Page 79

After breakfast, I pack sandwiches, fruit and juice boxes into a cooler.

By the time ten rolls around, Aspen is waiting at the front door with Beachy tucked beneath her arm, ready for our Sunday adventure.

* * *

Hartwell Lighthouse sits on a grassy rise above the northern stretch of the beach, far enough from town that everything feels quieter. A narrow trail winds through the tall grass and disappears between clusters of maple and pine before curving back toward the coast.

The lighthouse stands tall and white against the blue-gray ocean, its red roof weathered by years of salt and wind. Below, the cliff drops into dark rocks and foaming water. From the hill, almost all of Hartwell is visible—the marina, the boardwalk, the curve of the beach and the small streets tucked between the trees.

We claim a patch of grass near one of the wooden benches and unpack our picnic. The wind carries the smell of salt and the sound of waves crashing below.

It’s the kind of place where you could sit for hours without needing to say much.

“Why didn’t Miss Morgan come?” Aspen asks.

I nearly choke on my juice box. “Why would Miss Morgan come?”

She shrugs. “You like her.”

Fucking six-year-olds.

“I like her,” Aspen adds before letting out a dramatic gasp. “We should ask if she’s going to the Fall Festival! She said she loves fall.”

I look at my daughter.

Blair has been taking up space in my head for almost three weeks, and somehow she’s already found a place in Aspen’s world too.

That’s the part that scares me.

I’ve spent three years keeping my dating life away from Aspen so she never becomes attached to someone who might disappear. Blair being her teacher means she’s already part of Aspen’s life before I’ve even decided what the fuck I’m doing.

Adding myself to the equation only makes it worse.

“I’ll think about it, Penny.”

Aspen nods and looks back toward the ocean, completely unaware that she’s just thrown a grenade directly into the middle of my one and only rule.

* * *

“Ice cream?” I ask as we leave the lighthouse.

“Yes, please, Daddy!” Aspen calls from the back seat.

Coast Café has a small ice cream counter, and even though the day isn’t particularly warm, who am I to deny my girl a treat?

As we approach the café, Aspen suddenly shrieks.

“Miss Morgan!”

She races toward Blair, who is standing near the entrance in black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve shirt. Her hair is tied back, and her cheeks are pink from the cold—or her run.

Either way, she looks fucking incredible.

“Oh, hello, Aspen!” Blair looks around. “Where’s your da—”

Her eyes find mine.

“Right here,” I say, joining them. “I didn’t let my daughter wander through town alone.”