Back to the Garden Read Free Page A

watched him remove a small key and unlock the chest that sat at the foot of the bed. It had never been opened, as far as she knew.
    “After your mother left, I put these here,” he said, the lid creaking open. “She never asked for any of it back...and I couldn’t bear to...”
    Libby crawled to the end of the bed, peering over the side. “Oh, Daddy.”
    She moved to kneel in front of the chest, her fingers running over the various materials, soft, silky, velvety, that lined the cedar. Libby lifted one of the dresses, the softest, pale yellow with a purple paisley pattern.
    “It’s so pretty.” She stood and held it against her body.
    Ed’s eyes swept over her. “Try it on.”
    Libby lifted the dress over her head, slowly pulling it down over her hips. The dress was a silky yet stretchy kind of material that clung to her upper body, the bodice plunging and cinched, crossed with two thin bands of purple outlining her breasts. The spaghetti straps left her freckled shoulders bare and, while the top hugged her, the skirt flowed and swirled around her legs when she walked, the hem falling a little higher than mid-thigh.
    She was lost in her own world, looking in the mirror over the dresser, turning to see herself from all angles at once. Finally, she turned to her father and saw that he was pale, as if he’d seen a ghost.
    “Daddy?” She frowned, turning again. “Don’t you like me?”
    He shook his head, as if to clear it and his voice was hoarse. “You’re stunning. You look so much like your mother...”
    He came up behind her, looking at her in the mirror, and her tummy clenched when she met his eyes. She had never seen him look at her that way before. His hands moved over the silky skin of her shoulders, fingering the thin straps, straightening, his eyes moving down the front of the dress, how it hugged her breasts, her slender waist.
    “When did you grow up?” he murmured, smiling as he met her eyes again. Clearing his throat, he went on. “I think your mother left some...underthings... You might need a...bra?”
    Libby went to the chest, sifting through, finding a lacy black bra and a pair of soft, mesh panties. She flushed as she touched them, looking up at her father.
    “These?”
    He nodded, sitting on the bed. “I think those will work.”
    She felt his eyes on her as she slipped the dress off her shoulders. He was watching her like he’d watched her mother slipping her clothes off, and Libby took her time, carefully laying the dress on the bed before bending to step into the panties. They felt foreign to her, the material going on like a whisper over her flesh.
    “Do I have to wear a bra?” She held it up and made a face. “I never wear these things.”
    “I think so,” he replied, looking at the dress.
    She sighed, putting her arms through the straps, bringing the cups around front and working at the clasp. They were small hooks and eyes and her tongue snuck out to the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on fastening them.
    “Daddy, can you help?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t get it.”
    Her father nodded, crooking his finger and she went to him, standing between his thighs and offering the front of the bra to him so he could clasp it.
    “I’m not much better at these,” he confessed, his big fingers working between her breasts.
    Libby held her breath, feeling his palms brushing over the black silk and lace, making her nipples stand up involuntarily in response. She worked hard at not showing her embarrassment, feeling a tingle between her legs.
    “There,” he said, peering at the two hooks. “I think that’s it.”
    “Thank you.” Libby adjusted the thin straps, the lace edge framing the soft fullness of her breasts, now pressed up in the fabric.
    Her eyes met her father’s and she swallowed, seeing his gaze moving over the curves and swells of her body covered in black silk and lace. Her nipples were hard, and he looked back and forth between them as they poked out