“I have to go.” Christina was already moving, pulling the stroller back, turning it around. Her movements were jerky, panicked. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I have to?—”
“Wait—” He reached for her arm without thinking.
She flinched.
He dropped his hand immediately, stepping back to give her space. “Christina. Please. I’m not—I’m not going to?—”
But she was already walking away. Practically running, stroller wheels crunching over leaves as she retreated down the path. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs she wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.
Marco stood frozen, watching her go. Watching his daughter disappear around the bend in the path, taking everything he thought he knew about his life with her.
The mist was burning off now, the sun climbing higher. Somewhere up the hill, a door slammed. Her footsteps faded until there was nothing but birdsong and the gentle lap of water against the shore.
He had a daughter. A beautiful, healthy daughter who was two months old. And the woman he’d spent eleven months searching for had just run away from him like he was the monster in a nightmare.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Colton.
Where are you? Breakfast is ready.
Marco stared at the screen without seeing it. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking, and not just from the cold.
He needed to think. Needed to process. He needed to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with the fact that his entire life had just been rearranged by a two-minute conversation on a lake path.
But first, he needed to find out where Christina lived. Because this conversation wasn’t over.
He started walking—not back toward the inn, but up the path, toward the cluster of cottages visible through the trees. Toward the woman who’d just turned his world inside out, and the daughter whose name he’d only just learned.
The morning light caught the first hints of autumn color in the leaves overhead, gold and red flickering against the green.
CHAPTER 24
CHRISTINA
Five days. Five days of back roads and locked doors and holding her breath every time she heard footsteps on gravel.
Christina pressed her back against the pantry shelves, Violet warm against her chest, and waited until the knocking stopped. Through the cottage’s front window, she could see him on the porch—dark hair, broad shoulders, that patient stillness that made her want to scream.
Marco didn’t leave right away. He stood there for a long moment, head bowed, before finally turning and walking back toward the lake. She watched until he disappeared around the bend, then let out the breath burning in her lungs.
Violet stirred, making that small questioning sound she always made when she sensed her mother’s tension. Christina pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, breathing in the sweet baby-powder scent of her.
“We’re okay,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”
But they weren’t. Every route through town had become a calculation—where might he be, what time did he walk the lake path, which shops had back doors she could slip through. Yesterday she’d driven twenty minutes out of her way to avoid Main Street. This morning she’d sent Ryan to Spilled Milk for diapers before his classes started instead of going herself.
The cottage smelled of the lavender candle her mother had given her, mixed with baby powder and something else—the musty sweetness of autumn leaves drifting through the cracked window. September had always been her favorite month. The crisp mornings, the mountains blazing with color, the smell of the world preparing to rest.
Now, it felt like decay. Like everything beautiful was dying around her while she stood frozen.
Another knock. Her whole body went rigid.
“Christina?” Her mother’s voice. “Honey, are you home?”
She nearly sagged with relief. She crossed to the door and pulled it open, finding Tara on the porch with a casserole dish and worried eyes.
“You weren’t at the inn this morning.” Her mother stepped inside, setting the dish on the counter. “Will said he saw you turn around in the parking lot.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
