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“Yeah.” I roll the glass between my palms, the condensation slick under my fingers. “More than what my mom had. More than what I grew up with. It was just me, my mom, and my sister. No big tragedy or anything—we just didn’t have much. Mom was a teacher, but she took on extra work too. We lived paycheck to paycheck. And I saw how hard it was for her, how she always looked tired. Always had to fight for everything.”

Dan’s expression softens.

“I used to lie awake at night promising myself I’d never live like that. That I’d build something solid, something stable. So yeah… I guess I’ve always been driven. Ambitious. Whatever you want to call it.”

He nods, quiet for a moment. “Makes sense now.”

“What does?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got this… presence. Like you’re always in motion, even when you’re standing still.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

“It’s a compliment,” he says, smiling. “It’s… impressive.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind. I glance back at the house, the lights from within casting a soft pool of yellow on the decking, the sky overhead already inky with night.

I hesitate, then decide to ask what’s been on my mind since we first met. “So… have you always worked at the motel?”

Dan hesitates mid-sip, like the question catches him off guard. He puts his cup down carefully on the table before finally meeting my gaze.

“At the motel?”

I nod.

He lets out a snort of amusement, shaking his head. “No. I just help out when my brother needs me. James, I guess you would have met him when you checked in. He’s the one who actually runs it. Took over when our dad passed.”

There’s something in the way he says it—just a little too casual, a slight weight in his tone that makes me pause.

“So, it was your dad’s business?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, raking a hand through his hair. “Not really my thing, but my brother wanted to keep it going.”

I hesitate before asking, “Were you close?”

His jaw tightens for just a second before he shrugs. “Not really.”

His voice is light, but I know enough about deflection to recognize it when I hear it.

“I wouldn’t know,” I admit after a moment. “About having a bad relationship with a dad.” I exhale. “I never met mine.”

Dan looks at me then, something unreadable flickering across his face, like he wasn’t expecting that.

There’s a silence—not awkward, just heavy. Like we’re both working through something unspoken in real time.

I glance toward the staircase. And suddenly, things start clicking into place. The way Dan rushed to help that woman at the diner without hesitation, the way he crouched down to talk to her, making sure she was okay before stepping back. The way he always seems so attuned to Chloe, so present in her world.

It’s not just because she’s his daughter.

“You dote on her,” I say softly, the realization settling in as I speak. “Not just because she’s your daughter. But because maybe you’re trying to do things differently.”

Dan exhales. “Maybe.” He gives me a small, wry smile. “Or maybe I just got lucky and ended up with a kid worth doting on.”

I smile at that, but don’t push.

Instead, I shift the conversation. “So, if you aren’t always at the motel, what do you do?”

Dan leans back. “I used to work in television.”