Elena pulled back. "I'm going to see her again tomorrow before my flight. If that's okay."
"Of course."
"And Dad?" She was already walking backward toward the hotel, hands still in her pockets, chin ducked against the cold. "Play the piano. She told me you played for her. Keep doing that."
She turned. Disappeared through the hotel's revolving door. Gone.
It was a devastating realization to internalize that you were the architect of your own bullshit.
The question was…what was I going to do about it?
fifteen
WILLOW
Callum was sitting on the edge of the bed when I woke up.
Not his usual routine. By now I'd memorized the choreography of Callum Hayes mornings—alarm, shower, French press, out the door. A man who ran on rails. But today he sat with a mug balanced on his knee, staring at the wall with the thousand-yard focus of a person replaying a conversation in his head.
Elena. Last night had gotten under his skin and stayed there.
I touched his back. Ran my fingers along the ridge of his spine, feeling the muscles pull tight beneath his t-shirt.
"Hey," I said. "You okay?"
He looked over his shoulder. Those gray eyes were tired. Not the lack-of-sleep kind. The deeper kind—thekind that came from a twenty-year-old daughter telling you truths you weren't ready to hear.
"Elena texted." He took a sip of coffee. "She wants to come by Brew & Bean this morning. Before her flight."
"Cool." I sat up, pushing hair from my face. "What time?"
"Eleven. She was specific about it. Said she wants to see you. Without me."
My stomach did a thing. "Without you."
"Her exact phrasing was—" He checked his phone. "'I want to hang with Willow without you hovering and making it weird.' Direct quote."
"That tracks."
"She gets it from her mother." A pause. "Among other things."
I scooted closer, pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He was warm and wound tight and smelled of coffee and soap. "Last night went well. You know that, right?"
"It went better than I deserved."
"Stop."
"I'm being honest."
"You're being dramatic. There's a difference." I climbed out of bed, swiped his coffee mug, took a long sip. He watched me do it. Didn't protest. At one time he would've given me a lecture about germs andpersonal property. Now he just watched me steal his coffee with the resigned affection of a man who'd accepted his fate.
Progress.
"I'm going to shower," I said, handing back the mug. "And then I'm going to go charm the hell out of your daughter."
"She's not easily charmed."
"Neither were you. Look how that turned out."
