I smile. “Nice to see you too, Dracula.”
Her glare is pure teenage perfection. “It’s not a phase, Dad. This is who I am now.”
“Phase or not, do you have a pet bat I should be concerned about?”
She snorts but tries to hide the grin as she buckles her seat belt. “You’re not funny.”
“Pretty sure I am.” I start the engine. “Come on, I was thinking we could grab lunch. My treat.”
“Wendy’s?” she asks, suspicion lifting her brow.
“Is there another burger place in this town worth eating at?”
She shrugs, still playing unimpressed, but the corner of her mouth twitches. That’s a no.
The drive is short, quiet except for the hum of the tires and the soft music leaking from her earbuds. I glance at her every few seconds, trying to memorize her face. I keep thinking that by tomorrow, she’ll be a state away, and I’ll be the stranger sheriff in a coastal town that doesn’t know me yet.
When we pull into the Wendy’s lot, I park near the windows. Inside, the lunchtime crowd is light. She orders a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Frosty. I stick to black coffee and a chicken sandwich because, according to Amy, my cholesterol is “a crime scene waiting to happen.”
We sit at a booth near the window. Clara unwraps her burger and takes a huge bite, ketchup smearing the corner of her lip. I hand her a napkin.
“You’re such a lady.”
“Stop,” she mumbles around a mouthful, laughing.
I lean back, studying her. “You know, when you were three, you insisted on wearing your rain boots to bed. Said you wanted to be ready in case a puddle showed up in your dreams.”
She groans. “You’ve told that story a million times.”
“I’m just making sure it’s preserved in family history.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“That’s literally my job.”
She laughs again, soft but genuine, and for a second, she’s eight years old again, with a gap-toothed smile and glitter nail polish. But then her expression falters. Her hands twist the straw wrapper until it shreds in her fingers.
“Hey.” I reach across the table. “What’s going on?”
She shakes her head quickly. “Nothing.”
“Clara.” My voice gentles, the way it always does when she tries to hide behind that teenage armor. “Talk to me.”
Her eyes glisten, and then she’s sliding out of the booth, heading for the door. I follow, heart pounding. Outside, she stops near the side of the building, shoulders trembling.
I step closer, careful not to crowd her. “Hey. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She wipes her face angrily. “You’re leaving. You’re going to Driftwood, and Mom’s gonna stay here, and then she’s gonna meet someone else, and he’s gonna be my new dad, and I’m just—” Her voice cracks. “You’re leaving me behind.”
I let out a slow breath and run a hand through my hair. “Sweetheart.”
She doesn’t look up. I can see the silver ring in her ear, the one she begged Amy for last Christmas, glinting in the sunlight. She’s so grown up, and yet right now she looks small again.
I crouch beside her. “I know this is hard. Believe me, I didn’t plan it this way. But me taking this job doesn’t change who I am to you. You’re my kid, Clara. My daughter.”
She shakes her head, tears streaking down her face. “But you’re not even?—”
“Don’t.” I touch her chin, tilting it up gently. “Don’t say that. I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t matter what biology says. You’re mine because I chose you. Every single day, I chose you. I taught you how to ride your bike, remember? Who held onto the back of the seat while you screamed that you were gonna fall?”
