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Leo rolls his eyes. “I’ll tell her you had a doctor’s appointment.”

I laugh, slapping a hand over my mouth.

When he raises a brow, I quip, “Don’t roll your eyes, it’s rude.”

Leonard narrows his eyes and points a finger at me. “Drink water.” We watch Riley open the car door and climb in. “No one likes a tattletale,” he grumbles lowly before following his daughter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Leonard

Lying in the crawl space of Shelby’s attic, I strain to hear any noise from the women below.

Silence greets me.

It’s 4 a.m. and my girl and her bestie have been drinking for hours. Apparently, a girls’ night is exactly what they needed because after the crying came the laughing.

I hadn’t been the only one off my game this morning. Shelby had been distracted and off-kilter when we saw her out front this morning.

Maybe two nights in a row was too much.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll get used to it.

Used to me.

She’ll have to because even the thought of going back to “Halloween only” makes my heart squeeze.

No, Shelby needs to know that I’m not going anywhere. Once she accepts that, I’ll tell her who I am. And then we’ll be a family.

This had been my fourth Halloween in Cromwell. We moved here for a fresh start, only to find out that my wife’s lover had followed us here. Over my dead body or, more accurately, theirs.

The first Halloween had only been a few months after my wife “ran away.” Cromwell is a small town. They would not have appreciated me moving on so quickly, especially with a newly turned nineteen-year-old.

But Shelby is twenty-three, and I’m now a divorced single dad. My daughter needs a mother, and I deserve to move on.

Shelby is mine. Always has been.

Forgoing releasing the ladder steps, I grip the edge and lean down until I’m poking out of the loft entrance. Folding, my body curls over until I hang down. Letting go, I drop the few feet into the hallway.

The house is still. Stepping into the living room, I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.

This woman.

Shelby is draped over one sofa while Samantha is curled up on the other.

Making my way over to her friend, I eye the four bottles of wine on the coffee table. Three empty and one still sealed. Two long-stemmed glasses sit abandoned next to them.

But that’s not what has me worried. A pint glass sits on the side table beside Shelby, and apple juice fills it halfway.

“Shit,” I curse.

Grabbing the wool throw, I fan it over Samantha, dipping my hand between her face and the back of the couch cushion.

Hot breath fans my skin.

Huffing out a breath, I turn to the woman responsible for my pounding heart.

As I approach, her eyes flutter drowsily. She’s unfocused and dopey.