The first thing I noticed about Liam’s father was his silence.
Not the kind of silence that feels awkward or empty—no, Nathan Blackwood was the kind of man whose silence demanded attention. It filled the room, pressed on your chest, made your lungs tighten without you even realizing why.
He barely looked at me when Liam introduced us.
“Dad, this is Ava,” Liam said cheerfully as we stepped into the lake house foyer. “Ava, this is my old man. Don’t let the suit fool you—he’s semi-retired now.”
Nathan offered his hand without a smile. “You’re prettier than your pictures.”
His voice was deep. Steady. He didn’t compliment me like someone trying to win me over. It was observational. Dismissive, even.
And still—something in me tightened.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.”
His brow rose faintly.
