“You’ve always known exactly how to reach me on my cell phone. You haven’t missed a minute with your son. I didn’t think you’d be interested in knowing where I’m living,” she said with a shrug.
“Of course I’m interested. We’re talking about my son!” he said, his voice climbing.
He saw a bit of light die in her eyes at his words and knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing. It was a habit he’d inadvertently gotten into and couldn’t seem to break. When he should have been telling Heather he missed her, he couldn’t seem to choke out the words. The admission would have revealed a vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for her to see.
“Nothing’s changed where little Mick’s concerned,” Heather assured him, her voice tight. “You’ll still see him whenever you want to. This might not be as convenient as having us in Baltimore, but we’re hardly at the ends of the earth. Besides, other than giving him a chance to get to know his family, this move wasn’t about him, either. It was about me, and it’s been clear for some time now that I don’t matter to you. It was past time for a fresh start. Chesapeake Shores had a lot of advantages that other places wouldn’t have had. I’m sure even you can’t deny that.”
He understood why she thought she didn’t matter to him, but it annoyed him just the same. “Don’t be ridiculous. I love you. We have a son together. And what kind of fresh start is it, if you’re surrounded by my family?”
“This is where I need to be right now. Deal with it,” she said.
Her tone was surprisingly unyielding. What had happened to the accommodating woman he’d known so well? Before he could ask, she held up her hand to stop him.
“I am not having this discussion here, where a customer could come in at any moment,” she said firmly. “Please go, Connor. If you want to spend some time with your son today, he’s with your dad. I think Mick planned to take advantage of the weather and take him and his cousins Davy and Henry out on the dock by the house to fish.”
Connor wanted to stand here and argue with her, tell her that moving here, getting close to his family was a mistake, but he didn’t have the right. His stubborn refusal to take the next step and marry her had cost him the chance to have any say over her decisions beyond those directly related to their son. And how could he possibly argue that a place as serene as Chesapeake Shores with his own family all around was anything other than a perfect place to raise a child? He dropped the argument.
“Will I see you at the house later?” he asked.
“I doubt it. Shanna will bring little Mick home when she picks up Davy and Henry.”
“Tomorrow?” he pressed, not sure why he wanted to know just how deeply she’d insinuated herself into his family’s routines. “Will you be at Sunday dinner?”
She held his gaze. “Will it bother you if I am?”
“Of course not,” he said, managing to utter the lie despite a boatload of regrets. Seeing her, knowing he’d lost her, was some kind of sweet torture.
“Then we’ll see you there. Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk about how we’re going to make this work.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “Connor, I don’t want it to be awkward every time we run into each other. I really don’t.”
He sighed. “Neither do I.”
He just wasn’t sure it was possible to act as if everything between them had never mattered. Because the truth was, he’d realized months ago that she and his son were the only things in his life that did matter. He just didn’t see any way to hold on to them without betraying his core belief that most marriages were a sham and led, not to happily-ever-after but to misery.
* * *
Back at the house his father had built when he was first developing Chesapeake Shores, Connor paused long enough to throw his bag into his boyhood room, which still had his old sports posters on the walls. In the kitchen he grabbed a handful of Gram’s cookies, relieved to find that she hadn’t stopped baking, even though everyone, including her, had moved out of the main house, leaving it to his father and mother. Apparently Gram still made sure the cookie jar was stocked for visits by all of her great-grandchildren.
Crossing the wide expanse of lawn toward the bay, he could hear the laughter of children coming from the dock, followed by the low, surprisingly patient voice of his father. Stepping out onto the weathered gray boards, warmed by the midday sun, Connor stood unnoticed as his father baited hooks and helped his three grandsons cast their lines, one arm firmly around little Mick at all times. Only Henry and Davy had any real hope of reeling in a fish, but even from his spot in his grandfather’s lap, little Mick dangled his line into the calm waters of the bay, chattering happily to himself in nonsensical words, to which Mick replied as if he could understand him perfectly.
“I wish I had a camera,” Connor said quietly, causing Mick to glance up with a broad smile. “I can’t recall a time you ever spent the day fishing with me and Kevin.”
Mick’s smile faded at the barb. “You’re probably right. And it was my loss. I thank God every day that I have another chance with these boys.”
Up until now Davy and Henry had been totally absorbed with watching the water for some evidence that fish were nearby. When they looked up and spotted Connor, grins broke across their faces. Here was the uncle who was more grown-up playmate than authority figure.
“Uncle Connor, sit with us,” Davy pleaded. “You can put the worms on my line.”
“Big boys put their own bait on the hooks,” Mick told him firmly. “I just
