Page 164 of Swept for Forever
I glanced at the clock. It was too early for the others.
Autumn caught my eye. “Did we forget someone?”
I wiped my hands on a towel and headed for the front door, already mentally counting who might’ve gotten the invite wrong. Lulu trailed me, letting out a few gruff barks to warn the stranger.
When I pulled it open, my gut tightened.
It wasn’t Noah or any of the Lucases. It was not Logan either.
It was my father.
In the same crisp suit and polished shoes. Standing on my porch, he looked about as natural as a wolf at a barn dance.
“Dominic,” he greeted.
My jaw locked for a second. Then I stepped aside, because no matter what history sat between us, I wasn’t slamming the door on my own blood.
“Dad.” My voice was civil, but barely.
He stepped inside, scanning the house, perhaps even tempted by the smells of dinner rolling out from the kitchen.
His gaze settled on Autumn, who had her hair tied up and sleeves rolled, looking so beautiful. She gave Lulu a signal, sending her trotting toward the back.
“Dad, this is Autumn, my girlfriend,” I introduced her.
She wiped her palm on her jeans first, then shook his hand with that easy grace of hers. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Powell.”
“Would you mind if we talk in the kitchen?” I said, already walking.
“Sure,” he replied.
I watched him process her while I helped Autumn with the vegetables. I hope he knew who she was tome. She was the girl who’d dragged me back from the edge and the heart of everything I’d fought for.
Something moved behind his lawyer mask. Maybe even admiration.
For about five minutes, we stuck to safe topics like the weather, roadworks, and how the town still didn’t have a Starbucks but somehow survived.
Then Dad shifted his stance the way he always did when he was about to turn a conversation into a negotiation.
“I heard you made quite the splash,” he said, his voice smooth. “Susan tells me your instincts haven’t dulled one bit.”
I didn’t answer, keeping my attention on whatever had to happen next for dinner.
“You’re wasting it here, son,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “You belong back in a courtroom. Where you can win.”
Autumn’s chopping slowed.
Dad pressed on. “My firm needs new blood. Smart blood. You’d walk in as a partner. No junior track. No politics. Just a seat at the table where you belong.”
“No,” I said determinedly. “My place is here, Dad.”
I opened the fridge and grabbed a lemon and the jar of mustard to throw together a quick dressing. Behind me, Autumn moved through the space, gathering dinnerware.
Dad’s mouth thinned. “Dominic?—”
I followed Autumn to the table and helped her set it. Dad trailed after us.
“I’m not leaving,” I said, turning fully to face him. “Not for prestige. Not for a paycheck. Not even for you.”
