Page 45 of Lost Then Found
“Depends on the week. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“Birthday?”
“December second.”
I nod, making a mental note of it. Then pause. “Full name?”
Something in her expression shifts. “Hudson James Westwood.”
Damn. Not Wilding.
I swallow that down. “Right.”
“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” she says, quieter now. “I didn’t want to give him a name I’d have to explain later.”
I nod once. Can’t say I blame her. But it still hits harder than I want it to.
Lark turns back to the desk, grabs a pen, and scribbles something down. She rips the paper clean and holds it out to me.
“That’s our address,” she says, voice even. “Come by at five. I’ll talk to Hudson before then—prep him a little so it’s not a total ambush.”
I take the slip from her, nod once. “That’s smart.”
She gives a slight shrug but doesn’t say anything else.
I stand, the legs of the chair scraping loud against the floor, and head for the door. My hand’s already on the knob when I stop.
Turn back.
“Thanks, Lark.”
She exhales like she’s been holding something in this whole time. “He deserves to know his dad.”
I nod again slowly. “I’ll see you at five.”
I step out, the hallway cooler than I remembered. My boots hit the floor with a heavier sound now, like the weight of what just happened is starting to settle in.
By the time I push through the kitchen and into the dining room, Dawn’s already clocked me. She gives me a once-over like she’s checking for damage.
“Well, you’ve still got both your ears and all your limbs,” she says dryly, arms crossed. “Couldn’t have gone that bad.”
I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “It went.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press.
“Glad to see you two aren’t trying to kill each other,” she adds.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
Outside, Main Street’s alive. Cars rolling by, tourists meandering like they’ve got nowhere to be, locals doing what they always do. It all looks the same.
But it isn’t. Not for me.
I’ve got an address now. A dinner to show up for. A son I’ve never met—one who probably doesn’t know what to think of me.
I look down at the paper in my hand. Lark’s handwriting, quick and no-nonsense. I fold it once and tuck it into my jacket.
That’s it.
