Return to You

completely."
    She crossed her arms tightly. "I don't want
to feel anything for him."
    "Best face it head on. It'll help you put it
behind you once and for all." Gran gave her a sideways glance. "If
that's what you want."
    "Of course, that's what I want." When her
grandmother said nothing, she gaped incredulously. "You aren't
suggesting that I hook up with that bastard again, are you?"
    "That's not for me to say." She put a hand
out to Olivia for help up.
    "What are you saying?" Olivia helped her
stand and picked up the basket to carry inside. "He dumped me
because I was in the way of his so called freedom. If we got
together again, how would it be any different? He'd leave me just
as quickly the next time an irresistible offer popped up. No, even
faster this time."
    "Hmm." Gran slid her arm through Olivia's
and walked next to her.
    "Because he loves himself to the exclusion
of everything else. Or at least he didn't love me enough."
    "He loved you. Probably still does."
    "Right."
    "That kind of love doesn't fade. Like the
love of a parent for a child."
    "Bad analogy, Gran. My parent didn't love me
enough to stay either."
    "He loved you. His way of expressing it just
wasn't ideal."
    "Ha!"
    Her grandmother gave her a chiding look. "He
meant well."
    "Give me a break, Gran. He dumped me here
after mom died and didn't come back for ten years. When he did come
back, all he did was criticize me."
    "He just wanted what was best for you."
    "How could he have known what that was when
he didn't bother to get to know me?" Olivia guided her over a
wobbly stone, knowing that Gran didn't see that well in the fading
light.
    "Everyone's fallible, love."
    "I know that," she said defensively.
    "Does that mean you're going to give him
another chance?"
    "Not in this lifetime."
    Gran chuckled. "Love, as much as you'll hate
me for saying this, you're just like your father."
    She faked a shudder. "Kill me now."
    "You should give him another chance," Gran
repeated firmly, shaking Olivia's arm for emphasis.
    "I'm not going to LA and he's not coming
here, so I don't think that's going to happen."
    Her grandmother mumbled
something that sounded suspiciously like don't be too sure as they reached the
porch.
    "What was that?"
    Gran walked in and held the back door open
for her. Olivia was about to ask her what she said again when she
noticed the man at the sink.
    Everett Parker.
    She froze. Her grandmother, calmly took the
basket from her, set it on the kitchen table, and left the
room.
    Olivia only had eyes for him. He watched her
with his disconcertingly pale green eyes. Absurdly, she remembered
asking him why his eyes had no color when she was three or four. He
told her because he gave all the color he had to make her eyes so
beautiful.
    Frowning, she shut the memory out of her
mind.
    "Hello, Olivia," her father said.
    "I think I've been set up." She closed the
door on the chill evening air.

    She looked just like her mother.
    If it weren't for the dark hair she'd gotten
from him, he'd have thought Lily were standing in front of him
again. The shape of her face, her wide brown eyes, her figure—all
her mother's.
    He felt a pang in his chest as he stared at
her.
    What Olivia inherited from him was less
obvious, but he recognized it nevertheless. It was there in the set
of her clamped jaw and the glint in her eyes. It was in the
implacable way she folded her arms across her body, not defensively
but ready for battle.
    He was going to have his work cut out for
him. Oddly, the thought exhilarated him like nothing had in
years.
    "You're behind the movie, aren't you?"
    "You know about the movie?"
    "Your henchman stopped by my store
today."
    "By henchman, I take it you mean Michael."
Parker pulled out a seat and gestured to her.
    She glared at him suspiciously before
sitting. "He does your bidding, right?"
    Habit told him to take the chair next to
hers, but instinct told him to give her space. So he sat across
from her. "You know Michael better than that."
    "I doubt you came here to talk about
Michael."
    Little did she know. "I came to see
you."
    She chuckled mirthlessly. "Going for the
Oscar this year?"
    "Why is it so hard to believe that I'd want
to see my daughter?"
    "Maybe because it never rated very high on
your list of priorities." She gripped the edge of the table, her
knuckles white. "Cut the bullshit. The sooner you tell me why
you're here, the sooner you can leave."
    "Your grandmother didn't tell you?" he
asked, knowing the answer. He'd