Page 24 of All Along The Watchtower

“That’s… complicated. And not important right now. What matters is that Ford’s a good man. He’ll do right by you, if you give him the chance.”

“But what if he doesn’t want me?”

The vulnerability in her voice was a punch to the gut. “Honey, that’s not even a possibility. Trust me on this. He’s freaking out right now, trying to find you.”

She hugged her knees tighter. “I guess shouldn’t have run.”

“Maybe not. But I get it.” I shifted closer, brushing sand off my jeans. “What do you say we go find him? Let him know you’re okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to Ford.

Bree:Found her. Meet us back at my place.

“Come on.” I stood and offered her my hand. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate while we wait. The good kind, with the fancy marshmallows I keep for special occasions.”

That earned me a small smile as she let me help her up. “Thanks. For coming to find me. And… you know. Everything else.”

“Any time, kid.” I meant it more than I wanted to admit. “That’s what friends are for.”

Ford was pacing the driveway when we got back. I saw him start to rush my Jeep, then check himself, waiting until we both got out. “You’re okay.”

His visible relief seemed to put Peyton more at ease.

She scuffed the toe of her shoe on the driveway. “Yeah. I’m sorry I ran.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to.”

We all stared at each other until Peyton finally broke the awkward silence. “So now what?”

“A paternity test. We’ll need it so I can establish a legal claim of parental rights. I don’t actually know after that. We have a lot of stuff to figure out. But I promise you, wewillfigure it out. You’re not alone anymore.”

My heart ached because it was the same promise he’d made me so long ago. The one he’d broken. But my private pain had no place here, because I knew he’d do right by his daughter.

“In the meantime, do you want to meet your grandmothers?”

CHAPTER 12

FORD

After taking some time at Bree’s place for hot cocoa and a little more discussion of next steps, Peyton gathered up her stuff—just one stuffed backpack… Jesus, the sight of that single bag about cut me off at the knees—and we headed for home. It was still home, though I hadn’t lived here full time in years, just visiting Mom and Mimi during holidays and long breaks. I didn’t know whether it would be home again moving forward, whether I’d need to find a place better suited for a teenager, with her own room and space to grow. That was another of those details I hadn’t figured out yet, one more item on the ever-growing list of things I needed to sort through.

One step at a time, Donoghue.

My grip on the steering wheel tightened as we passed the marina, and I took the turn onto the road that wound through the salt marsh, toward the far southern tip of the island. The silence in the car was broken only by the crunch of shells under tires as we drew closer. It was still a few hours out from sunset, but the lighthouse itself speared up, a beacon in the afternoon sky. Seabirds wheeled overhead, their cries carrying on the salt-laden breeze that buffeted the car.

Peyton pressed her face to the window. “That’swhere you live?”

“Where I grew up. Yeah.” I slowed the car so she could really take in the view of the place. How long had it been since I’d done the same? Looking at it now, I tried to imagine what Peyton saw. A tall, whitewashed tower beside a cozy house that had been expanded every which way in a charming jumble of additions that somehow worked as a whole. Mom and Mimi had painted the shutters a cheerful red last spring, and the flower boxes beneath each window overflowed with the pansies that were tough enough to survive the winter, a riot of color against the weathered shingles.

“The lighthouse itself was decommissioned years ago. My moms bought and renovated it and the attached caretaker’s cottage. They’re still here.” I watched Peyton carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to that particular detail. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable, especially since we were just starting to build some trust.

“You have two moms?”

“Yup. Florence—she’s my biological mom—and Delilah, her wife. That’s Mimi.” I smiled, remembering how Mimi had earned that nickname from all my friends growing up, not just me. Her warm, nurturing presence had made her everyone’s second mom.

Her brow furrowed. “What about your bio dad?”

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