Page 1 of Late Nights & Love Lines
1
HELLO, AGAIN
SEBASTIAN
“My fart smells like fish,” Kade squeals from his car seat in the back. My six-year-old has one speed—his. “I wanna fish. Can I, Daddy? Can I fish?”
Thank fuck I chose to drive from Boston to the Outer Banks overnight. I can’t imagine the kinds of questions or the number of bathroom breaks we would have had to make if all three of my children were awake for the majority of the drive. And that’s not even factoring in my grandfather.
My daughter groans and rolls down her window. “You can’t do that in the car, Kade. It’s gross.”
“I can’t help it, Ser. My butt likes to say wallop, wallop, toot.” He laughs. “Can I fish, Daddy?”
“I’m not sure,” I say steering the Range Rover over a gravel drive that’s seen better days. Boston’s potholes have their own zip codes, but this driveway is worse than outer space—one wrong turn and we’ll be lost to a black hole.
“These places are made for fishin’, kid.”
I give my grandfather some side-eye even as I laugh. Unwillingly. Despite the clusterfuck my life has become, he’s been the one constant in every uncertain time in my life.
A weathered sign for Shoreline Adventures sits in the gravel lot at an odd angle.
“We’re here,” I say quietly as I park in front of the office.
A sudden rush of nostalgia washes over me as I take in the well-groomed paths to the right of the main building. Old bunkhouses line one side of the trail. At least those appear to have received a fresh coat of paint.
Tilting my head toward my grandfather, I take in his expression, but he simply smiles at the view before him.
“You never would have allowed your camp to end up like this.”
When he finally faces me, his soft brown eyes twinkle with mischief and so many stories I can’t begin to fathom them all.
“Spaces are a lot like people, Seb,” he says gently.
“How so?” My brow furrows, so I smooth it out with my fingertips.
“They can both fall apart without a little love and care. This place will be good as new in no time though.”
“You sure about that?” I chuckle, and he nods his head.
“I am. That’s what we’re here for, right? A little love and care will go a long way for this camp—and for your family.”
Oof. His words pack a punch today.
Leaning forward, I scan the tall trees and inhale deeply. With Seren’s window down, the scent of the forest melds with the salty air of the ocean I know is down one of the paths ahead of me, and an ounce of tension uncoils in my shoulders.
At least until I glance at the faces of my children in the back seat.
Kade’s too young to truly understand why we’ve suddenly left Massachusetts—it’s a blessing and a curse, I suppose. Miles sits in the middle, his plastic smile a permanent fixture on his face these days. Seren’s stoic expression burns in my gut like acid.
She’s worn that impenetrable mask for months now. Gone is my shyly inquisitive girl with the soul of a musician. In her place sits a shell of a person holding a violent storm beneath her surface.
“Seren?” She lifts vacant green eyes to mine in the rearview mirror. “I hear they have an entire music room. There’s even a brand new piano and a huge selection of guitars.”
It only cost me a small fortune to get them all here before we arrived.
When Elijah, one of my new business partners, introduced me to his sister six months ago, I never could have envisioned we’d be on this path. Lottie Sinclair owns The Single Dad Hotline, a phone-based support team for single dads who are out of their element. But I was born to be a dad, so I never needed it—until now.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t be everything to everyone. I need help. I need a nanny, and now Lottie has the best service in the country. I have no idea how Elijah roped her into helping me, but I’m thankful since her waitlist is already over a year long.
