He nods, lifting the box with ease.
We walk in silence as we make our way toward the parking area. The setting sun casts long shadows across the pavement, painting everything in soft gold and amber. I’m acutely aware of his presence beside me and the careful distance he maintains between us.
“Your brother?” he asks suddenly.
I glance over, surprised to hear him speak. “The one at the booth earlier? Yeah, that’s Callan.”
He adjusts his grip on the box. “How many of you are there?”
“Three of us,” I reply, fishing my keys from my pocket as we approach my car. “Knox, Callan, and me. I’m the youngest.”
“They both live around here?”
“Yeah, they actually run our family distillery. You might have seen their booth.”
He dips his chin, a hint of recognition crossing his face. I unlock the trunk, and he sets the box inside, careful not to jostle it.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the trunk.
He lingers, one hand resting on the car, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. “I wanted to thank you again,” he says finally. “For earlier. For the last couple months, really, and for being so friendly with Isla.”
I shake my head, leaning back against the car. “You don’t need to thank me for that. She’s a loveable little girl.”
Aidan doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t even blink. Just stands there with that intense, unreadable expression that always makes me feel like I’ve been caught looking too closely.
“Maybe not,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “But I felt like I should, anyway.”
That cracks me wide open, because I’m fairly certain Aidan doesn’t offer up pieces of himself often. If ever.
“This isn’t easy for me,” he starts, eyes meeting mine for a second. “Having Isla get attached to people.”
I watch his throat move as he swallows, his jaw clenched tight. He’s not looking at me now. He’s looking somewhere past me, like it’s easier to face the empty sky.
“Because of your job?”
“Partly.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Isla’s mum left when she was only a few months old.”
A breath punches from my lungs. “Aidan…I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I just…” He exhales, long and slow. “I want you to know that Isla forms attachments quickly, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”
His words land like a blow. They’re honest but devastating.
In that one moment, I see more than the gruff exterior or the tired father doing his best. I see the man who’s been holding everything together with his bare hands and a thin thread of control, terrified that if he lets one thing slip, the whole thing will collapse.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. My heart’s already spilling all over the place.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, because it’s all I can manage.
His eyes come back to mine, maybe searching for doubt or judgment. What he’ll find is understanding.
“I should get her home,” he says quietly.
“Of course.” I tuck my hands into my sleeves, suddenly chilled. “I’ll see you around?”
He hesitates for just a breath, and then the corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest smile. “Aye,” he murmurs. “See you, Lucy. Soon.”
Then he walks away, officially taking a piece of my heart with him before I even realize I’ve handed it over.
