Page 118 of Until You

“Looking good, Dad,” Paige says as she stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, and nods her head in approval.

“It’s getting there.” But I drop my screw gun and step back to look at the small space that I’m slowly transforming. When I look back to Paige, I catch her glancing down the driveway toward the cottage. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“How can you be so sure she’s coming back?” she asks me softly.

“Because I am.” I step outside with her and risk a glance there myself. It’s been a tough few weeks with the girls asking why Tenny had to take off for a bit. It’s been even tougher realizing just how much I miss her.

But the changes here are keeping us busy. We’re figuring out new routines. We’re getting ready for the start of the school year.

Deep down, I know she’ll be back. After she left, I read all I could about the breaking story about Kaleo’s second-in-command. His and his family’s brutal murder . . . and Tenny’s reaction made even more sense to me.

I don’t have to like it, but it made sense to me.

I just wish she’d talked to me first. That she’d pick up the phone when I make my daily call and talk to me. I’d have explained a dozen different ways why what happened to him is not the same as her situation. That for all intents and purposes the old her doesn’t exist so why would she be tracked down? Why would she be hunted?

But she won’t pick up.

I can’t talk to her.

It’s a frustrating fucking radio silence.

And yet, like I just told Paigey, I know she’s coming back.

It doesn’t hurt that she direct deposited three months of rent into Ian’s—soon-to-be my—rental account.

That might have helped solidify my opinion.

And it also pushed me to get the shit done that I needed to get done so it’s ready when she comes back home to me.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Tennyson

Three Weeks Later

I’m homesick.

For my own bed. For my own things. For all I’ve learned to call home over the past couple years.

And of course, I’m missing Crew and the girls. Their laughter. His quiet presence beside me. The waking up and going to bed, knowing he’s near.

But I’ll take the suffering so long as they’re safe.

I’ll own the guilt knowing how badly I’ve hurt them because by hurting them, their decision to head back to Chicago was easier. Back to their old life, back to before me.

The pang never dulls.

But this is for the best.

I have to keep telling myself that so I can put one foot in front of the other instead of running back to be with them.

And part of that keeping one foot in front of the other is moving every few days to a new place to explore, a new place to fall in love with.

New Hamish is the town of choice today with its farmers market that runs almost a mile long through its historical district.

The brochures didn’t disappoint. The bright flowers and savory scent of food are enough to dull my loneliness for now.

When I go back to my hotel later tonight, that’s a different story.