Page 114 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

The dagger of truth slid right into his heart.

And it nearly dropped him to his knees.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Hellcat skirted around him.“Let’s go downstairs so I can catch you up on our plans for the week.”

He watched her head down the hallway, but his legs were tree trunks rooted to the ground.

She’s not going to have the kind of dad you had.

She’d flipped the script on him. All this time, he was working it out from his perspective. His career, where he lived, how he could fit in visits.

He hadn’t thought about what life would be like for his little girl without a dad here to tuck her in at night, catch her when she fell, and help her with her homework. Sure, she had a grandfather and an uncle, but nothing replaced a father in a child’s life.

He remembered the pride he felt spotting his dad in the crowds, and the conversations they’d had while driving to away games—things he wouldn’t have disclosed in any other context.

He understood right then he might never have taken risks if he hadn’t had the solid foundation of his father’s love. With it, he’d felt safe in the world. So invincible he could jump off a cliff.

Shame burned a hole in his gut.

When he got to the kitchen, he found her putting a container in the microwave. “Didn’t you eat tonight?”

“It’s for you.” She punched the buttons.

“How’d you know I haven’t eaten?”

“Your stomach’s grumbling so loud, it’ll wake up the whole house.”

“True.” He peered into the dotted glass. “What’re you reheating?”

“Noa and Ginty stayed in town for dinner, so it was just me and Stevie tonight. I made vegetable lasagna.”

“Sneaking in those veggies?” He pulled down a plate and grabbed a fork.

“I don’t sneak with her. She helps me in the garden, so she’s grown up eating raw carrots and tomatoes. Even broccoli. And I have conversations with her about the importance of food, what it does for our bodies. She’s good about it. That’s not to say she doesn’t prefer cookies and ice cream, but she’s never known a meal that didn’t have fruits and vegetables.”

“You’re a good mom.”

“Yeah, well. I know what not to do, so that comes in handy. The rest…I’m learning as I go.”

“I like your vision for this place. A retreat.”

“Me, too. Sometimes, you just have to get away. It’s hard to work at home with all the distractions. Your partner, your kids, the TV, the dog—every time you get interrupted, it stops the flow. And I’ve obviously got the room for it.”

“Not only that, but you get to be surrounded by the part you love the best. The music. Seems perfect.”

“Exactly. But, I’m not ready for it yet. Stevie’s too young. I don’t want her to take a back seat to the artists.”

“Well, hang on. You wouldn’t be catering to them, right? You’re just giving them a space.”

“They’ll need meals. It’s so remote out here.”

“Can you hire that out? Get a chef who wants to live out here and leave it to her to work out a fee for the artists.”

“Probably. But what about cleaning? I’m not sure I want strangers coming in and out. I wouldn’t feel safe.”

“Who cleans your house?”

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