“So, that’s really all there is to it?” Isabelle asks, pulling me from my reverie. “Dad moved away, and that’s the only reason you lost touch?”
I sigh, almost smiling despite myself. “You don’t give up, do you, Pixie?”
The smile she flashes me makes my heart stutter. “Sorry, I know I’m being nosy. It’s just…my dad doesn’t really have any friends in Denver. He’s never been close to anybody there. I guess I’m just curious why he left his best friend behind and didn’t stay in contact.”
“It wasn’t your dad’s fault,” I tell her. “I left the fire department. Shut everyone out of my life.” I keep the details vague, hoping Isabelle won’t press for more. “Your dad tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let him. Then his priorities changed.”
Isabelle bites her lip. “You mean because of me?”
“Of course. He couldn’t waste time dealing with my bullshit when he had a baby to care for. Ralph told me you were everything to Holden after he found you. All he cared about was adopting you and giving you a good home, and he was damn right to focus on that. I was the one who behaved like an ass—not your dad.”
I grimace, taking another sip of water. Talking about Holden is an uncomfortable reminder that the gorgeous woman sitting beside me is his daughter. It’s a fact I keep trying to ignore, but right now, it’s impossible. I can almost feel Holden’s eyes drilling accusingly into me, and I shoot a glance toward the doorway, half expecting him to be standing there.
“I see,” Isabelle says thoughtfully. “Well, I hope you guys can move past it. I’m sure Dad won’t hold a grudge for what happened back then.”
I fight back a scoff. If there’s one thing I know about Holden Mitchell, it’s that he’s a master at holding grudges. But hell, I deserve it. I never apologized for pushing him away back then, and it feels way too late now. Twenty-two years…might as well be twenty-two centuries.
Not to mention the fact I can’t stop obsessing over his daughter.
Something tells me that would count against me in the friendship department.
“Well, I should probably get back to bed,” Isabelle says, stretching. “Thanks for talking to me about all this.”
She beams at me, her pretty face lighting up the room a thousand times brighter than any lamp. I want to kiss her. The urge hits me like an avalanche, my gaze flitting to those pouty lips. They’re so damn pretty, blush-pink and begging to be kissed. The air stills, the cabin holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Isabelle’s eyes meet mine and I swallow hard, my cock throbbing, every muscle tightening with need.
No…
Holden’s daughter…
The unwelcome thought is like a bucket of ice water being thrown over my head, and I reluctantly lean back in my seat, looking away from Isabelle.
“Sleep well,” I tell her, my voice gruffer than I mean it to be, frustration making me tense.
“Thanks, Wyatt.”
She gets up off the couch and heads for the door. Before she disappears through it, she turns back to me and says, “Goodnight.”
“Night, Pixie.”
She smiles that beautiful smile and then heads for her bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room feeling wider awake than ever.
5
ISABELLE
I wakeup late the next morning, the sun already high in the sky as I rub the sleep from my eyes and hop in the shower. As the hot water rushes over me, I think back to last night, my hushed conversation with Wyatt in the living room. It felt good to talk to him, to open up about being back here for the first time—the place where my birth parents left me on the fire department’s doorstep. I feel bad anytime I wonder about them, like I’m betraying Dad somehow. But Wyatt made me feel better, and I’m glad he finally explained what happened between him and Dad, even if he was pretty vague on the details.
Why did Wyatt quit the fire department in the first place?
What made him withdraw to his cabin and avoid the world?
The questions consume me as I rinse the peach-scented shampoo from my hair. Wyatt is a mystery. A frustratingly sexy mystery. My skin tingles when I remember the way he looked at me last night, those baby blue eyes piercing mine, rooting me to the spot. The thought of seeing him again sends a buzz of excitement through me, and I hurriedly wash the rest of my body, drying and dressing in record time before I head into the living room.
Dad and Wyatt are already busy, each in their own corner of the room. The TV plays an old episode ofMurder, She Wrote,filling the tense silence. I’m guessing that’s why they turned it on in the first place.
Dad is re-caulking one of the windows while Wyatt fits a new light fixture. Both of them have their backs to me, and for a moment, I stay quiet, watching Wyatt’s biceps bulge beneath his shirt as he works. His ass looks amazing in the jeans he’s wearing, and I stare openly until Dad turns around and spots me. I quickly meet his gaze, trying to act like I just walked in.
“Morning,” I say.
