Page 53 of Summer People
Every time we’re close, she hesitates, stiffens. I’m not sure if it’s just my touch she doesn’t like or if it’s everyone’s.
So, gut tightening, I let go, but I don’t step back. “So did you dress up for the guys at the dock?”
Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she peers up at me through dark lashes. “What if I told you it was for you?”
My throat goes tight. “Is it?” Shit, I’d love it if that was the case.
She bats her eyes at me and shifts back an inch or two. “No, it was for me.”
I don’t hate that answer as much as I thought I would. Not when it comes with a satisfied smile. One that makes me think that maybe this is the first time the girl who spent her life on camera has been given the opportunity to dress up for herself and no one else.
I love that for her. But I also love the way she pouts when I tease her. Although Cank swears a good woman will settle a man, Libby makes me feel anything but settled. No, she makes me feel keyed up. Turned up. Absolutely out of sorts. Settled? Not even close.
“Looks like you’re dressed up for a date,” I point out.
And here comes the cute little purse of her lips and that narrowing of her eyes. “I’m not dating.”
I rock back on my heels and fight a smirk. She’s protesting a bit too much, so I push her. “Good, because this isn’t a date.”
The frown that settles across her pretty face only makes me smile. Because that means she might want it to be. “It certainlyfeelslike a date since you insisted on picking me up and refuse to allow me to drive my new golf cart.”
Behind her, the door flies open and Sutton appears, looking adorable in her favorite sundress. I’m not sure the last time I saw her so fancied up. Maybe Ivy and Star’s wedding last summer.
“Why do you always stand on top of each other?” she huffs.
Libby immediately steps back. Fuck. My entire system feels the loss of her presence instantly.
Now that there’s room for her between us, Sutton spins in a circle, showing off her dress and curled hair. Normally we pull it up. I know nothing about blow drying or curling wands or whatever the fuck they’re called. The kid’s lucky I can braid.
Tonight, though, she’s glowing. It kills me that her mom isn’t here for these moments.
For the millionth time, I wonder what the heck my brother was thinking leaving his daughter tome.
“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Libby cocks an expectant brow.
“Yes,” I jump in. “Absolutely beautiful, sweet pea.”
“Look, even my nails are pink.” Beaming, she holds out her little hand, showing me the bubble-gum pink nails that match Libby’s dress. “Just like the golf cart.”
Yeah, that too.
“Nice.”
With a twirl, she darts to Libby’s side. “Can we take the golf cart?”
“No,” I say at the same time Libby says, “Sure, we’ll take Putt-Putt.”
“Putt-Putt?” Sutton tilts her head, brow furrowed.
“I’ve decided that’s her name.”
My niece nods easily, as if it makes any sense that the damn thing should have a name.
“No matter what we call it, we’re not taking it.”
She whirls on me, hands on her hips, blond hair flying. “Why not?”
I scowl. “I’m not driving that pink-mobile.”
