Page 27 of His Fantasy Girl

He almost jumped as a woman stepped forward, a pleasant smile on her face. She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel, Abby’s mum.” She didn’t look old enough. While she had Abby’s heart-shaped face and blue eyes, her hair was blonde and curly and hung to her shoulders.

He shook her hand. “I’m Logan.”

Abby stepped up close to him. “And this young lady is Jenny.”

He returned his attention to his daughter. She was so…big. He hadn’t expected that. She was tall—almost as tall as Rachel—and slender. How could he have been instrumental in making something so beautiful? He was finding it hard to believe she was part of him. “Hi, Jenny.”

“Hi…” Jenny trailed off.

He hadn’t considered this—what did his daughter call him? Maybe he should have discussed it with Abby first. To hell with that. “Call me ‘dad.’ If you want.”

Jenny gave a shy smile. “Hi, Dad.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment he had no clue what to say or do… or even how to speak.

Rachel shook her head. “It’s uncanny, the likeness between the two of you. Let me take your coat, Logan.”

He shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to her. Beneath it, he wore a black button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and he caught Jenny staring at the black and red tattoos snaking down his arms. What would she think of him?

Rachel handed a glass of wine to Abby and an orange juice to Jenny. “Logan?”

“A beer would be great.” He glanced at Abby. “Don’t worry, sergeant, I’ll just have the one. You won’t have to arrest me today.” Jenny giggled and he turned back to her. “Is she really strict with you as well?”

She nodded.

“Liar,” Abby said. “I have to help your grandma finish cooking the lunch. Why don’t you show Logan your room?”

For a few seconds nobody moved, and his brain froze. Then Jenny obviously took pity on him and slid her hand into his. Hers felt small and fragile, and the knot tightened in his gut.

“Come on,” she said, leading him out of the room, only letting go of his hand as she headed up the stairs. He followed her, glancing back once. Abby stood in the doorway watching them, brows drawn together, nibbling her lower lip. Was she regretting this already?

Hard luck.

Jenny took him to a small room at the back of the house, decorated in shades of purple with posters of ponies on the wall. Maybe he could get her one for Christmas. Or maybe not. Rory had showered him with presents when he’d first gone to live with him; it hadn’t made things easier.

Once on her own territory, Jenny started talking non-stop, pointing at things, explaining what they were. He lost track, just collapsed on the bed and listened to the sound of her voice. He guessed she was as terrified as he was. He wished there was some way to put her at ease, but he was new to this and had no clue. “Jenny,” he said when she paused for a moment. “Are you okay with me being here?”

She peeked at him shyly and gave a quick nod.

“Good. You know,” he continued, “I didn’t know my dad until I was your age.”

She’d been replacing a book on the shelf—her favorite apparently—and she turned to him, eyes wide. “You didn’t?”

“He and my mum didn’t get on. I’m just saying, I know how hard this is for you. But I want you to feel free to talk to me, to ask me anything.”

She thought for a moment; he could almost see her mind working. “Do you and mum not get along? Is that why you haven’t been around?”

He thought about his answer and blew out a breath. Honesty was a bitch. “No. That was my fault. I got in a…bit of trouble soon after we met, and we lost touch. Your mum and me—we don’t really know each other.”

“But you’re going to?”

“Of course. And so are we. So…favorite food?”

She grinned “Pizza.”

“Me, too. Hey, we must be related.”

She giggled. At that moment, Abby called up the stairs that lunch was ready. This time Jenny’s hand slid into his easily, and something melted deep inside him. He’d never been good at relationships, but somehow he had to make this work.

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