Page 125 of The Right Wrong Promise

It’s not a bad suggestion when they’ll both get homework credit for the educational sites around the town.

Also not a bad way to help us pretend there’s nothing different going on.

Yeah, good fucking luck.

Still, there’s a small fishing museum and a historic lighthouse just up the road from the main town. They’re perfect to keep the kids busy and make sure they learn a thing or two about old Maine’s history.

There’s something reassuring about taking in over two hundred years’ worth of pioneering struggle to tame this stretch of coast.

Proof that human ingenuity overcomes any uncertainty.

I hope to hell I can be so wise.

This isn’t the most stable period for us after my bad marriage was just put out of its misery not that long ago, but I’m not letting their education slip.

I’ll never let them think their father puts anything else first, including a young woman who’s very good at making him a total jackass.

Margot’s eager to accompany us, and I wonder what’s going on in her head. She stares outside the window on the drive up like she’s never seen this shore before.

“This is nice. We used to spend so much time at the house when we’d come up as kids,” she says as we head to the lighthouse.

It was built in the nineteenth century. Unlike the famous Portland Headlight, it’s ugly, grey, and squat.

“Not even at the diner?” Dan sounds mortified. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the beating heart of the town.

“No, we used to go there plenty.” She grins. “My granddad loved his big dinners at home but he couldn’t keep up with them every day. And after a day out hiking? We were ready for food to just leap into our mouths.”

“Dad’s an awesome cook,” Sophie says, and maybe it’s my imagination, but it sounds a little pointed.

“You think so, huh?” Margot slides me a long glance, and I have to remind myself we’re not alone to act on it the way I want. “I agree, he has a knack. If he cooks for you kids at home and it’s half as amazing as what he whips up here, you guys are lucky.”

My face heats under my beard.

“Can’t cook all the time, but I try. I’m glad the diner gives us an easy option. Less dishes,” I say.

“Fewer.” Sophie pushes her glasses up her nose seriously.

“Come again?”

“She’s correcting your grammar,” Margot says kindly, her eyes dancing. “Fewer dishes to do.”

“Thanks, teacher. We’ll see who takes in more history today,” I tease.

“I’ll remember everything!” Sophie insists with a pout. “Dan’s good at math, but I live and breathe English and history.”

“See what it’s like with two kids smarter than me?” I let out an exaggerated groan and they laugh.

The museum is a small wooden building next to the lighthouse. The kids sprint ahead of us the second we’re parked, skipping all the informational boards so they can look at the old fishing boats outside.

“Guys, slow down. Take it in and read,” I call after them.

“Let them go,” Margot says. A jolt of electricity spikes up my arm when she brushes against me. “The boats are way cooler for a nine-year-old anyway. They can read anything they miss online, old man.”

“Did I feeloldthis morning?” I growl in her ear.

Her red cheeks are the only answer I need.

Inside, there are glass cases bursting with colorful sea glass and bright lures in every shade of green and blue. Plus, a bunch of small plaques with old photos, explaining how vital fishing was to this area.