Page 13 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door (Stuck Together In Mermaid Shores)

Chapter Thirteen: Alina

T o my utter annoyance, dinner smells amazing.

When Wren invited me for dinner and then proudly proclaimed that her dad is a great cook, I was skeptical. Any seven-year-old is going to believe that their parents are good at everything because they don’t have the life experience to form any other opinion.

Also, I had to consider my personal bias. Even after our weirdly nice chat in the middle of the night when he caught me playing the violin outside, I’m not willing to admit that Gabe is good at anything. I know how immature that is, especially since he was capable of admitting that he’s always believed I’m a good violinist.

But I digress.

The richly seasoned scent of grilled chicken fills the air as I tentatively step into his half of the house on the other side of the hallway. The scent mingles with the sharper, savory notes of garlic and rosemary. I spy scalloped potatoes and heaps of grilled vegetables. I know from my unapologetic spying out of the back windows that Gabe has been slaving over the grill on the patio for a couple hours.

Gabe is in the kitchen, and Andy greets him with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder. Although Gabe is slightly taller than him, he buckles slightly under his grip. Andy informed us that he was determined to walk into this dinner without carrying any of the biases he might have gained from learning about my history with him. Karina did not promise the same thing, stubbornly loyal as ever.

Everything happens in a blur. Gabe greets me stiffly, then offers me wine. I accept the glass of pinot grigio and then allow Wren to steer me to the table. Karina fawns over the little girl. Even if she’s not eager to like Gabe, she’s not stubborn enough to dislike a child.

Anyway, Wren is impossible to dislike.

From my seat at the table in the little dining room, I can hear Andy and Gabe talking in the kitchen. Mostly Andy, actually. He’s regaling Gabe with the exciting tale of the last grueling hike he went on in the White Mountains, and I can hear Gabe politely giving all the correct responses. Karina is talking animatedly beside me at the table, her voice bright and cheerful as she talks with Wren about the little girl’s recent adventure to the emergency room, but I’m only half-listening.

My eyes keep flicking toward Gabe, who stands with his back to us, slicing a loaf of crusty bread with practiced precision. His movements are fluid and methodical, the same way he moved whenever he played the violin.

It’s strange, seeing him like this. Domestic. Normal . Maybe I shouldn’t let my mind wander down this road, but I can’t help picturing him in a scene just like this, but with his late wife and baby Wren making all the noise instead of my cousin and her husband. Once upon a time, Gabe had a lively home and a relatively average life.

Now, I think I’m starting to see that he’s just as lost as I feel.

I take a sip of wine and try to ignore the knot of nerves tightening in my stomach.

This was a mistake. I should’ve come up with an excuse. I should have rejected the invitation outright, or found the strength to skip it entirely without giving a heads-up. The problem is, Wren is the one who invited me. And, clearly, Gabe wasn’t willing to say no to her. I couldn’t bring myself to be the one to let her down. She’s just so… cute.

I’ve never given much thought to whether or not I’d like to become a mother one day. It always seemed like a distant possibility that I could revisit later in life, even as I turned thirty and felt my biological clock starting to tick. Children never seemed like a priority. Nor did the first step of that: marriage.

Now, however, I find myself thinking that it would be nice. Nice to have a home filled with people I love. A family of my own. Children that I would encourage to follow their whims with frivolous carelessness, rather than drilling them into cruel devotion by forcing them to devote their every waking moment to their hobbies.

I wouldn’t be like my parents.

And it could be nice to have the chance to do better than them.

Except, kids aren’t a reasonable possibility for me. By the time I return from my medical leave, I’ll have to focus on perfecting my skills and technique all over again. I’ll also have to focus on ensuring I’m caring for my body as attentively as possible so that this doesn’t happen again.

When will I ever have time to date? To fall in love? To plan a wedding? To be pregnant and have a baby?

Maybe that’s just not for me. Maybe, in another life, I can explore that possibility. In this life, I’m Alina Sokolov the violinist, and nothing more.

Alina Sokolov, Gabe’s rival of many years and, now, begrudging dinner guest.

Wren’s hopeful face had been impossible to resist. Plus, when I brought it up to Karina and Andy, the former got a wicked glint in her eyes that told me she was too intrigued by this situation to help me find a way out of it.

“It’ll be fun,” she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Besides, it’s just dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?”

A million worst-case scenarios had immediately sprung to mind when she asked that question, yet here I am, sitting at Gabe Sterling’s dining table, about to share a meal with him and his ridiculously charming daughter.

“Alina, do you like cats?”

Wren’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. I blink and glance over at her, startled by the intensity of her gaze. Brilliantly green, just like her father’s.

“Uh, yes. I do,” I say, forcing a smile.

Her face lights up. “Me too! I want to get one, but Daddy says no because he’s allergic.”

“Not allergic,” Gabe corrects from the kitchen, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just not a fan of fur everywhere.”

Wren rolls her eyes dramatically, eliciting a laugh from Karina.

“They’re worth it,” I tell her, leaning in slightly. For some reason, I want to be on her good side. “Even if you have to vacuum a little more often.”

“Plus, some cats are hairless,” Karina adds. “Maybe you could find one of those at a local shelter.”

“See?” Wren says triumphantly, turning to glare at her father. “Alina and Karina agree with me!”

“I’m outnumbered,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I have a feeling he’d rocket into space and bottle starlight if his daughter asked him to.

Watching the way he interacts with Wren is disarming. He’s patient, attentive, and clearly adores her. It’s a stark contrast to the sharp-edged, competitive boy I knew at Juilliard.

Maybe he’s really changed.

Or maybe I’m seeing a side of him that I was too blind, or too stubborn, to notice before.

“Dinner is served,” Gabe announces, setting a platter of grilled chicken and asparagus in the center of the table.

The meal is simple but, annoyingly, beautifully prepared. Everything is golden and glistening, and it genuinely looks like the kind of spread you’d expect from a food magazine. Summer barbecue elegance, they might call it.

It’s infuriating.

I don’t need to hate him this much, of course. In fact, it’s taking up quite a lot of energy to continue despising every single thing he does. It’s more of a habit than anything else at this point.

In truth, Gabe didn’t have to cook anything. It was Wren who strong-armed all of us into this. He could have ordered from a local restaurant and served us something that required no effort on his part.

Wren claps her hands in delight as Gabe and Andy join us at the table, and even Karina looks impressed by the food.

“This looks incredible, Gabe,” Karina says, shooting me a pointed look.

I nod, swallowing my pride. I want to bark at her, Whose side are you on? Instead, I force myself to say, “It really does.”

“Thanks,” Gabe mutters, taking his seat at the head of the table. He looks at Wren. “Do you want to say grace?”

Grace? I didn’t know Gabe was so formal. Or devoted to anything other than his own ego.

Wren shakes her head. “You do it, Daddy.”

He nods and bows his head, his voice low and steady as he gives thanks for the meal. I keep my eyes open, watching the way Wren folds her hands and peeks at her dad with a mix of mischief and reverence.

When he finishes, everyone digs in.

Conversation flows easily, thanks to Wren and Karina. Andy also helps to chime in, filling in the gaps when they’re too busy chewing. They bounce from topic to topic, covering everything from summer camp adventures to wedding planning. Gabe offers his own remarks occasionally, but his focus is mostly on making sure Wren eats her vegetables.

I stay quiet, content to listen.

It’s strange, sitting here like this, surrounded by warmth and laughter. For a moment, I forget about the throbbing in my wrists, the uncertainty of my future, and the tension that’s always simmered between me and Gabe.

Dinnertime was never like this at my family’s house. Conversations, if they even happened, centered around my father’s career with the university orchestra or my future career as a violinist following in his footsteps. There was no lighthearted chatter. No good-natured bickering about not liking the glazed carrots.

“Alina, were you really the best violinist at your school?” Wren asks suddenly, her eyes wide with curiosity.

The question catches me off guard. I glance at Gabe, half-expecting him to roll his eyes or make a snide comment, but he just looks at me, waiting. I don’t know what to think about the fact that he discussed me with Wren while I wasn’t there. How often do I come up in conversation?

“I don’t know about the best,” I say carefully. “But I worked really hard.”

Karina snorts quietly, and then does her best to disguise it as a cough.

“Daddy says you were his competition,” Wren says matter-of-factly.

“Wren,” Gabe says warningly, but she ignores him.

“Did you ever beat him?”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Once or twice.”

Once, definitely, when it mattered most.

“More than that,” Gabe mutters under his breath, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. He clearly doesn’t want to show strong negative emotions in front of his daughter.

“Wow,” Wren says, looking at me like I’ve just told her I can fly. “That’s so cool. I want to be good at something like that.”

“You will be,” Gabe says, his voice softening. “And you’re already good at so many things.”

Her face lights up, and the pride in his eyes is undeniable.

It hits me then, like a tidal wave. Gabe Sterling really isn’t the villain I’ve made him out to be. He’s a father who loves his daughter fiercely. A man who has managed to build a life full of love and laughter despite everything he’s suffered.

More than that, I think he might be a better person than me. A stronger person, at least. I’m facing the first true difficulty in my life, a small issue among so many other privileges, and I’m letting it drag me down into the depths of self-pity. Meanwhile, Gabe is a widower and he still manages to keep a brave face.

I might be the better violinist, but he’s the better human.

***

The next morning, I wake before the sun.

The house is quiet, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound as I make my way to the back door. I step outside, breathing in the cool, salty air. I don’t know why I’m awake. It’s like something coaxed me out of my dreams and urged me out into the fresh morning.

The beach is deserted, the sand chilly beneath my bare feet as I walk toward the water. The horizon glows with the faintest hint of dawn, the sky painted in shades of pink and orange with haphazard streaks—an artwork by a careless giant.

It’s peaceful. For the first time in weeks, my mind feels still.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I turn, startled to see an older woman standing a few feet away. She’s dressed in flowing layers of green and brown, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. She glitters faintly in the dim light, thanks to the many silver bracelets and rings adorning her wrists and hands. A heavy amethyst stone hangs from her neck on a thin leather cord.

I blink fast, wondering if I’m still dreaming. But the woman merely smiles at me, so much serenity written into the delicate wrinkles on her face that I instantly feel inexplicably calm.

“I’m sorry,” I respond. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t apologize, dear. The ocean has a way of pulling people toward it.”

I nod, unsure of what to say.

She tilts her head, studying me with a kind but piercing gaze. “Your heart is heavy.”

I stare at her. “What?”

“I can hear it,” she says simply. “It’s calling out in pain.”

My first instinct is to brush her off, but there’s something about her presence that’s somehow… more . Like she knows things that the average person doesn’t. Like she’s a servant of this earth, a creature from a fairy tale, and not just a typical townie.

“Who are you?” I dare to ask.

“Just an old woman who listens,” she says with a wink. “You’ll figure it out, dear. Whatever it is you’re searching for. The pain won’t last.”

Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, her footsteps light and unhurried.

I watch until she disappears into the morning mist, her words echoing in my mind like the lingering notes of a symphony long after the curtain has fallen.

When I finally turn to leave, I feel a small weight in my pocket.

Frowning, I reach in and pull out a smooth stone, its surface shimmering with shades of gold and brown. Tiger’s eye.

I turn it over in my hand, frowning, and yet somehow feeling oddly soothed at the same time.