“Do you?” Her eyes met his, fierce despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. “Because if you’re going to be in her life, it has to be real. Not occasional appearances between parties. She deserves better.”
“She does.” Marco held her gaze. “And so do you.”
The lake had gone fully dark now, the water black and still beneath the stars. Across the shore, lights flickered on in cottage windows. The air had turned chilly, carrying the first real bite of autumn.
“It’s getting cold.” Christina shifted Violet closer. “I should get her inside.”
“Can I walk you back?”
She hesitated. Then nodded.
They walked in silence along the dock, onto the path, up the gentle slope toward the cottage where lights glowed warmly behind the curtains. Their shoulders didn’t touch. Their hands stayed at their sides. But something had shifted—an acknowledgment. A beginning.
At the door, Christina paused.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Come by tomorrow afternoon. You can meet everyone properly.”
“I’d like that.”
She looked at Violet, then at him. “She has your eyes. I noticed it the first time she opened them in the hospital. I knew then I couldn’t hide forever.”
Marco’s throat tightened. “I’m glad you couldn’t.”
She opened the door, warmth and light spilling onto the porch. Then she turned back.
“Marco? That night in Miami. I never forgot it. Or you.”
She stepped inside and closed the door, leaving him on the porch with stars overhead and his whole world rearranged.
The walk back to the inn felt different from all the others—less like wandering, more like heading somewhere. Autumn air crisp against his face, the mountains dark shapes against a starlit sky.
He had a daughter. A daughter named Violet, who had his eyes and his grandmother’s stubborn chin. A daughter he’d missed being born, already missed over two months of her life.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d forgotten about it—had silenced it hours ago when he left the inn, wanting quiet for his thoughts. Now, pulling it out, he saw three missed calls from Colton and a string of texts.
Where are you?
Call me.
Something happened.
Christina is your mystery girl.
She’s Ally’s sister.
She told everyone.
Marco’s steps slowed, then quickened.
The inn’s lights glowed through the trees ahead. Yellow and warm, spilling from windows onto the wraparound porch where rocking chairs sat empty. He could hear music from inside—something country, probably Will’s choice—and the murmur of voices.
Colton was sitting on the porch steps, a beer in his hand, watching the stars. He stood when he saw Marco coming up the path.
“There you are.” His voice was tight. “I’ve been calling and texting you for two hours.”
“I know.” Marco climbed the steps, his legs heavy. “I was with her. Christina.”
Colton went still. “You talked to her?”
