“Yep.”
"She also said you invited her to come back."
"Also accurate," I said, crossing my arms. "You have a problem with that?"
Wyatt stared at me, and I couldn't read his expression. Anger? Concern? Something else?
"I don't know yet, "Maddy liked you," Wyatt said, and his voice had lost some of its edge. "She came home and wouldn't stop talking about how you were honest with her and didn't treat her like a kid. That means something."
"She seemed like a good kid," I said carefully. "You should be proud."
"I am." Wyatt looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time since I'd met him, I didn't see hostility in his gaze. Just weariness. "Look, I don't know how to do this. The property thing is still an issue we need to resolve. But if Maddy wants to come see you, and you're okay with it, I'm not going to stop her."
"Okay," I said, not sure what else to say.
Wyatt nodded once, then turned and walked back to his truck.
I watched him go, my anger draining away and leaving confusion and a dull ache in its wake.
That had not gone the way I'd expected.
Not at all.
Twenty-Six
Wyatt
Cleary’s was loud enough that I could almost hear myself think.
Almost.
The lunch rush had hit full swing. Cutlery clinked, plates slid along rails, somebody laughed too hard at the far end of the room. The air smelled like coffee, grilled onions, and hot oil, the holy trinity of small-town diners. It was all familiar, easy, the kind of background noise I usually sank into without a second thought.
Today, it just made everything inside me feel louder.
Because Tessa Callahan was walking three steps behind me, and my daughter just invited her to lunch. Two days, Maddy had been home for two days, and decided she and Tessa were best friends.
“Come on,” Maddy said, practically vibrating at my side. “The back booth is the best one; it has the least crying babies.”
I grunted something that might have been an agreement and tried to look like my chest was not as tight as barbed wire.
Tessa followed us in with that slightly wary set to her shoulders like she was braced for impact. She still looked likeshe would rather be anywhere else than under anyone’s scrutiny. A couple of people at the counter glanced our way. The hostess clocked us with a quick smile and grabbed three menus.
“Booth?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Maddy answered before I could. “Corner, please.”
Of course, she wanted a corner. Fewer escape routes.
The hostess led us toward the back. I felt Tessa behind me, every footstep an echo down my spine. I couldn’t stop replaying the hydrant, her soaked shirt, the way her breath hitched when my hand held her steady in the barn. The way we hovered inches from one very bad idea.
Any sane man would have put distance between them after that. I didn't bring her to a diner. Don't let his kid sit there and get to know her. Apparently, I was not a sane man.
The corner booth was taken, so we got the one next to it. A table fixed to the floor, red vinyl that squeaked when you shifted. Maddy slid into the far side without hesitation and pointed to the empty bench across from her.
“You two can sit together,” she said, all innocent brightness. “There’s more room on that side.”
There wasn’t any more room on that side. I opened my mouth to tell her to knock it off. Tessa hesitated on the outside of the booth, clutching the strap of her bag, clearly expecting to be told to sit opposite.
