“You can’t judge every woman by Lori. She was a horrible person. Reggie isn’t like that.”

“I’m not going to get involved with someone. Not while Harrison is still young. I have to protect him.”

His grandmother sighed. “You shouldn’t be alone. It’s not right.”

“I’m fine.” He softened his words with a smile. “I was going to stop by the office. You feel up to being in charge of the decorating?”

“There’s not much for me to do. They’re taking care of it all.”

“That’s what I’m paying them for. I’m picking Harrison up at three thirty. We’ll be home after that.”

“All right. Don’t work too hard.”

He kissed her cheek, then made his way to his SUV. He knew Judy was only trying to help. Her comment about not being alone was one he thought about every now and then.

The truth was, he did want someone in his life. He wanted to give his heart to someone, to be cared about and to care back. He wanted all the little things that made up a relationship—just not now. He’d been wrong about two women in his life, and both of those decisions had rocked him to his core. One had given him his son, and the other had damaged Harrison in a way that would scar him for years.

Toby couldn’t risk having that happen again, and the easiest way to make sure his son was safe was to never get involved. Not seriously. Not until Harrison could protect himself.

It was similar to the way he handled the reality of being the son of an alcoholic. He didn’t know if whatever caused the disease had been passed on to him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t drink much and when he did, it was a single beer or one glass of wine. He never got drunk—not even when he’d been younger. Maybe he would be fine, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

Micah was thinking that instead of pursuing music, he should have learned a trade. People always needed their cars fixed—maybe he would have been good at that, because he sure couldn’t write a song anymore. He tore off yet another piece of paper and balled it up before tossing it into the nearby recycling bin.

He’d wasted the entire morning making zero progress. He couldn’t find a spark or theme or anything that would help him find his way into the song. At least if he’d learned a trade, he would be skilled at something useful. As it was, he had—