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My lips part as I stare at him, unable to coherently piece together a response. Seth? Asking to take my daughter out for her birthday because her real father could care less? My brain doesn’t know how to compute this phenomenon.
“If that would be too awkward or she’d feel uncomfortable, I understand,” he says when I don’t respond, pink tinging his cheeks. “And I don’t know how to be a dad, so I’d probably just end up ruining her idea, anyway. Just forget I said anything.”
He’s putting up a strong façade, but I see right through it. There was vulnerability in the wordsI don’t know how to be a dad.Raw, heartbreaking vulnerability that isn’t who Seth is. He might not be a father, but he cannot tell me he doesn’t know how to be a dad.
“A man who doesn’t know how to be a dad wouldn’t spend five hours with a single mother’s kids so she can take a nap after a long day,” I say evenly, forcing him to maintain eye contact with me. “A man who doesn’t know how to be a dad wouldn’t let a three-year-old boy sit on his lap for hours, running a toy car up and down his arm. A man who doesn’t know how to be a dad wouldn’t listen to a four-year-old girl talk about random things with the attention of a soldier to his commanding officer, nor would he fly that little girl around like an airplane to make her laugh. True, you might not be a father, but don’t tell me you don’t know how to be a dad. Any man can, quite easily and even without responsibility after the fact, become a father to a child. But it takes a man who is responsible, who can do everything I mentioned with integrity, to be a dad.”
His jaw clenches, and I can see a battle raging in the complex emotions skittering across his face.
“Why did you carry Eli all the way to the door of his bedroom and then stop there? Who hurt you so badly you were paralyzed in fear at the mere thought of laying an innocent child in his bed?” I turn on the bench so my body is more fully facing him, and reach for his left hand, holding it in both of mine.
He takes a sharp breath as I trace my fingers over the strong muscles in his fingers, then turn it over and allow my thumbs to caress his palm, and there’s something simmering in his eyes when I look back up at him that rivals the sun slowly setting over the lake.
“Who hurt you so deeply that you can’t allow yourself to show how kind and selfless your heart is? Who’s still in your thoughts, preventing you from loving as fiercely as Iknowyou’re capable of? Who? Was it your father? Because I can tell you right here and right now that, if you think you can’t be a good dad because you didn’thaveone, think again.” I think I surprise myself with my firm tone, but I keep going. “Your parents’ mistakes do not define you or your ability to be a dad. And you might not have had your blood father, but you had John Bryant. It’s obvious you look up to John, as you should, and that he loves you like you’re his third son. Don’t you realize that our blood ties are not what defines our family? Every single description I’ve seen of family is not anything about blood. It’s about the people who love, cherish, and support you. So, to answer your question, no. In fact, Ella would be incredibly happy that you would step in to do something like make her one birthday wish come true.”
There’s still a boatload of uncertainty swimming in the watery blue depths of his eyes I wish I could just drown once and for all. But I can’t. As desperately as I want to help Seth out of whatever pain he’s frozen in, there’s nothing I can do to force it.
“You really think so?” he says gruffly.
I let go of his hand to place both of mine on either side of his face. “No. I don’t just think so, Seth.” My thumb touches his full lower lip, and he stiffens. “Iknowso.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Seth
Jenna said the exact opposite of what Sierra told me.
If you think you can’t be a good dad because you didn’t have one, think again.
Those words have played over in my mind so many times in the past twelve hours I know I’ll never be able to forget them. Nor will I forget the way Jenna intentionally traced her fingertips over my palm, then cradled my face and touched my lip. Everything on my mind has one common denominator:
Jenna.
I was this close—imagine someone holding up their pointer finger and thumb with approximately an eighth inch of space between the two—to telling her about Sierra on that bench last night. In fact, Sierra’s name was on the tip of my tongue, until she got a text from Joanna and the moment was shattered.
I’m sort of glad, though, because as badly as I wanted to tell Jenna everything, I have someone else I need to talk to first. The thought of admitting I was once in love to my sister sounds about as fun as going swimming in my uniform, but I’ve never been one to shy away from hard stuff. And given the fact that I’ve been struggling to get Jenna out of my mind and I have a date with her daughter tomorrow night, this impending conversation with Jess is necessary.
I pull into the inn’s parking lot, gravel crunching under my cruiser’s tires, and step out. The sun is already high in the sky, assuring everyone this last day of June is going to be a hot one. According to the weekend forecast, so will tomorrow through Sunday. I wish I could say I’ll be spending the next four days out on the water, cannonballing into the lake and making sun-drenched memories with the Bryants or Jenna and the kids, but that’s not going to happen. I have Friday off (but I’m still on call), and then I’ll be on duty the rest of the holiday weekend.
And that’s why I need to talk to Jess today. If I want to try and set up my idea for Friday, this conversation needs to be done before then. I don’t want her to hear anything about Sierra or my past from someone else. It needs to come from me.
I’m hardly in the door of my sister’s standalone kitchen that sits just to the north of the inn when Ember’s voice makes me freeze.
“Don’t move the door!” she squeals. “We have the perfect lighting!”
What?I frown as I take in what I just walked in on, still completely frozen in the doorway. My sister—mysix months pregnantsister—is crouching down on the side of the island nearest me with a single scone in the hand she has held straight up in the air above her head. Ember is standing in an odd position with a camera in her hands. She has one leg popped out to the side and a hunchback that rivals our ancient librarian as she clicks the shutter button.
“Okay, just move it… Yeah, that works.”Click. Click. Click.“Just a couple more anddd—We’re good! These are gonna look so epic on your feed, Jess. The lighting is incredible out here. Would you mind if we swapped out your wall ovens for some bookshelves?”
Since I’m pretty sure she’s done snapping photos, I step fully inside and close the door behind me to prevent any more hot air from coming in. I still don’t understand what the point of those pictures is, but I’m not about to say that aloud. There are some things you just don’t say around women. Especially not your sister and…Ember. There is no other person on this planet like Ember Bryant. It’s a fact I’m willing to bet on.
“Hey, big brother.” Jess lets the scone fall backward onto the marble countertop and lets out a little grunt as Ember helps her to her feet. She rubs a hand over her little baby bump, which is encased in a sky blue T-shirt that has the inn’s logo across the front, her outfit completed by pair of athletic shorts. “I feel like I’m an elephant. Do I look like an elephant?”
“Definitely not,” I tell her with a grin as I wrap my arm around her in a side hug. The real question we should be asking isCan everyone tell that I am very nervous right now?“But if you need supporting evidence, I’m sure I could call your husband.”
Jess groans, tilting her head back to look at me. “Please don’t. He’s made this thing that if I talk negatively about myself, he has to kiss me. Even if we’re in public. And then he took it a step further by insisting he has to take off his shirt too.”
My brow furrows. “What does that have to do with it?”
