The question was whether it had changed him enough to stick around.
A little further down the trail, Maisie tired. Her feet dragged and her excitement waned. Before I suggested we turn around and head back, Cole jumped in. “Hey, Maisie, want me to carry you on my shoulders? You’ll have the best view up there.”
I wanted to say no. He still hadn’t convinced me I could trust him fully with my daughter. But then her face lit up, and she nodded so fast her hair whipped around. He lifted her with ease, settling her on his shoulders and holding her legs to keep her from falling.
She laughed long and loud, waving her arms around. “Momma, look at me. I’m tall.”
“You are. How’s the view?”
His hands gripped her small ankles securely. Large, capable hands. The kind that could build furniture or cradle a baby. Seeing my daughter perched on his broad shoulders, safe and high above the world, did something dangerous to my heart. It made me want to lean on him too.
Like we were the family we always should have been. The family I always secretly wanted, even as I insisted to others Maisie was all I needed.
We could have had this if he hadn’t walked away.
We continued down the trail, my lips tight as I held in the words I wouldn’t say in front of my daughter. Maisie was content to ride on Cole’s shoulders as she studied the forest and mountains around us with wide eyes.
Cole pitched his voice low and asked, “Tell me about Maisie.”
“What do you want to know?” I kept my voice cool.
“Everything. But start with her favorite color. Purple, right?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. He wasn’t just being polite. He was starving for information.
“She loves purple,” I said softly. “And superheroes. She hates crust on her sandwiches, but loves it on toast. Except on Tuesdays.”
He grinned, his eyes full of wonder. “Tell me more.”
I didn't want to smile back. I wanted to stay mad. But talking about Maisie was the one thing that cracked my armor. Against my better judgment, I told him about her first T-ball game, her endless curiosity, and anything else I could think of.
He listened with rapt attention, and when I finished talking, we shared a genuine smile. One that spoke to a shared connection with this child we had made.
He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You did a great job with her, Ava. She’s amazing.”
His touch sent a jolt through me, but the compliment tasted like ash.I didn't have a choice, I wanted to scream. I stiffened and pulled my hand back, shoving it in my pocket. "I didn't do it for the applause, Cole. I did it because I was the only one there."
His eyes dimmed, but I refused to let it move me. I agreed to give him another chance. I didn’t agree to pretend the last six years didn’t happen.
We rounded a curve in the path and my breath caught in my throat at the mountain view laid out in front of us. Maisie started bouncing on Cole’s shoulders in excitement. We approached the overlook, and I pulled out my phone to snap a photo.
“Take a picture of me and Mr. Cole, Momma.”
I stepped back and Cole turned them to face me. Maisie spread her arms wide, her big grin matching Cole’s exactly. I took several shots, and I realized this would be the first picture Maisie had of her with her father. Maybe the only one.
Maisie’s next question stilled me, and panic rose.
“Do you have a little girl, Mr. Cole?”
The silence stretched, tight and painful. Cole stopped walking. He looked up at her, and the raw longing on his face nearly brought me to my knees.
“No, Maisie,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t have a little girl at home. But I’m hoping… I’m hoping I can fix that soon.”
He shot a glance at me. A challenge. A promise.
After we returned to our room at the inn, Maisie yawned as I got her ready for a nap. “Is Mr. Cole going to be at the fire? I like him.”
“It’s at his cabin, so yes, you’ll see him there.” I laid her down and covered her with a blanket. “Get some rest, sweetie.”
