Page 83 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

“Wait, am I supposed to bring something?”

Dad looks at me, then down to the envelope in his hand. “It’s just some cash. Isn’t that what people do for graduations?”

“Well, yeah. But…” I heave out a breath, not believing I didn’t think about it until this moment. “Did you already seal the envelope?”

Dad nods slowly as he pulls a face. “Probably should’ve let you sign the card too, huh?”

I drop my head back with a groan. “Just give me a minute.”

In my bedroom, I drag one of my cardboard boxes out of the closet and rip it open.

If I can make it through today without stress sweating through every item of clothing I have on, it will be a fucking miracle.

First, I woke up with a jolt in the middle of a nightmare. I don’t remember the details, but my heart rate told me it wasn’t good.

Then, I spent a literal hour trying to decide what to wear to my secret boyfriend’s daughter’s college grad party.

I finally settled on a pair of flowy dark green linen pants and a snug black tank top. My hair is down, and I’m wearing my favorite pair of comfy black leather sandals.

Appropriate for summer. Cute but not sexy.

And the colors hopefully won’t show the sweat that’s already gathering.

Finally spotting what I’m looking for, I grab the painted tin box.

Unlatching the box, I take the stationary to my nightstand and pull out one of the handmade cards and a matching brown paper envelope.

The bright floral design might not be on theme for a twenty-six-year-old woman I’ve never met, but these are the only cards I have.

I pull my cobalt-blue pen out of the tin, open the card, and stare.

This is why people spend too much money on store-bought greeting cards. Because trying to decide what to write in a blank card, to a person you don’t know, whose dad you’re fucking, is… horrible.

I lower the pen to the paper three separate times before I settle on simple.

Congrats!

From,

Kendra Abbott

My mouth pulls into a frown.

It looks so dumb. The signature is three times longer than the message.

Whatever. Too late now.

I drop the pen back in the tin and carry the card to my office, where I keep my purse.

Taking a hundred dollars out of my wallet, I figure the cash will make up for the lackluster card.

I lick the envelope and seal the card and cash inside.

I groan again when I look at the blank envelope.

Gritting my teeth, I go back to my room, find the pen, and write Ashley on the front of the envelope.

Why does this also look dumb?

I drop the pen, again, and with stress filling every inch of my body, I head back to the kitchen.

“Did I spell her name right?” I hold the envelope up.

Dad looks at it, looks at the envelope in his hand, and shrugs. “That’s how I spelled it.”

I press a palm to my forehead. “Dad.”

“What?” He lifts his hands. “Rocky talks about her all the time, but he doesn’t spell her name when he says it.”

I groan. “If this is wrong…”

Dad shrugs again. “The cash still spends the same.”

I let my cheeks puff out with my exhale. “True. Alright, let’s go.”

Dad eyes me as he opens the door leading into the garage. “You okay?”

I follow him, keeping my gaze firmly away from the laundry room. “I’m good.”

He stops next to his truck, not getting in. “You sure? Because you’re acting stressed out.”

Cool. Glad that’s translating.

“I’m fine. I just…”

I’m stressed because I’ve been sleeping with your best friend behind your back.

Today I’m meeting his daughter, who is only six years younger than me, and I have this bone-deep need for her to like me.

I’m terrified that she won’t like me and that Luther will call this all off.

Instead of that, I go with a partial truth, knowing Dad won’t drop it until I give him an answer. “I want Ashley to like me. You and Luther are such good friends, it… it would be awkward if we didn’t get along.”

Dad sets his hand on my shoulder. “Of course you’ll get along. You get along with everyone.” He smiles and drops his hand. “And if Ashley doesn’t like you, we’ll fight them.”

A laugh pops out of me. “Them?”

He nods. “Yeah. Father versus daughter.”

“Versus?” I laugh again.

“Yep. I’ll take Ashley, you get Luther .” He says Luther in a high-pitched voice, mimicking me.

I scoff. “You’re such a chickenshit.”

“Have you seen the man? He eats workouts for breakfast.” Dad reaches for his door handle. “I ain’t fightin’ him.”

Walking around the truck to the passenger side, I bite down on my smile.

I’m still stressed, but I have seen the man . And he does indeed look like he eats workouts for breakfast.