Page 38 of The SEAL's Duchess
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate.
“At least this way you’ll be making an informed choice about BlackRock,” Jack whistled once more for Diesel, who bounded to her side, stick clamped between his teeth. “Just be careful whoyou trust with that information. Too many people around here have a stake in keeping things quiet.”
“Jack—”
“I’ve said my piece.” The older woman’s tone was firm but not unkind. “What you do with it is up to you. But thirty years on rigs taught me this—the real danger isn’t the stuff you see coming. It’s the problems no one wants to talk about.”
Jack turned to go, then paused. “For what it’s worth? I haven’t seen that man look at anyone the way he looked at you.”
The wind caught her words and shoved them against Ivy’s chest before she could breathe them away.
With that parting shot, Jack strode across the grass, Diesel loping at her heels, leaving Ivy frozen in place.
The cookbook’s cracked spine dug into her ribs, anchoring her while everything inside felt suddenly unmoored. Slowly, the world returned—children shouting in the distance, a dog barking, a car horn—but the sounds seemed too ordinary for the weight she held.
This wasn’t just numbers on a page or an investment portfolio. This was lives. Ryder’s. Ellie’s. Everyone bound to Aurora Cove.
She tucked the book inside her hoodie and zipped it up, as if shielding it—or herself. Ryder’s face flashed in her mind. Strong hands, watchful eyes. A born protector even when it cost him everything.
Her legs itched to move, to find her rhythm again, but no amount of running could carry her far enough this time.
The only question now was whether she had the courage to fight for both—the truth, and the man she’d pushed away.
17
Two days had crawledby since Sarah’s dinner invitation had knocked him sideways, and Ryder’s jaw still ached from holding back too many words. He steered his truck down Aurora Cove’s main drag, eyes sweeping the sidewalks with the same methodical precision he used to scan open water.
No flash of Ivy’s city coat. No glint of blonde hair.
Good.
Yesterday he’d spotted George leaving the Aurora Cove Inn with Sinclair, their heads almost touching in close conversation and he’d taken a detour down a side street rather than risk an encounter.
In forty-eight hours, he’d heard her name more than he could stand—Caleb spotting her at Benji’s, Bishop seeing her in the park with Jack.
Every mention of her left questions burning in his throat. How did she look? What did she say?
But he never asked.
Relief loosened his shoulders when he pulled into the preschool parking lot without glimpsing her. At least hecould collect Ellie without the awkwardness of another run-in. Tonight’s family dinner would be torture enough.
The preschool gym buzzed with the bedlam fueled by the unstoppable energy of under-fives. The scent of fresh popcorn mixed with the tang of craft glue and marker fumes. Children’s laughter ricocheted off the high ceiling, punctuated by the occasional adult voice calling for order. Construction paper hearts and rainbow cutouts dangled from the rafters, dancing in drafts.
Mrs. Thorne, the headmistress, intercepted him with a bright smile. “Mr. Meyer! So glad you made it. Ellie’s been having the best time at the craft station.”
She gestured to the far corner.
Ryder followed her hand—and froze.
Ivy kneeled at a low table, a paintbrush in her grip as she carefully drew across Ellie’s cheek. His daughter sat stock-still, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Ivy’s lips moved as though she were spinning some story, just for her.
“What the—” He bit back the curse and forced a smile. “What luck.” He rubbed the back of his neck.Pull it together, Meyer.“It’s great to be here on such a fantastic day.” He waved his arm vaguely, as if he’d lost control of it.
Mrs. Thorne’s smile wavered, but she nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Right. I better go collect Ellie.”Before I say something stupid.
His pulse hammered as he forced his legs to move. Ivy’s laugh carried across the gym, light and warm, and his stomach flipped traitorously.
