Page 23 of The Last Thing (Baker Girls #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WILSON

“We’ll be fine, Dad,” Sophia says dramatically when I give her another hug.

I rarely leave her overnight. Other than the weekend I met Hallie, I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t there. And back then, we lived with my mom, so she was still home.

She’ll be home now. With Frannie.

“She’s right. We’re going to have a super fun girls’ weekend,” Frannie says. “It’s only a few hours away and for one night. You can do it.”

She smirks at me, and I roll my eyes. I’m an only child, but I get the feeling Frannie is going to show me what it’s like to have a sister. In the most frustrating of ways.

“She’s so annoying when she smirks like that, right?” Hallie teases.

Frannie sticks her tongue out, making Sophia giggle.

“I want a sister someday.”

I swallow hard and try to keep a calm, steady face. She’s going to go nuts when she finds out about the baby.

Frannie comes to the rescue, giving her a gentle smile. “Maybe you will.”

“Right, well, we should get going.” I resist the urge to hug Sophia a fourth time. She’s already hugged Hallie twice too.

“Okay. Have fun!”

Hallie chuckles at Soph’s blasé attitude.

“I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Daddy… I love you.” From across the room, her sweet smile melts my heart. One day I’m supposed to let her leave and go to college? I don’t know how I’m going to handle that.

“I love you too, kiddo. Be safe.”

“Love you, Miss Hallie.”

Hallie pauses by the door and turns to look at Sophia, a warm smile on her lips.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Damn.

I never thought I’d be jealous of my daughter, but I can’t help but hope one day Hallie will say those words to me.

The second we pull onto the highway Hallie connects her phone to the car’s console and starts scrolling.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on music. That’s the passenger’s job.”

I glance at her, and her brows raise.

“Oh no. Are you a music snob? Because I might have to rescind your invitation on this trip if you are.”

“No. I—I like music and I’m not an asshole about it. But I have an eight-year-old daughter. Most of the time, the music in my life is Glee, Kids Bop, Katy Perry, or Taylor Swift. And no shade to Taylor, but I’m tired of it.”

Hallie just laughs. “While I love Taylor and all her angsty goodness, it’s not the first thing I reach for. Especially for a road trip. Trust me, okay?”

Reluctantly, I nod, and she laughs to herself as she scrolls for another few seconds. Then she sets her phone down and turns up the volume.

The opening notes of Welcome Home from Coheed and Cambria flow from the speakers, and I quickly look over at her.

“Not what you were expecting, Mr. Decker?”

I flex my hands on the steering wheel. “Hallie…”

Again, she laughs. “It’s not a road trip without some Coheed. I was feeling a playlist though, so you’re going to have to suffer through some Taking Back Sunday, Audioslave, Yellowcard, MCR, and Dashboard Confessional. Oh, and there’s a bunch of Foo Fighters on here too.”

Though I want to look at her again, I keep my eyes on the road. “Solid choices.”

“I’m convinced I was born in the wrong time. I was meant to be a teen in the 2000s in the peak pop-punk-emo days.”

“It’s a good thing music never goes out of style.

Although I could live without classic rock for a bit.

I know it’s sacrilege, but it’s all we ever have on at job sites and I can only take hearing the same Billy Joel, Eagles, Elton John, and The Who songs so many times before my ears start to bleed. ”

“Well yeah. If you’re doing those, you need the full albums and the deep cuts. Or a live one. I have Last Play at Shea on here somewhere and the version of Piano Man on there gives me goosebumps every time.”

My gaze slips to her for a second. “Okay, you’ve officially won music picking privileges.”

She throws her hand up. “Yes!”

She settles back in her seat, smiling as she sings along to the words, and my heart stutters. This tiny moment is everything I didn’t know I wanted and never believed I could have.

I pull up in front of a duplex on a quiet street. Or what quiet is for New York City. Still crowded with more cars parked on it than even the busiest streets in downtown Ida.

We stay in our seats for a moment because you don’t just stop Welcome to the Black Parade in the middle of the song.

Hallie sings along with the lyrics while I drum on the steering wheel, and that sense of freedom—of being alive—hits me.

It’s what she always brings out in me, and I want to feel it more.

I want it all the time. Or as often as I can.

Maybe I can’t be that guy at work or in certain moments of parenting, but I want to find those pieces of me again.

As the song ends, I turn off the engine and Hallie tucks her phone away.

I climb out of the car and when I get around to her side, she’s sitting there with the door open, staring up at the house.

Offering her my hand, I help her out, but her eyes stay fixed on the large two-story home in front of us.

“This is where you grew up?”

She finally looks at me. “Yep. It’s a nice neighborhood. There’s a park not too far from here, though there is a small backyard, it’s only big enough to sit outside—not enough to play bocce in or anything like that. I’m guessing we’ll eat out there tonight.”

Her hand intertwined with mine, I lead her toward the house. “Did you like growing up here?”

“I loved it. Especially once I hit age ten. That’s when I was allowed to run around with my friends within a three-block radius.

We’d get milkshakes at the diner a couple of blocks over or play kickball at the park.

The elementary school is four blocks away, so as long as there was a group of us, we were allowed to walk there together without our parents.

I had a lot of fun here. Especially as I got older and could explore the city more on my own. ”

We climb the front steps, and my stomach tightens. I’m not usually the type to get nervous, but meeting her parents is daunting since I’m technically also her employer and got her pregnant out of wedlock.

“Do you ever miss it?” I ask.

She pauses and looks around. “Not really. I loved it, and it’s always here if I want to come visit, but it’s not my home anymore.”

The door swings open as Hallie reaches for it, so I don’t have time to revel in her words.

This place—the house and the city—aren’t her home anymore.

Because it’s in Ida. With me. Maybe she won’t admit to the second part yet, but by the very fact that I’m here with her hand wrapped around mine, I know it’s true.

“Hello,” Hallie’s mom says with the same brightness I often hear in Hallie’s voice.

“Hey, Mom. Hi, Dad.” Hallie turns to me. “These are my parents, Cheyenne and Eddie.” She looks at them again. “Mom and Dad, this is Wilson Decker. My baby daddy.”

I’m halfway through extending my hand to her dad when she says that. I freeze in place and groan.

Her parents both laugh, and I reach out again and quickly shake both of their hands.

“You clearly haven’t gotten to know Hallie well enough if you weren’t expecting that,” her dad says.

And I know it’s a little push. A question.

How well do I know his daughter? How serious is this?

The thing is, that’s exactly what I should’ve been expecting, but after sharing vulnerable moments with Hallie, sometimes the playful side of her catches me off guard.

I wrap my arm around her and tug her close. “I should’ve been.” Lowering my voice, I catch Hallie’s eyes. “You’ve been a hellion since the moment we met.”

She gives me her sweetest smile. “It’s so much fun. How could I not? Plus, I kind of love that grumpy look you get.”

We follow her parents inside, and I’m surprised when she wraps her arm around my back in return.

How much of this is real to her?

How honest was she with her parents when she said we were together?

At some point, we have to talk about all that. Probably before we tell Sophia about the baby.

“This is a beautiful home.” I take in the old hardwood banister and stairwell. A lot of the home has been updated, but the hardwood floors and some of the classic features remain well taken care of focal points.

“Thank you,” Cheyenne says. “Hallie mentioned you work in construction?”

“Yes. I’m a project manager. I haven’t been lucky enough to work on any homes like this, though. Most of them are seventies, eighties, and nineties homes that we’re gutting or adding on to. Or new builds. I’ll be starting work on one of those in a few weeks.”

We walk through the living room that’s immaculately decorated, then through a doorway and down a short hall with the bathroom off it into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s a decent size with a four-person table in it.

“We thought we’d eat out back today,” Cheyenne says. “It’s not a big yard, but it’s a little slice of green.”

“Sounds great.”

We follow them outside, and Hallie’s smile brightens. She likes having that little bit of green, a space where she can relax outside. Or play yard games.

I’ve spent restless nights thinking about how easily we could combine our two apartments. All it would take is to remove a few walls and make some upgrades, and we could have a beautiful home. But maybe that wouldn’t be the home she’d truly want.

My mind drifts to a house AB Construction flipped a couple of months ago.

It was four bedrooms, only a couple of blocks from the heart of downtown Ida, but it had a big yard.

I don’t know if it’s still available, but even if it is…

I’m getting way ahead of myself. I haven’t even gotten Hallie to consider me her boyfriend—or partner—yet.

But now that a glimpse of that future has drifted into the back of my mind, I can’t help but want it.

I pull out Hallie’s chair for her at the rectangular table set on the little stone patio.

“What do you want to drink?” I ask as she sits down. “Or should I have stopped for milkshakes?”