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“She’s exaggerating,” an unfamiliar male voice cuts in. “Aren’t you, Christine?”
“I just like seeing my dad’s face go all red like that.” A laugh, followed by a grunt from Sebastian.
“Protectiveness runs through his veins instead of blood,” I say, stepping into the room.
For a brief, torturous moment, no one speaks. All eyes turn to me, and I stand there, feeling like an intruder. Then Sebastian puts down the bowl he’d been mixing pancakes in (he returned the waffle maker to Four Cups after our first date) and walks over to put his arm around my shoulders.
“Bug, this is Georgia. Georgia, this is my daughter Christine and her boyfriend Matt.” His arm blocks my retreat, gently nudging me farther into the room.
My wet hair and rumpled clothes betray me, and I know by the twitch in Christine’s brows that she doesn’t miss a thing. She has dark hair—darker than Sebastian’s, so it’s either dyed or it came from her mother. It’s pulled back in a high pony with blunt bangs on her forehead. She lounges in her chair like she lives here and doesn’t have a care in the world. I see Sebastian’s features in her, his nose and the color of his eyes, but where his face is rough-hewn and unapologetically masculine, Christine’s features are softened while still being strong. She’s gorgeous.
Sebastian’s daughter stands to shake my hand, smiling. “I was guessing that mysterious red Vespa outside wasn’t my dad’s,” she quips, grinning. “Although I’d pay good money to see him riding it.”
“He’d pretend not to enjoy it,” I answer, looking at Sebastian, who grunts.
“Silly little scooter. A grown man would look ridiculous on that thing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you above the sound of your ego.”
Christine snorts, then jerks her head in my direction. “I like her.”
I catch the barest hint of a smile on Sebastian’s face—he’s happy to hear that from his daughter. Suddenly I feel like I’ve jumped a hurdle I didn’t even know existed.
“Would you like some coffee, Georgia?” Matt lifts the carafe and his eyebrows.
I nod. “Sure. Thanks.”
As the conversation turns back to Matt and Christine’s road trip up from Texas and all the dubious motels, Airbnbs, and campsites they’ve stayed at along the way, I start thinking I’ve escaped scot-free. No one will ask me why I evidently slept at Sebastian’s house, or anything else related to my relationship with him.
Except, when a stack of pancakes lands in front of me and my mouth is full of delicious, fluffy breakfast, Christine’s sharp blue eyes turn to me.
“So,” she says. “How do you know my dad?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Sebastian, who’s barefoot in front of the stove flipping pancakes. “Is this the reason you left Heart’s Cove and then turned right around and came back?”
“No,” he lies.
“Lie,” Christine crows.
Sebastian gives her a scowl and points the spatula at her. “Careful, missy.”
Matt, a tall, solid-looking man who’s still carrying a bit of the softness of youth in his face, smiles. He’s wearing faded jeans and a blue-and-red plaid shirt that’s rolled up his forearms. He slings an arm around the back of Christine’s chair. “Give your dad a break, Chrissy.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Sebastian tells the young man.
I smile, then turn to Christine. “Actually, your father and I knew each other back in Clare. We met in high school, and just ran into each other a couple of months ago when he came to town for the Fringe Fest.”
Christine’s eyes sharpen. “Really.”
I stuff another bite of pancake in my mouth, chewing to buy myself time. Sebastian’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. He takes a seat beside me at the small round table, with Christine on the other side.
“Eat your breakfast, Bug,” he says. “Stop harassing my…Georgia.”
“Your Georgia,” Christine repeats, eyes sparkling.
I need to wrench the steering wheel and turn this conversation onto a safer path. “So your father tells me you’re going to grad school?” Maybe I can pretend I know about Christine. “What are you studying?”
“I’m enrolled in the MFA program—Master of Fine Arts—at Washington State University,” she says. “It’s a real intimate program, I think they only accepted thirteen students this year. Inspired by my dad, as cheesy as that sounds. I used to sit in his workshop when I was a little girl and watch him create these huge sculptures. I’d draw, and he’d work. He even let me hand him some tools once in a while, I’d get to hold the flashlight—you know, the important stuff.”
Sebastian chuckles, then reaches over and ruffles her hair. She dodges out of the way and fluffs her bangs, scowling at him.
