Page 105 of Take Me Home

“Well.” Hazel exhaled. “You might be my only person at this point.”

“Nope. We’re going to fix this. But you’re going to have to tell me everything.”

So, Hazel did. She recounted the initial deal and every obstacle that followed, from the storm that stranded her and Ash to the security gate, her father’s Christmas tree allergy, the cranberry dress, Winter Fest. By the time she got to the dinner, all the toasts, every slight that had incensed Ash and which she’d tried to ignore, her father inviting Justin, and finally her outburst over the family photo, she was worked up all over again. She’d blown everything, undermined all her efforts since she’d arrived.

“Ash tried to tell me it was all going to be fine somehow, someopportunity. It was so infuriating. He just couldn’t fathom things not working out. But things don’t work out all the time.”

“But sometimes they do,” Sylvia offered gently.

“Not this time.”

“With your dad or with Ash?”

Hazel shrugged, wiping at fresh tears.

“So, you took off?”

“And turned off my phone.”

Sylvia was quiet.

Finally, Hazel prompted her. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“How do you think that made them feel?”

“I don’t know. Probably annoyed. What?”

“You think your dad feels annoyed right now? Or do you think, maybe, he’s worried out of his mind?”

For the first time since she’d run from the party last night, Hazel imagined her father in his new house, at the dining table where everyone had a specific seat, even her. She saw him typing out those text messages, one every hour, waiting for the clock to okay the next one.

“Worried,” she admitted. “I should probably tell him I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, huh?” It was a sign of just how truly dysfunctional she was as a person that such a message, proof of life for her own father, felt like it would dangerously overexpose her.

“Probably,” Sylvia said. “Now the other thing.”

“What thing?”

“Could you be in love with Ash?”

Hazel closed her eyes. Ash, holding her fruitcake. Offering his old Christmas ornaments. Scribbling her height on his laundry room door. Cradling her face, his touch soft despite the desire in his taut muscles and dark eyes.Pretty sure I’m falling for you. Don’t panic, okay?He always found the softest way to say hard things.

“I can’t even deal with that. It’s enough that my dad thinks—”

“A, you don’t know what your dad thinks because you haven’t talked to him. And B, wouldn’t it maybe be a relief if he knew?”

“Knew what?”

“Everything. That you miss him. That you wish he knew you—the actual you, not the perfect, polite daughter who never needs anything.”

“How—”

“I know and see all,” Sylvia reminded her. Then, softly, “I’m sorry, but Ash wasn’t wrong. You want a relationship with your dad. Maybe thisisan opportunity. But you won’t know if you don’t try.”

Hazel didn’t know what to say. Even if she could fix any of it—and that was a big if—it all felt too huge at the moment.

Sylvia seemed to sense her exhaustion and said, “Okay, enough tough stuff. I’m going to send you pictures of the kittens Dave is choosing between.”

And for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, they kept talking, even through dinner—Sylvia and Dave at their dining table with a meal he’d cooked, Hazel on the motel bed with a spread of vending machine chips and peanut M&Ms. Her phone nearly died, and she had to scramble to find her charger, Sylvia yelling dramatically, “Do not die on us! Not at Christmas!”