Page 10 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)

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L inc had had people make up all kinds of crazy reasons to come to his porch before—usually with an end game of selling him a vacuum cleaner or a set of professional-grade knives.

Claiming DNA was a new one.

“Nice try.” He glared, crossed his arms over his chest at this unlikely duo. “I don’t have any kids.”

“And yet here I am.” The girl—what was her name, Amelia?—matched his stance. She looked like she was past the sticky-hand stage, but the kid still needed some manners. Her mom, or whoever this Ms. Bridges was on the porch, had clearly dropped the ball.

“Here you are…and off you go. We were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind.

” He minded—a lot. He tugged at Zoey’s elbow, wanting her to step inside so he could shut the door, but her face had washed pale.

She stared at Amelia like she was from an Edgar Allan Poe poem instead of a sassy kid in need of some discipline.

Linc’s hand slowly slipped off Zoey’s arm, and his heart thudded as he studied her gaping mouth. Aye . She wasn’t falling for this, was she?

His chest tightened. “Look, lady, you’ve either got me confused with someone else, or you’re mistaken that I’m rich. Either way, this scam ends here.” He started to shut the door. Zoey would just have to move on her own.

“Mr. Fontenot.” Ms. Bridges stepped forward, lowering her voice. “Are you familiar with a Kirsten West?”

He caught the door before it slammed. Opened it again as the world dipped. The porch tilted. Now his mouth was the one hanging open. “How did you…”

In his peripheral vision, Zoey looked up at him, but he couldn’t look at her. Could only look at Amelia…at her dark eyes and dark hair. No. How old was she? He was bad with kids. Really bad with ages. She looked, what? Eleven? That wouldn’t be right.

He pressed his lips together, mind racing. Images of one fateful night, roughly fourteen years ago, flashed. He and Kirsten on a Valentine’s date. Medium rare steak. Fake IDs, red wine. The fight, like always.

That particular makeup, which was definitely not like always.

He fought the urge to count on his fingers to be sure. “When is your birthday?”

“November. Why, you gonna get me a cake?” Amelia rolled her eyes.

He shoved his fingers into his hair. “The year, kid. The year.”

Ms. Bridges opened her file. “2012.”

Amelia was thirteen.

His ears roared. His vision blurred. He must have gasped, because Zoey’s hand was on his arm, cool and steadying. Grounding him, keeping the sky in its rightful place. This wasn’t possible.

And yet the impossible was glaring at him in low-rise jeans.

“Why don’t you both come in?” Zoey’s smile was bright, her grip firm on his bicep. “We have freshly baked cookies.”

Next thing he knew, the oven timer was beeping, Zoey was clattering around the kitchen, and Ms. Bridges was perched on the edge of his leather sofa, while Amelia sprawled in his matching recliner, legs hooked over one of the thick armrests.

A worn black backpack rested on the floor beside her, covered in marker doodles.

Linc paced by the door, his boots thudding on the hardwood floors.

He tried not to stare, but Amelia was a dead ringer for Kirsten.

How had he not seen it before? The waves in her hair, the narrow chin, the wide eyes with thick lashes—even the way she nibbled the cuticle of her thumbnail as she kicked one dirty shoe against the side of his chair.

“I don’t understand,” Linc muttered, paced, bumped the wall and spun to walk the other direction. “How could I be a father?”

Amelia huffed. “I took a health class in school last year that explains it, if you want my homework.”

“Amelia!” Ms. Bridges gasped.

“I understand that part.” Linc scowled. He ran a hand over his jaw. Why hadn’t Kirsten told him? Why had she never?—

“Here we go.” Zoey hurried back into the living room, carrying a tray laden with cookies that were miraculously not burned, a pitcher of water he’d never seen before in his life, and several plastic souvenir cups from Magnolia Blossom Café.

“Let’s just all take a deep breath, hmm?

” She shot Linc a pointed glare, as if the instructions were meant for him alone despite her general address.

Zoey deposited the tray on the coffee table, then sat next to Ms. Bridges on the couch.

Linc preferred to stand. No, he preferred to bench press a couple hundred pounds real quick, but he’d have to make do with hydrating and breathing.

He filled a cup with water, tossed it back, and then poured a second one while Zoey served their guests.

Guests? Make that family .

He had flesh-and-blood family.

The floor tilted again. He leaned against the wall by the television stand, found Zoey’s eyes. She gave him a quick dip of her head, and he held on to her gaze like a life preserver. He clutched the cup in his hand and finally dared to look at Amelia—who was staring at him. He gulped, coughed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fontenot.” Ms. Bridges gestured toward the cookies with a smile. “You’re very gracious. I know we showed up rather?—”

“Oh, no. I’m not—we’re not…” Zoey pointed to her chest, then at Linc, eyes wide. “I’m Zoey Lakewood .”

Ms. Bridges winced. “Oh, you’re not married? My mistake.”

Any other time, Linc would have snorted at the panic in Zoey’s gaze, the flush in her cheeks. He crossed his arms, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Mr. Fontenot, I take it you are familiar with Ms. West.” Ms. Bridges set her cup back on the tray and opened her folder.

He fought back a snort. Familiar. That was one word for it.

“She’s been gone for over a week. Neighbors reported their suspicions when her car never returned, but they saw Amelia still taking the bus every day.”

Kirsten just left her? Linc frowned. “Where—what bus?”

Amelia stared at him like he was an idiot. “The school bus. I’m in eighth grade.”

“No, I mean where ? Where did you come from?”

“Lafayette.” Ms. Bridges shuffled the papers. “That’s where Amelia and her mother have been living the past three months.”

“Lafayette— Louisiana ? When did she move there?”

More shuffling. “I’m not sure. Where did you and Ms. West meet?”

“North Carolina.” When his foster parents left Magnolia Bay and moved up north after he graduated high school.

“We obviously lost touch.” After—well, after everything .

Cleanest breakup he’d ever had. Then he got that scholarship via weightlifting to finish his business degree at LSU and never looked back.

Returned to the Bay after graduating to start his crawfishing business, to stop being a third wheel with foster parents who had raised him and were clearly done with the job.

Apparently, somewhere along the way, he’d missed a lot.

“Before Lafayette, we lived in Metairie. Then Ruston. Natchitoches.” Amelia ticked the towns off on her fingers. “We get around.”

In more ways than one in Kirsten’s case, if she left her teen daughter home alone for a week or longer.

His chest heated. Sounded like nothing had changed—betrayal, abandonment, zero loyalty.

All these years, and she’d been in Louisiana, just a bridge or boat ride away.

Sure, he’d blocked her number after the breakup, but she could have easily found him if she’d tried via his foster parents.

Why follow him to Louisiana but never reach out?

“She never told me.” Linc looked between Ms. Bridges, Zoey, and Amelia, repeating the words he feared none of them believed. “I didn’t know.”

“I gathered as much. When we came to pick up Amelia, it took some”—Ms. Bridges shot the teen a side-eyed look—“ convincing to get her to tell us who her father was.”

Amelia scoffed as she reached for a cookie. “More like a threat.”

“It was a choice, Amelia. Let us investigate your father, or go to a group home.”

Amelia sort of looked like she wished she’d chosen the home. Why had she chosen him? Linc frowned. “How did you know who I was?”

“Mom talked about you off and on.” Amelia lifted her chin, eyes back to challenge mode. “I didn’t know much. But I knew you didn’t ever want to be a dad.”

He jerked, heat rushing to his head. His temples throbbed. “That’s not?—”

Zoey cleared her throat, caught his eye. Shook her head as she nibbled the edge of a cookie.

He released the hot sigh building in his chest, counted to three as he leaned back against the wall.

So Amelia knew about him—knew lies about him, at least—but he never knew about her.

A few choice words fluttered through his mind about Kirsten.

What was this, her last-ditch revenge? Make him the bad guy and then bail after thirteen years of lies?

Ms. Bridges reached for a cookie, then seemed to think better of it. “I know there’s a lot to process here, but the immediate point is you’re Amelia’s next—and only—kin that we’re aware of.”

“So tag? I’m it, just like that?” What was this, some kind of sick relay race? He couldn’t take care of a teenager.

But he also couldn’t abandon his kid like his father had abandoned him.

“Reuniting with family is usually the best course of action.” Ms. Bridges glanced at Amelia, who seemed like she only half-agreed. “Especially when compared to the state options.”

His kid, in a state home? This was all hitting much too close. He released another breath. “What are we talking about here? Watching her for a few weeks?” Linc’s throat tightened. He didn’t mean to sound harsh. But stringing words together had become a challenge.

“Watching me?” Amelia swung her legs around the chair, sat upright with a frown. “I’m not a television.”

He frowned back. “You prefer iPod?”

She blinked. “What the heck is an iPod?”

Aye . He shook his head. “You know what I mean. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around this.”