Page 30 of Anchor Point

My chin trembled as I whispered, “I know.” Those eyes had been my constant reminder and endless torment of the man I’d fallen for so long ago.

“And the same sandy-blond hair I had as a kid.” Maybe he was allowing me time to adjust to this truth. Maybe he was waiting on me to say something. Maybe he’d deliver another blow to the day. “She’s come to visit me. Nearly every day for the past week or more,” he said slowly.

I braced for the righteous anger that I deserved. Instead, the quiet rasp of his chuckle skated across my frayed nerves, leaving behind a warm tingle. “She’s given me every line under the sun about why she comes over. She says she comes to check on my dog.”

“She’s always wanted one.” My voice trembled as I studied my hands.

“But she knows who I am. And she comes to see me, and it makes me think she wants to know me.” Was that a tinge of hope in his voice?

“She does.”

Silence filled the room while the truth of that sank in. I was terrified of where this could lead—with either of them hating me, what could happen if he tried to take her away from me. But denying them a relationship wasn’t fair to either of them when they both clearly wanted one.

“Is that a problem for you?”

Any other time, with any other man, maybe it would’ve been. Instead, I shook my head. I couldn’t stop this train, didn’t want to.

“Then I have a possible solution to part of your issue. I’m off until next Monday. Why doesn’t she go with me to my lake house. She can get out of town, get her bearings. You can do your conference. I’ve got plenty of room. It won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t know, Mac. You guys don’t even know each other.”

“Then how about this, let’s ask her what she wants to do. If she wants to hang here, then I can do that too. But let’s ask her how she feels before just negating the offer.”

He was so confident, so compassionate and considerate. Just as I remembered. And it felt good to have support offered without argument or negotiation. Although Tim had made it a point in the early years to be supportive, as our marriage began to fail, he’d stopped being as available for Rosie, something she felt. And here was Mac, with his calm, steady presence, making things less stressful without my having to ask for anything.

Taking this step and allowing him into our lives was dangerous. For one, I didn’t want Rosie to get hurt. Two, that old flame had never really gone out, and every time I looked at Mac or even thought about him, it flickered to life a little more. But other than my messed-up emotions, I didn’t have a reason to deny Rosie this opportunity to know her father.

“Okay, why don’t you come for dinner, and we’ll talk it over more.”

We settled on a time, and Mac left, never discussing whatever had brought him in. He’d just witnessed me having an epic meltdown and stepped in. And, somehow, had made things better.

The next few hours flew by as Cathy and I worked on my presentation before she adjusted my schedule for the rest of the week to account for last-minute travel. I didn’t have the time or capacity to think about Mac and Rosie again until I was driving home.

I should’ve been somewhat relieved over the latest turn of events. But deep down, I knew things would get worse, and my concern started to spiral.

“Why are you acting so weird, Mom?”

I hadn’t yet told Rosie that Mac was coming over—or asked her about the apparently daily trips to his house—because I was too distracted with getting dinner ready and worrying over all the other things that had happened throughout the day.

The Mother of the Year Award was definitely not coming to me if I kept putting off these hard conversations, though.

“We’re having a dinner guest.” I paused and forcibly relaxed my shoulders.

A knock sounded at the door. Rosie watched me, her brows drawn together like she was trying to figure out who, or what, to expect before going to answer it. Her subdued greeting was faint, followed by Mac’s deep voice as they greeted each other in the entryway.

“Mom,” Rosie called as she led Mac into the kitchen. I didn’t miss the slight wobble in her voice. “Um, Mac is here.”

I turned the burner off, giving the chicken and rice a last stir. “Good, he’s right on time,” I said matter-of-factly. “Grab some plates and let’s eat.”

Panic blossomed across my adventurous daughter’s features. I gave her my best mom-eye, the one that said you’re busted. The girl was snared in a web of her own design as she realized she’d been caught in her little game of sneaking off to Mac’s.

“Hi, Mac,” I greeted, watching the pot to make sure the rice mixture didn’t stick. The evening was awkward enough without me burning dinner. “Please, come in and have a seat.” I glanced in his direction. Mistake.

He was entirely too handsome standing there awkwardly in the doorway. He’d dressed for the occasion. His salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly, a fresh shave, new dark jeans, crisp light-blue button-down shirt, tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves.

My heart flipped over.

Mac had dressed for a date with his daughter and was nervous.

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