while.”
“What was the question again?” She stood and walked across the kitchen, putting the island between them as if somehow that would protect her.
“Do you force everyone you meet to tell them something personal about themselves? Or is it just me you subject to that unique brand of torture?”
She smiled, though the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between them. With anyone else, the second the conversation took a personal turn, she deflected. She knew this about herself—she wasn’t completely self-unaware.
But with Hollis, she’d lost the desire to pretend. She’d lost the desire to entertain. She didn’t want to play the role she’d been playing—she wanted to know everything about him.
And that scared her.
“Actually, no.” She tried to sound casual.
“Really?” A cautious smile formed on his lips. “So it’s only my secrets you need to know. Interesting.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t read anything into it.” She picked up the lemonade pi
tcher, turned, and opened the refrigerator, thankful for the brief moment to collect herself and for the cool air on her flushed face.
He could easily call her out as the fraud she was, and she’d be helpless to stop him.
Best change the subject.
“You should take Jolie to the beach,” she said as she closed the fridge. “Take her paddleboarding or something. Don’t worry about the talking. Talking is overrated. If you want her to know you love hanging out with her, then hang out with her.”
After a few seconds of mulling the idea over, he said, “You sure you haven’t worked with kids before?”
“I can relate to Jolie, I think. You asked what I would do if my dad asked for forgiveness, and the truth is, I don’t know. But when I think of what I would’ve wanted most from him when I was a kid . . .” She studied the outdated popcorn ceiling and made a mental note to tell Jack it had to go. “It wasn’t deep conversation, but it would’ve been nice to know he wanted to spend time with me.” She picked up a dish towel and ran it over the counter.
Why did she feel suddenly vulnerable?
“He’s the one who missed out, you know,” Hollis said.
She felt her insides clench, and she searched her mind for a new topic. To brush it off. To pretend it didn’t matter. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“No, really, Em,” he said. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes your dad made.”
She kept her eyes glued to the counter. “Then don’t.”
He put a hand over hers, stopped her from moving. “I’m trying.”
She froze for several thick seconds, then slipped her hand out and walked over to the sink, not liking the way it felt to be under his microscope. Not liking the fact that she couldn’t hide from him.
“Come to the beach with us,” he said. “Jolie will love it.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to get some work done. Gladys scheduled auditions for Friday.”
He nodded, then pushed his glass back across the island. “Thanks for the lemonade.”
She smiled. “Are you kidding? Thanks for fixing my patio.”
“Oh, I’m not fixing it,” he said solemnly. “I just tore it up—you’re going to have to figure out how to put it back together.”
She threw the dish towel at him, hitting him in the shoulder. “Funny.”
If for Any Reason Page 17