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“You need to see Dad, Caden. He doesn’t stay out here as much anymore. He’s always in the city, at the Upper East Side apartment or at the office. He’s different now. Harder. Colder.”
I snort. “How is that even possible?”
“You know how much he loved her,” Daisy says sadly.
I do. More than he ever seemed to love his children.
There’s a pounding at my temple. I stare at a patch of purple coneflowers, swaying in the light breeze. The sunlight is turning a rich golden color as the sun approaches its descent.
“I’ll go see him at the office tomorrow,” I say, getting to my feet and helping Daisy up.
Right now, all I want to do is collapse onto my bed and sleep.
My father will have to wait.
The next morning, I wake up feeling like a boulder is sitting on my chest.
Isla is engaged. And I have to see my father today. My head is still throbbing. I feel bone tired, like I’ve worked a twelve-hour shift shoveling out tanks at Catarina Azul.
I also need to make a plan for my own investigation. I need the number of Dad’s PI. That’s the best place to start.
My chest pinches as my thoughts drift to Isla again. Seeing her, right there in front of me, so alive and vibrant, so real…it’s like every line of defense I’ve tried to build for the past five years came crashing down. I felt exposed. And then I saw that fucking rock on her finger.
I should just keep clear of her for the rest of my time here. But the thought of her so close, only a handful of miles away, is like a delicate agony. Does she still live in that little apartment over Magnolia’s Petals? Sleep in the same bed we slept in together?
My chest constricts as I think of her sharing that bed with Luke now. Or maybe they have their own place. If they’re getting married, surely they’re living together. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.
I need coffee.
I get up, slip into a pair of track pants, and head to the kitchen.
Finn sits at the long marble island, in a perfectly starched shirt, a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a laptop open in front of him.
I head to the espresso machine on the counter. Finn makes an exaggerated glance at his watch.
“You’re up early,” he says dryly. “Does that winery in Argentina let you get away with such tardiness?”
I gesture around at the empty kitchen. “Are we in Argentina?”
I told Al and Noah a bit about Catarina Azul yesterday before Isla showed up at the Screw. Alistair must have told Finn.
“I suppose not,” Finn says, and turns back to his laptop. There’s an uncomfortable silence as I make my coffee and watch my brother. He was always the most serious of the five of us. Quietly ambitious. Mom used to call him her little future president.
“What are you working on?” I ask. “More permits?”
Finn’s chest puffs out in a self-important way. “Eric Kim seems to think he can double the size of his booth without incurring extra cost.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Let Eric have a bigger booth.” Eric runs Perks, the local coffee shop, and he and his wife, Pamela, are always trying to add some flair, whether it’s talking about expanding or making a new seasonal drink to promote.
“It’s not regulation,” Finn protests.
“What would Mom say?” I ask him.
That seems to bring my brother up short. For a moment, his eyes glaze over and he turns his head away from me.
“Fine,” he says, and types something into the computer.
I can’t help but smile. There’s a good man inside Finn, underneath all that ambition. Mom always saw it.