This kid—the redhead’s son, he had to be—Dad had never told him about his daughter?

Dad didn’t answer. His eyes darted from the kid to Annabelle and back.

His letter had said he missed her every day. His email had said he was thrilled to hear from her. That he wanted her to visit—that she was welcome any time!

But now that she’d come, he just stood there. He wore a navy T-shirt with gray trim that she actually recognized, but it was frayed around the collar. Last time Annabelle had seen it, it had still been new.

He cleared his throat. “Can I get you something? A . . . hot chocolate? Or a cookie? On the house.”

“I’ll take a cookie!” the kid piped up.

“Finn,” the redhead warned, but Annabelle’s dad smiled at the kid. And as he did, his face relaxed.

This boy read enormous books for fun and could make her father smile for real. A comfortable smile. A smile that said this was all part of a routine, this kid asking for a treat he wasn’t going to get, even though he knew he wasn’t going to get it.

And this boy didn’t even know Annabelle existed. Annabelle usually corrected people when they thought Mitch was her dad. But her dad hadn’t even told this kid her name.

How much could he really have missed her, then? How important to him could she actually be?

“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said. “I can’t stay.”

“But you came all this way,” the redhead said.

Not Dad. Dad didn’t tell her to stay. Dad didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t the same as that time when he’d shown up drunk at swim practice and then left without apologizing. But in a way, it wasn’t all that different. He wasn’t stepping up and doing anything. He was just looking at her as if he didn’t know how to handle the fact that she was there. As if it would maybe be easier for him if she wasn’t.

And here she’d let herself believe he moved to Boston to be close to her. How clueless could she be?

“I—I didn’t think you’d come so soon,” her dad said. “Without any notice.”

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. She’d forgotten that he did that.

So he hadn’t meant it when he said she could visit anytime. He had his own life now, and he needed “notice” to make room for her.

“I’m here for a concert,” she lied. “With my friends. I just happened to be right nearby. I should get back to them.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned to bolt and nearly collided with two girls who were approaching the counter. Her bag slipped down her good arm as she ducked out of their path. The salt-and-pepper granite rock skittered across the tiled floor, landing under a table where nobody was sitting. And even though it was only a silly rock and there were tons more like it on every single beach on Gray Island, she didn’t want to leave it here, so she got down on her knees to pick it up. She forgot that she couldn’t push off of her right hand as she stood back up, and pain shot up her arm as she dashed toward the door.