Page 67 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

"This is my home." I couldn't hide the offense I felt at her calling this house a hovel. It wasn't fancy, and in fact it needed work, but it wasn't a hovel.

She gave me a sympathetic stare. "I don't mean to insult your home, Miranda. I know you love this place, but that's because it's all you've known. Of course, you're going to love it. But now you have the opportunity for nicer things. And I'm going to help you get that."

She walked over to me, setting her hands on my shoulders. I wanted to shirk them away, but I also didn't trust her to not do something terrible if I offended her.

"He might try to say that the baby isn't his, so we’re going to have to have a DNA test. Are you sure the baby is his?"

There was no doubt in my mind that her question had nothing to do with wanting to help me and everything to do with gathering as much information as she could to figure out how she could use it to her benefit.

"I'm sorry, Loretta, but this is really between me and Brett."

Her eyes flashed with heat. In a nanosecond, it was gone, but not before I had seen it.

"Well, if it’s between you and him, then I guess that answers that question. Now, I'm going to order some groceries and have them delivered. And I'll have somebody come by to clean the house." She started back toward the front door.

"That's not necessary," I said as I followed her.

She waved her hand as if she were flicking away my comment. "You have a baby to think about now, Miranda. I'll be in touch." She opened the door, and I wanted to tell her again not to bother, but then I didn't want to do anything that would stop her momentum of leaving. When she finally stepped outside and shut the door behind her, I sank down onto the couch, blowing out a breath. This wasn't good.

I should do something but was at a loss for what that something should be, except to hope that she would never come back. Thank goodness my father wasn’t here. Thinking of my father had me checking my watch. Noting the time, I decided I would go make dinner since he’d be home soon.

As I cooked spaghetti, I tried to ignore the fact that I was hoping it was as good as Brett’s and instead focused on what to tell my dad about Loretta's visit. Losing her hadn't been like losing my mom for him. But that didn't mean she hadn't broken a part of him. She made him feel duped and stupid, and it continued to affect his confidence.

By the time he got home and we sat down to eat, I was still at a loss for what to say and ultimately didn't say anything. After dinner, we hung out watching TV, and then I went back to finish my studies.

At nearly nine o'clock, I was thinking of getting ready for bed when my phone pinged with a message. I checked my phone. Brett.

I started to set my phone down to ignore it but found myself unable to do so. I was one of those people who had to respond to everything whether it was a text, a voicemail, or a phone ringing. I remembered Loretta and her saying she was going to make sure he paid his fair share. God. Had she gone to visit him?

I poked the button to open the text.

How are you today?

That little part of me that hoped he really cared tried to rise up, but I pushed it down. What he was really asking about was the baby.

Fine.Hopefully, my one-word answer would give him a clue that I didn’t want to converse with him.

I'm glad to hear it. I'm fine too.

I couldn't help it. My lips twitched upward at his text. He was ignoring my terseness, just like he had when he was babysitting me. But I wouldn’t let it sway my feelings. I set my phone down and turned off my computer.

A few moments later, my phone pinged again. With an exasperated groan, I picked it up to read the text.

Do you still hate me?

Hate was a strong word. I couldn’t say for sure that I hated him. But I definitely hated things he did.

Yes.

I waited for a moment, and when I decided he was done texting and started to put my phone down, it pinged again.

Goodnight, Miranda.

I studied the text, wondering what he was up to? Maybe he wasn't up to anything. It was probably that stupid part of me still longing for the sweet Brett I had met at the cabin.

I tossed the phone on my bed and went to do my nightly routine. I told my dad goodnight and climbed into bed.

It wasn't unusual for Brett to appear in my dreams. After Christmas, those dreams were usually erotic. But after New Year's, and especially after the night he'd been drunk on my doorstep, he’d showed up in nightmares. Tonight should have been no different, considering the way he’d been upset with me in the car. So it was a surprise when he took my hand and brought it to his lips.

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