“You should bring your wife out with you the next time you come out,” my dad suggests, buttering a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table. “I bet she and Juliette would get along.”
Dakota’s eyes flash to her dad, and they share a look. “Actually, my wife passed a couple years ago. A brain aneurysm in the middle of the night. It was the second of two. Dakota took care of her after the first one left her in need of help.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” my dad says, but to me, his voice is only background noise. I’m watching Dakota.
She blinks, long and heavy, her eyelashes pressing against her skin, and twists the napkin in her lap. When she opens her eyes, she takes her wine glass and drinks twice. Her gaze dances to me, and then away, but it was long enough for me to see the pain inside them. Maybe this is why I’m drawn to her once again. Maybe she carries pain around inside her, too.
The atmosphere is awkward for a few moments, but Mitch steers the conversation back on course. It’s obvious he’s practiced in this situation. Dakota, however, remains quiet.
Dinner finishes up. My dad reminds Dakota of the barbecue we’re hosting next weekend. Mitch orders a round of whiskey neat for the table. Dakota declines. Over her head, Mitch smiles at something near the entrance.
“Hon, I’ve got a little surprise for you.” He grins indulgently at his daughter and looks across the room again.
Confusion cinches together Dakota’s eyebrows. She turns to see where he’s looking, and her eyes widen.
Following her gaze, the only thing I see are two little girls walking hand in hand with a woman and a man trailing behind them. One of the little girls, the one with long blonde hair, looks directly at our table and her eyes light up.
She runs straight at us and flings herself at Dakota. “You’re my favorite person!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and sweet.
Dakota laughs and presses a kiss to her temple.
My stomach drops. Does Dakota have a daughter?
Thoughts slam through my brain, ping-ponging around incoherently. My lips remain shut tight except for when I’m introduced to Dakota’s sister and her family. I suffer through playing nice with them, when the only person I’m really interested in is the little girl in Dakota’s arms.
“And this is Emerson,” Mitch says, pointing at the child who has not yet let go of Dakota.
Rage mounts inside me. I sip my whiskey, trying my damnedest to calm down.
Maybe it’s not what it looks like. Maybe I’m assuming, letting my imagination run wild.
The little girl, Emerson, turns in Dakota’s arms and levels a full stare right at me.
All the muscles in my stomach tighten and my entire world flips upside down.
Or, maybe, the situation is exactly what it looks like.
13
Dakota
“My God, Dakota,”Abby whisper-hisses as we walk Taylor and Emerson to the hotel room they booked for tonight and tomorrow night. Her lips are so close I can feel the whoosh of her breath against my skin.
“What?” I whisper back. I don’t know why we’re whispering, but a whispered comment necessitates a whispered response.
“Wes,” she mouths, raising her eyebrows and making a face that conveys her appreciation for him. Or, at least, for his physical appearance.
I giggle. I can’t help it.
“You’re right,” she continues to whisper, casting a quick glance behind us to make sure the girls are still skipping together a few feet away. “He is not just a Lake Guy. He’s a Wow Guy.”
“A Wow Guy?”
She nods solemnly.
“I’m surprised you got that from tonight. He was being even more reserved after you guys showed up.” Truthfully, he was borderline rude.
“Nah.” Abby waves her hand. “He seemed overwhelmed. And he kept looking at Emerson.” She gasps and grabs my forearm. “What if he thinks Emerson is your daughter? She was all over you, and Dad only introduced her by name, not as my daughter specifically.” She gasps. “What if he thinks she’s his? The age fits.”
