It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

Liv tightened her hands around her clipboard, inwardly cursing. “I may have lost my cool.”

Savannah stared at her. “What does that mean?”

Liv continued searching the guests. “He wouldn’t have just left, would he?”

Savannah’s face slackened. “No. He’s going to walk Vanessa down the aisle. He’s her dad. It’s her wedding day.”

“I know,” Liv said tightly. A small, stupidly hopeful part of herself was expecting to see the general magically appear on Vanessa’s arm. Give Liv a nod, maybe even a wry smile.

“We have to find him,” Savannah said. “We have to make him see—”

“There he is.”

The general was slipping into a spare seat toward the back. Not even the first row.

Savannah blinked. “So, he’s not…”

“Nope.” Liv shook her head, just once. She’d blown it. “Keep it together,” she told her horrified business partner. “This isn’t about you.” Liv gave Vanessa her cue.

The music started. The crowd twisted around, their faces happy and expectant.

Vanessa Martha Fitzpatrick held her head high. Traditions can be observed, updated, or rejected. But it was harder, sometimes impossible, to engage with tradition entirely on your own. With deliberate measured steps, Vanessa began walking herself down the center of the aisle.

47

Liv said it was over. But Savannah Shipley could not take no for an answer.

In the cocktail hour, she found the general at the far end of one of the club’s crimson-and-dark-wood bars, nursing a whiskey. She took the seat next to him and ordered one neat, flashing him a smile as bright as the brass buttons on his suit jacket.

He eyed her. “Didn’t think girls drank whiskey.”

He didn’t appear to recognize her. Maybe that was a good thing.

“I’m from Kentucky, sir,” she said, leaning into the accent. “We don’t drink much else.”

“Kentucky, huh?” His voice was still wary. “I’m from Cincinnati.”

“I have cousins there! Tell me somethin’, is the Sugar n’ Spice Diner still the best breakfast spot in town?”

He shrugged, but she could see she’d sparked a memory.

“We used to go after church,” she persisted. “Stack of their famous wispy-thin pancakes…?”

“With bacon on the side.” He patted his gut with a faint chuckle. “Trying to cut back. Doctor’s orders.”

“Still, you gotta eat. What’d Mark Twain say? ‘Eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.’ ”

The general snorted and turned back to his glass.

“Well, I’ve had a humdinger of a week,” Savannah announced.

He took a sip, curious in spite of himself. “How’s that?”

Savannah pouted, girlish. “I had a fight with my daddy.”

“That’s no good.” The general’s demeanor turned fatherly. “Your old man is always right. You remember that.”

“Oh, sir, I know. My daddy’s my hero. He taught me to ride a horse and shoot a rifle and I’m still damn good at both.”

The general grunted, his gaze softening with nostalgia and an undercurrent of pain.

“Now that I live in New York,” Savannah continued, “I worry he thinks I’ve left him behind. I haven’t. I’m just becoming my own person. I think that frightens him.” She pressed her hand to her chest, willing a tear. “I love my daddy so much: I just can’t imagine him not being part of my life.”

General Fitzpatrick circled the whiskey in his glass as if in thought.

Savannah blew out a breath, her smile turning cheery. “But I know we’ll make up. Because deep down, we love each other. He just has to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That everyone grows up. And it’s never too late to say sorry and start again.” Savannah held the general’s arm, speaking in the hushed tone of two close friends. “In my book: family comes first. Always.”

A light went off behind his eyes. “You’re one of the wedding planners.”

Savannah froze; sprung.

He huffed out an annoyed, if genuine, chuckle. “You almost had me.”

“Honestly, sir? I meant every word.” Savannah dropped the syrupy charm, replacing it with her best attempt at New York candor. “Look, my dad and I don’t always see eye to eye. But he’s my father. And I’d rather have an imperfect father than no father at all.” She felt an unexpected surge of power as she leveled her eye contact with his. “You’ve got one chance to get Vanessa back. Do not fuck it up.” Savannah picked up her whiskey and left, daring to hope she’d made an impact.

48

At 7:30 p.m., Liv ushered the guests into dinner in the Great Hall. Vanessa and Lenny took their seats at the head table. But the general’s chair, several seats down from Vanessa’s, was empty. Liv glanced over the other tables, wondering if he’d missed his name card.

“Excuse me?”

General Fitzpatrick was standing on the stage, a microphone in one hand. Zach, who was supposed to be MC’ing, shrugged helplessly at Liv, mouthing, He just took it!

“Quiet,” ordered the general, and the room obeyed.

Liv ran through her options. Should she take the mic? Cut the power? Scream, “Look at me, I’m a pumpkin!” and hustle the old man back to the 1950s? Catching Savannah’s eye, Liv pointed at Zach and made a warning face. Savannah nodded. She understood that if the old man went rogue, Zach should drown him out.

“My name is General Tucker Fitzpatrick and I’m…”

Liv tensed, a sprinter ready for the starter gun. If he said “Adam’s father,” she’d take him out herself.

The bride was sitting stock-still. Her face was the color of her dress.

Savannah was by Zach’s side. The DJ had one finger hovering over his computer keyboard, ready.

“I’m,” said the general, “I’m Vanessa’s father.”

Liv let out a breath. It hadn’t been easy to say it. But at least he had.

The general rubbed between his eyes. “Although I probably haven’t been a very good father the past few years.”

Liv swapped a look of disbelief with Savannah. That was the last thing she expected him to admit.

“When I look around this room,” the general continued, “I don’t see a lot of familiar faces. I don’t really know my daughter’s life here.” Again, too much emphasis on daughter. But he was trying. “I don’t really know my daughter.