Page 29 of The Sun and the Moon

Sydney

Dad finds me outside the barrel room as confusion over my own feelings wars with a desire to keep my cool, and any words I might have get caught in my throat.

Dad finding happiness, feeling secure in setting down roots with another person, is harder for me to accept than who the person is.

He spent years struggling with the loss of my mom, and watching him go through that—seeing how it stripped back the persona of stable father and exceptional pilot that had always been there—has had no small effect on me.

I’m not holding on to the whole us against the world thing as a strict rule of life.

It’s more that the mentality of placing myself in constant opposition with my world is why I am a twenty-eight-year-old who has never had a long-term committed relationship.

It’s not that I can’t do it. It’s not that I don’t want it deep down.

It’s that having that would mean running the risk of getting hurt so deeply by losing it that I’d also lose my way.

Lose myself.

Lose my job and security and control. Just like Dad did.

“It’s beautiful country up here,” Dad says, and I flick a quick look at him. Dad isn’t a fan of nature unless it’s a birdie on a golf green. That whole adage of how golf is a good walk spoiled, he doesn’t believe it. That’s his preferred way to engage in a stroll.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, and even though I’m grappling with big feelings, I’m nothing if not an excellent compartmentalizer. You can’t be a good pilot without the skill to shut away outside distractions.

Lola’s proposition that this engagement party is actually a wedding is stuck in my head.

“It’s a lot of trouble for an engagement party,” I say.

“It’s what we want,” he says, shrugging. “If you can’t get what you want when you’re our age, when can you?”

“Fifty-nine isn’t old, Dad,” I reply. I don’t think this is a late midlife crisis, but if it’s even a little bit about that, then reminding him he’s still relatively young can’t hurt.

“It’s not young, either,” he says, flashing me a self-deprecating smile.

“Tell me you’re not marrying this woman because you feel old.”

He laughs me off, not offended, and clearly not swayed.

“I’m marrying her because she makes me feel young,” he says, winking at me. We have the same bright eyes. The same strong jaw. That same sense of mischief. But his soft, squishy heart breaks easily, and mine is walled up like Rapunzel.

Dad continues. “I would think you’d be starting to come around, at the very least because you and Cadence seem to be hitting it off.”

This assessment throws me. “How do we seem like that?”

He looks at me like he’s surprised by my surprise. “Birdie, I know you. I know when you like someone.” He pauses, his smile drooping slightly. “I know when you don’t.”

I refuse to acknowledge that I understand his meaning.

I refuse to acknowledge any of this.

“Rick, love!” Speak of the devil. Moira approaches, full wineglass in hand, eyes cutting through me like lasers. “Can I steal you for a walk through the kitchen? They’ve prepped appetizer samplers for us.”

“Excellent,” Dad replies, extending one hand for her to take while the other presses to his belly to feign hunger. “A snack before we head back for the brats at the festival is just what I need.”

“You’re joining in the festivities tonight, I hope, Sydney,” Moira says.

It feels like an order. I’m not sure what festivities there are that I’m expected to take part in, but I’m guessing if I say no, Dad will go all wounded puppy dog and Moira will have an argument prepped and ready for why my decision isn’t the right one.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say. My eyes instinctively slide away from Moira, seeking focus on the movement behind her. Cadence approaches with a wary expression, which she quickly wipes clean before Moira realizes she’s behind her.

“It’s the launch of the Danish festival tonight, so there’s all kinds of fun events.

Axe throwing,” Moira says, looking at Cadence as if this should be of interest to her.

Ranger Girl that she is, I expect she’s right.

“Torch parade, concert, beer and wine, something like twenty-five varieties of bratwurst.” Moira pauses, a smile lifting her lips.

There’s a look of vulnerability that fixes in her features only when Cadence is near.

The piercing, cool focus she wears in almost every situation drops, revealing softer eyes and a lighter clench to her jaw.

I realize all at once that with Cadence, Moira doesn’t look like a predator on the hunt.

She looks like a mother protecting her young.

“Apparently anyone can participate in the axe throwing,” Dad chimes in with a little thrill. The look Moira gives him is another one of surprising gentleness.

Turning to me, seamlessly, her gaze sharpens.

“We purchased some tickets if you’re interested,” Moira says in a subtle correction to Dad. “Cadence was always exceptional with an axe.”

Cadence can’t fight the smile at this surprising praise. “I did okay.”

“You won a gift certificate to the beer garden one year,” Moira replies.

“Which you cashed in on my behalf,” Cadence says.

“Well, you were sixteen. What did you need at a beer garden?”

“A pretzel and a sampling of their collection of artisanal mustards,” Cadence lists with a subtle smile. There’s tension between them, taut as always, but there’s also something else.

Camaraderie. Shared memory.

Family.

The word makes me ache for Cadence, who has untethered herself from the family she had here and acts like she’s cool with being such a loner. But no one can do this life thing completely on their own.

“I stand corrected,” Moira says, turning her gaze to me. “What do you two say?”

Cadence shifts her weight subtly toward me.

It feels like a reminder that we’re in this together.

And again, my heart aches because I want her to have someone.

Maybe I even want to be that someone. The urge to reach for her hand, twine our fingers together, is strong.

I can’t give in to it no matter how much I might want to. I said no-strings-attached to the kiss.

It’s the first time I haven’t wanted that.

“I’m in,” I say. “But I’d really like to freshen up back at the hotel first.”

Moira’s face brightens, and she points in the direction of the winery’s visitor center.

“The shuttle is here for our use—you two can head back,” she says, taking a small pause to look back and forth between us.

“Freshen up.” Her tone doesn’t shift, but the energy around the words feels electrified.

I have the distinct urge to run away, or attempt a lie, though I’m not sure what it would be about.

Just something to make this sensation of being seen lessen in intensity.

I show her my teeth. “Perfect.” Then I look to Cadence, willing her to catch my drift and bail alongside.

“Do you want us to take Chicken back with us?” Cadence asks, her eyes dropping to land on Chicken’s tiny tan head.

He’s currently sniffing a scrub of what looks like lavender.

The vineyard has planted rows of lavender alongside some of the grapevines, but this little struggling plant was like a shoot from a seed on the wind.

“Ah, thanks for looking out for him,” Dad says. He’s smiling big at Cadence now, who looks surprisingly pleased herself. “He’s enjoying himself too much—we’ll just drop him by before we head out to the festival. That way he’ll be good and sleepy and won’t get too anxious being left alone.”

It’s hard to read Cadence—she seems especially skilled at masking her feelings—but I’m starting to pick up on subtle shifts.

That Cupid’s-bow top lip flattens against the lower, causing the natural curl of her lips to straighten.

It’s small, the disappointment, but I see it.

And the fact that she feels it in relation to my old dog causes my stomach to do a flip-flop.

“Well, then,” I say, trying to shove that feeling way down, “we should probably head back.” Cadence nods in agreement and bends to ruffle Chicken’s ears, then we both turn to leave. The parents are watching—the pressure of their eyes is heavy.