She turned toward the river again, watching the water flow beneath patches of ice. The tears she’d been holding back welled up suddenly, spilling onto her cheeks before she could stop them.
“Tessa?” Beckett’s voice was gentle with concern. “What’s wrong?”
She pulled off her glove and swiped at her face. “I’ve been so wrong about him. All these years.” Her voice caught. “I shouldn’t have left for so long. I should have tried to talk to him before all this time went by.”
“You were hurt. We all do what we need to survive when we’re hurting.”
“But fifteen years, Beckett.” She shook her head. “Fifteen years of barely speaking to my father. Coming home only when I absolutely had to. And now...” She motioned helplessly. “Now I find out he’s been proud of me all along. That he was just scared and didn’t know how to show it.”
He didn’t offer empty reassurances or tell her not to cry. He just sat with her, present and steady as she worked through her emotions.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment. “For suggesting I talk to him. I don’t think I would have had the courage otherwise.”
“You would have. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but you would have found your way there eventually. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She smiled through her tears. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the river together. The sun was beginning its early winter descent, casting shadows across the snow.
She finally looked at him and smiled. “So what about you? You told me to talk to my dad as my first small thing. What will yours be?”
He looked thoughtful and tugged at the zipper of his jacket. “I’m not sure yet. There are a lot of things I could work on.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Learning to trust people again. Not assuming everyone’s going to judge me for my past. Actually believing I deserve a second chance.”
His honesty touched her. In the short time she’d known him, Beckett had shown more genuine self-awareness than most people she’d met in her entire life.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing pretty well already.”
A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”
The sound of footsteps on the path drew their attention. A man was approaching from the direction of town, wearing expensive boots and a heavy wool coat. As he drew closer, Tessa recognized Walter Dobbs, the businessman who’d tried to develop condos around Lone Elk Lake, and the man Annie thought might have posted the note about Beckett.
Dobbs slowed as he spotted them, his expression hardening when his gaze fell on Beckett. It was clear from his body language that he was considering turning around to avoid them.
Before he could, Beckett stood and stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Mr. Dobbs.”
Dobbs hesitated, eyeing Beckett’s extended hand with obvious reluctance.
“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Beckett continued, his voice calm and steady. “I’m Beckett. I’ve been living with Stan Grant for a while.”
“I know who you are,” Dobbs said stiffly, making no move to take Beckett’s hand.
She felt a surge of protectiveness. She started to stand, ready to intervene, but something in Beckett’s posture stopped her. He wasn’t backing down, but there was no aggression in his stance either.
“I wanted to thank you for the donation you made to the children’s reading program at Bookish Cafe,” Beckett said. “Annie mentioned it helped them buy a lot of new books for the kids.”
Surprise flickered across Dobbs’s face. Whatever he’d been expecting Beckett to say, it wasn’t that.
“The program needed funding, and it’s a tax write-off to me,” he said after a moment.
“Well, it made a difference,” Beckett said. “I help out with the reading sessions sometimes. The kids really enjoy the new books.”
Dobbs gave a short nod, then, after a brief hesitation, reached out and briefly shook Beckett’s hand. “Good to know.” He glanced at Tessa. “Ms. Grant. Good to see you back in town.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dobbs.”
