I’d survive losing Dani.
Eventually.
Harper… I wasn’t sure she would.
I pushed the tray away, appetite gone, the truth settling in whether I wanted it to or not. This wasn’t about whether I wanted Dani. I did. That was obvious. This was about whether I was brave enough to want her out loud. To choose her. Not in the dark, not in a moment, but in daylight. In front of my daughter. In front of my grief. In front of myself.
You don’t get to ask for sunlight and complain when it’s bright.
She’d opened the curtains. I’d fought it. Then I kissed her like a man starving.
That wasn’t confusion.
That was fear.
Fear dressed up as control.
My phone felt heavier in my pocket. I could text her. Something simple. Something safe. I didn’t. Because whatevercame next couldn’t be halfway. It couldn’t be casual. It had to mean something.
I tossed the tray and stepped outside, the Florida heat hitting me immediately, grounding in a way nothing else had all day. As I walked toward my truck, one truth settled deep in my chest, solid and unavoidable.
I wasn’t afraid of wanting Dani.
I was afraid of losing her.
And there’s a difference.
But as I slid into the driver’s seat, keys still in my hand, that truth sharpened into something else entirely.
I’d already crossed the line.
The only question left was whether I was going to keep pretending I hadn’t.
Chapter 36
Logan
After visiting Dani and Harper on that quick trip, the rest of my time in Florida seemed to drag on. Each day felt repetitive and unnecessary. I found myself having to fight the impulsive part of me that wanted to leave the job behind and get back to my girl.
The thought alone told me I was in way too deep.
And that’s the same thought I had every day until the job had wrapped.
The Tampa sky was streaked with pink and gold when I left the site for the last time. The kind of sunset that softened everything it touched—construction cranes, shipping containers, the hard edges of a job built on deadlines and pressure. It almost made the place look peaceful.
Almost.
We wrapped up ahead of schedule. No security breaches. No last-minute fires. Carter clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You earned a few early days, Carter. Go home.”
Home.
The word landed heavier than it used to.
Most of the time, home meant routine. Lunchboxes lined up on the counter. Bedtime stories read with one eye alreadyclosing. Exhaustion that settled deep in my bones but kept everything else steady. Safe.
But this time… it meant something else.
It meant laughter that wasn’t just Harper’s.
