She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “What about Cameron?”
“Arts and crafts. Friendship bracelets. Sing-alongs around the campfire.” Back then, Cameron still played guitar, and the kids gathered around him like he was some kind of pied piper. “He was better with them than I was.”
“You sound proud.”
“He’s good with people. Always has been.” I glance at her. “Makes up for what I lack.”
“Which is?”
“Patience. Empathy.” I clear my throat. “The lodge sits on the edge of the lake. Solid construction, defensible position. Mainlodge plus a dozen cabins scattered through the trees. Fully stocked for seasonal tourism. Boathouse.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Nothing’s perfect,” I say, then regret the pessimism when her shoulders drop. “But it’s better than most options. And on the way to our cottage in the mountains, where we hopefully meet Cole.”
She stops abruptly, our joined hands jerking like a caught fishing line. “Cottage?”
Shit. Didn’t mean to let that slip. “The one in the mountains,” I say casually, like I haven’t just revealed a backup plan we deliberately kept quiet. I tug her hand gently to get us moving again, and she walks, but her gaze is fixed on the ground.
Give me another stamp on the asshole card.
“Your cottage,” she says, voice careful. “And you plan to go there?”
“Yes.” No point in lying.
“Who?”
I hesitate. “Family. And Cole and his wife.”
She pulls her hand free, stopping in the middle of the road, and I expect her face to crumple, but instead, it goes blank so fast I almost miss the hurt flashing in her eyes.
“Family.” She steps back, creating more space between us. “Makes sense”
“Dakota—”
“No, I get it.” She gives me that brittle smile I’m starting to hate now that I know what the real one looks like. “After what my father did to your family, I wouldn’t want us there either.”
Fuck. “It’s not about you.”
“It’s okay.” She starts walking again, faster now, like she can’t wait to get away from me and this conversation. “We should go.”
“You don’t understand.” I catch up in three strides, grabbing her elbow to stop her. “The cottage was always plan B.”
“For family,” she repeats, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond my shoulder. “I’m not stupid. I know where I fall in the hierarchy.”
I release her arm, running a hand through my hair. “There’s no hierarchy.”
Her laugh cuts like glass. “There’s always a hierarchy.”
“Not with me.”
She finally looks at me, really looks, and the resignation in her eyes makes me want to punch something. Myself. For my stupidity.
“I understand, okay?” She softens her voice. “Family comes first. It’s practical. Smart, even. For me, it’s always Meli, so… I understand.”
“God, why do you do that?”
Her shoulders hunch. “Do what?”
