Who's the Daddy (Crescent Cove 3)

I grabbed my denim shirt and shrugged it on before locking up. Main Street was quiet. The whole town rolled up on Sundays by dinner time. Shops either opened for only a few hours after church or not at all. Lights were still on in the cafe, but

the delivery truck wasn’t taking up the entire area anymore.

I climbed into my truck. It was a quick drive to my parents’ house, but the last of the sun’s rays were disappearing into the brush when I drove up the gravel lane leading to the sunny yellow ranch with white shutters and trim.

My pop painted it every three years so it always looked fresh. Maybe some of the trim was a little more worn these days, but my family made do with what we had. I’d learned that from my old man.

The screen door slapped and the sound of pounding feet followed by the scrape of Sandy’s toenails as she scrabbled after my son brought me back to center. Wes hopped down off the last stair and came tearing at my truck. No coat on, of course. He got that from me—forever warm. But without the sun, the October chill quickly crept into the air.

I stepped out of my truck just in time to catch Wes as he flung himself at me. He was getting a little too big to catch, but I was secretly glad he still was excited to see me. Working so much left my kid a little more sullen than I liked to admit some days.

I hoisted him up on my hip. “Hey, bud.”

“Dad, wait ’til you see what I did with Grampa today. It’s so cool.”

“Oh, yeah?” The scent of burning leaves clung to his shirt. “Did you help in the yard today?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Good guess,” I murmured and gave Sandy an absent rub along her silky ears. The Golden Retriever leaned against my thigh, pinning me against the front quarter panel of my truck. “Hey, girl.” Soot clung to the fur around her eyes and mouth. “I’m guessing you guys did a little bit of leaf raking.”

“Wow, you’re really good at guessing.” Wes wiggled to get down and he and Sandy ran around the house. He stopped and backtracked, peeking around the corner of the porch steps. “Come on!”

I trudged after him. Hunger was gnawing a hole in my gut, but if my kid wanted to show me the bonfire my old man was probably creating, who was I to say no?

Sure enough, Wes was running circles around the picnic table in the backyard. When he spotted me, Wes started jumping up and down. Jesus, the kid didn’t stop until his cheek hit the pillow at night. He ran back to me, dragging me toward the wide barrels at the edge of the yard. “C’mon, I want to show you.”

The snap and pop of fire licking up into the sky evened me out just a little more.

Normalcy.

Fall in Laurel was in full swing. It was the next town over from Crescent Cove, with a decidedly more country feel than the small town I lived in now. Land went back for acres, but instead of rolling grass, it was full of brush and woods. A creek ran along the back of my parents’ property and a tire swing as old as I was hung from the massive oak that rained down a metric fuck-ton of leaves every year.

And from the smell of things, a lot of them were ash already.

“Pop.”

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were only working a half day today?”

I shrugged and glanced over to make sure Wes wasn’t too close to the hot metal bin. Eyes so much like mine were wide with little fires flickering in the pupils. Great, I’d have to add fire to my watch list for Wes. He was far too curious for his own good sometimes.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I need to tell you something before you hear about it at the shop tomorrow.”

“That sounds ominous.”

I gave him a look then glanced down at Wes. “Hey, why don’t you go see if Gram will give you some cookies to take home?”

His blue eyes got even wider. “Yes! We made chocolate chips.” He raced off, sneakers pounding up the porch stairs.

“Now I’m worried.”

I sighed. “Yeah, today took a bit of a hard left. I’m not really sure what to do about it. I’m still thinking on a lot of it, but…” I gripped the back of my neck. “Fuck.”

“Not like you to go on without spitting it straight out.”

“I know. It’s hard for me to say. I swore I’d never be so goddamn stupid again and here I am.” I met my father’s eyes. Again, so much like mine, only more weathered. They had deeper creases at the corners and his hair and beard were more white than blond these days.

“Well, shit.”