“A little more verbal?” I joke.
She smiles. “I like the quiet Wilder Cameron too.”
“So should I shut up now?”
She shakes her head and picks up her fork again. “No. Now tell me more about Willow, please.”
The rest of the dinner conversation flows easily as I update Teagan on how things have changed around the ranch and what's new in Lonestar Junction since she left. The city’s been expanding. Abandoned buildings have been bought up and turned into new shopping centers slowly and new housing developments are cropping up all over town that bring in transplants from the larger surrounding cities like San Angeloand Houston who are looking for refuge and the small-town life that the Hallmark channel likes to sell.
Despite small towns having a bad reputation associated with them at times, I love it here and I can’t imagine living, working or raising my daughter anywhere else in Texas.
“You want any more wine?” I ask, clearing the plates and heading into the kitchen. She follows closely behind and takes a seat on the couch, looking comfortable and like she fits in right here with my home and all my belongings.
“Sure.”
I rinse the dishes in the sink and load them into the dishwasher before refilling her and my glass with the rest of the bottle and walking back over to meet her in the living room.
It feels like there’s a chasm of words still caught between us, one that I don’t know how to cross. The spark is still there for me, just beneath the surface now and I don’t know how to find our way back to what we had that summer years ago.
Now that much of the past five years is out in the open, I want to know everything about who she is now and focus on the present. A present that I hope includes getting to know me for the first time as the man I’ve become. A better, much more healed, but constant work in progress version of myself who is a single father to a seven-year-old and a cowboy down to his core.
“Do you still play?” she asks, gesturing towards the guitar I have propped in the corner of the room.
“I do but mostly just for myself, or Willow, if she asks. Occasionally, Cody needs a fill in for his band, so I’ve gone with him a couple of times while Willow stays with my parents. He’s going on tour next summer and there are a few concerts his lead guitarist can’t make so I may get to do some more traveling then. I feel better about it now that Willow’s older.”
“He’s making a name for himself in the country music world?”
I nod. “He seems much happier now that he’s out of professional football. Don’t get me wrong, he was good, great even, but I think he knew it wasn’t where he wanted to be long term. The career sort of fell into his lap which is ironic since that’s the same thing that happened with his music. He’s been on the road a lot more than usual lately which he says gets lonely at times, but he seems happy.”
She nods. “Have you written anything new lately? I remember those notebooks you had lining your wall in the pool house. I’m assuming those were lyrics?”
I smile and nod, the memory of that night we spent together feels fresh in my mind. She’d stumbled across the songs I used to write and though Cody hadn’t been an artist at the time, they’d been a way for me to process my pain when I didn’t have an outlet or the skills to know how to make peace with my past. Writing music had been my therapy and it was something I still turned to when the emotions needed a way to leave my body.
“I just finished a song, actually.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you planning on giving it to Cody to use?”
“I don’t think so, though I’ve done that with a few of the ones that I’ve written in the past. This one’s personal. Do you want to hear it?”
She nods eagerly as she tucks her legs under her butt and sinks back into the cushions of the couch. I grab the guitar and hook the strap around my neck as I return to where she’s seated. Strumming gently, I begin to sing a song I started writing seven years ago, after coming to terms with the loss of Mercedes. The song, intended for Willow, expresses my deep love for her and my determination to be the father she needs though I don't know what I'm doing. It speaks of watching over her as she sleeps, praying not to mess things up, and always wanting the best for her. I named the song'Willow’ and sing it to her every year on her birthday but this is the first year that I finally finished it.
Teagan's eyes remain locked on mine the entire time I sing, and it feels like every barrier between us dissolves along with the words. Time, space, and distance seem to vanish as I finish the song and close my eyes. When I reopen them, I see tears glistening in the corners of hers. She quickly wipes them away, still watching me.
“Wilder… that was beautiful. Willow is so lucky to have you as her father.”
I set down the guitar, my eyes never breaking from hers.
“It’s her favorite one I’ve ever written.”
She nods. “I can see why. You’ve done a good job with her. I know I haven’t seen you two together much, but I could tell today in the clinic… she practically glows with the love that’s surrounding her life.”
Those words hit me harder than anything most women have ever said to me. I’ve never been the type who needs compliments about my looks or my work ethic, and I sure as hell don’t go searching for them. But when someone praises my daughter—tells me how happy she seems, how well-spoken and secure she is—it feels like the best damn thing in the world. Because Willow is my everything. For seven years now, she’s been my reason for every decision I’ve made, a piece of my heart walking around outside of my chest. It’s terrifying and beautiful in equal measure, and I can’t imagine my life without being her dad.
“Thank you,” I rasp, my voice thick with emotion as I meet her gaze. She’s scared, I can see it in her eyes. This thing that’s still between us is palpable. It’s still there. I can feel it. I know now that we met too soon but maybe it was the right time all along. She’s seen two versions of me and things have changed. We’ve changed. If she can love me through both of them, then I think we have a shot.
I reach for her hand, touching it gently as I stroke the smooth skin on the back of it, waiting for permission. She’s so soft, justlike I remember. All tan skin, soft angles, pretty lips and round eyes. And though I thought I’d be able to forget her beauty, I’ve never been able to put that summer in the past.
“You’ve somehow gotten even more beautiful,” I whisper confidently to her.
