They rush off toward the refreshment table, peppering Posey with questions as they go.
I stay back, watching her animated gestures as she explains more details to her new audience.
The librarian approaches me, shaking her head in amazement. “So that's the little Abernathy girl," she says. "Her grandparents never brought her in for story time. Odd family. Kept to themselves. Especially since Jason..."
She cuts herself off.
"Since Jason what?" I ask, though part of my attention is still on wishing Cameron were here to witness Posey's moment of triumph.
"Oh, who knows what's true and what's rumor," the librarian says. "You know how it is. Old money families, old drama. Best to let sleeping dogs lie."
She adjusts a stack of books but glances back at Posey. "But she's a lovely child. Smart. That story—I've never seen a four-year-old hold a room like that."
"She certainly takes after her father in that respect," I murmur, unable to keep the warmth from my voice.
The librarian's eyebrows lift with interest, but I don't elaborate.
"Tara!" Posey calls, waving me over to the refreshment table. "Come meet my new friends!"
I take a few pictures of Posey with her friends to show Cameron tonight and to share her storytelling success. Casually. Like any good nanny would.
I’ve come to look forward to these moments more than a real nanny should. And I already dread the day this short arrangement ends.
CHAPTER 26
CAMERON
Ileave Salty at the café table, that cryptic discussion still echoing in my head: "What if being fake means losing yourself? And what kind of father would you be then?"
Edison pads beside me as I walk down Main Street toward White's office, my guitar case bouncing against my hip with each step. The street is packed with what looks to be a mix of tourists and locals. Normal people living normal lives while my world might be about to implode.
Why the hell did White call this emergency meeting?
I run through the possibilities as the weathered gray shingles of his office building come into view. The custody evaluation? Maybe the court decided two weeks wasn't enough time.
But the more I think about it, the more one terrifying possibility takes root.
The DNA test.
I took it three days ago at a place on this same street. Simple cheek swab, and off it went to a lab for analysis. Since Alice named me on the birth certificate, the DNA test seemed like a formality.
But what if Alice named me as the child's father, but Posey wasn't mine?
My chest tightens as I reach White's door. The brass nameplate reads "White & Associates" in understated elegance.
The thought of losing Posey now, after watching her face light up during our boat ride with Salty, after hearing her call me her hero for saving that old fisherman’s life...
It would destroy something in me I didn't even know existed until this week.
I press the buzzer.
The electronic lock clicks open. Edison pushes through the door ahead of me. A pristine white sofa sits beside a glass coffee table displaying a sterling silver service. Persian rugs cover gleaming hardwood floors.
A receptionist in a navy blazer and pearl earrings looks up from behind an antique mahogany desk. "Mr. Crow, Mr. White is?—"
"Right here." White appears from a hallway, wearing a similar dull but expensive suit from our first meeting.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice. Join me in my office." He gestures toward the hallway.
