Waking up at the Pamlico House Bed & Breakfast for the third morning in a row, Laire stretched her arms over her head and opened her eyes to take a peek at Ava Grace in the bed beside hers. Nestled under a cozy down duvet, her little bug slept soundly, and Laire grinned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sighed.
According to Mr. McGillicutty, the contractor retained by her new homeowners’ association, it would take about a week to pump the water out of the basement of the condo and address the damage to the boiler and electric panel. Once both had been repaired or replaced, she’d be contacted so that she could move back in. Well, not “back” in, since she’d never actually taken possession of the condo. The storm had gotten progressively worse as she drove out to the Banks on the twenty-seventh. Instead of going to the condo, she and Ava Grace had detoured to the Pamlico House and checked in. It was a good decision. Even with the whipping wind and high waves, they’d been safe and sound, and when the electricity finally went dead, the generator had kicked on to keep them warm.
Yesterday they’d picked their way through waterlogged roads covered with debris to see the condo Judith had left to them. Located on a beach road, it was part of a modest structure—tan terra-cotta with two levels and twenty-two units. Theirs was on the second floor and had two bedrooms and a living room balcony with Atlantic views. As Ava Grace explored Nana’s dark, quiet, fully furnished condo, Laire stepped out on the balcony and breathed deeply. She could smell the brackishness of the water, and her eyes pricked with requited longing. It had been a long time since she’d smelled the sea. She had no idea if her father and sisters would welcome her back, but it was still good to be home.
Last night, she’d been up until well after one o’clock sketching new ideas for Madame Scalzo, realizing the time only when she heard the guest in the room above hers arrive and unpack. Judging from the heavy sound of his footfalls, he wasn’t a small man, though, after she heard his bed squeak with the weight of his body, she hadn’t heard another peep. When she finally lay down in her own bed, she imagined him, just for a moment, asleep above her, separated only by a ceiling and floor. She wondered what had brought him to the inn—if he’d been stranded by the storm or if he’d planned to visit Buxton for New Year’s. Was he young or old, and why was he alone? Her mind enjoyed the wondering. It brought her a strange, but welcome, sense of intimacy that felt warm and comforting as she fell asleep.
Now, as morning light filtered into the room, she glanced up at the ceiling, imagining him nestled under his comforter, asleep like Ava Grace.
Yesterday the little girl had again asked Laire about her father, and Laire had again used her fairy-tale Prince Charming story, which appeared to satisfy her daughter. But she worried, more and more, about what she would tell Ava Grace someday, when fairy tales and half-truths weren’t enough.
Certainly the Rexfords would have no use for her. It hurt Laire’s heart to admit it, but she knew it was true. If Ava Grace ever went searching for her father, she’d end up sorely disappointed by people with no character or integrity, no sense of honor or truthfulness or even mercy. Still, she didn’t know if she had the right to keep Ava Grace from the man who was, biologically at least, her father.
Though marriage held zero interest for Laire, and plenty of terror, she did sometimes wonder if she owed it to Ava Grace to find someone sweet and stable and get married. Ava Grace so desperately wanted a father figure in her life. But then, consigning herself to a loveless marriage wouldn’t help her daughter in the long run, would it? If she were ever to offer the example of marriage to her daughter, she’d want Ava Grace to see her mother well loved and happy. She’d want to model the sort of relationship she hoped her daughter would seek for herself one day.
And if Patrick—sweet, lovely, gentle man that he was—couldn’t touch Laire’s heart, it was unlikely that anyone else could. Which meant that Erik Rexford had, more or less, spoiled Laire for marriage. She may have moved on from Erik, but she couldn’t imagine trusting another man enough to ever fall in love again, or allow her heart to be hurt again.
She sighed, tenderly caressing her child’s face with loving eyes. A driven career-woman mother would have to be enough for Ava Grace.
Laire stood up and walked over to the window, pushing away the sheer curtains and looking out at the Sound. She’d thought about paying a little extra for a third-floor room with a balcony, especially since the Pamlico House would be their home for the next week, but she couldn’t justify the expense. If she wanted to smell the ocean, all she needed to do was open a window or, better yet, walk outside, which is exactly what she and Ava Grace would do later today.
“Mama?”
She turned around to see her baby sitting up in bed, her favorite stuffed animal—a penguin named Mr. Mopples, a gift from Uncle Patrick—tucked securely under her arm.
“Morning, baby.”