Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
UNVEILED THREATS
DYLAN
Our plane touches down at MSP just after six, and the three of us are running on fumes.
Chloe’s head lolls against Dahlia’s chest. Dahlia’s eyes are bloodshot, and I feel like someone poured wet cement in my shoes and is making me slog through it.
Ten straight days of sixteen-hour shifts to get Surf Culture reopened after the fire, napping in the back room when I couldn’t keep my eyes open a second longer, living on Red Bull and whatever we ordered in to eat.
But we’re home. Or close enough.
We grab the bags and pile into an Uber, and Chloe somehow stays asleep the whole ride to Dahlia’s mom’s place. It’s a gorgeous summer night, about the same temp as LA was when we left.
Dahlia’s mom Maren opens the door before we even knock, like she’s been watching from the window. She’s beautiful, like an older version of Dahlia with lighter hair and eyes.
“Hello. Dylan, I’m so happy to finally meet you,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Come in.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say.
She hugs Dahlia and Chloe, whose head popped up as soon as she heard her grandma’s voice.
“There are my girls,” she says.
Her eyes go straight to Chloe, who reaches for her. Maren takes her granddaughter in her arms, and her eyes flick to me, soft and assessing.
“Hey, Mom,” Dahlia says. “Hey, Aunt Ginny.”
Ginny walks over and hugs us too. She’s taller than her sister. Also beautiful, in a more relaxed way. Maren has a full face of makeup, not a hair out of place, and is perfectly put together. Ginny isn’t wearing any, and her graying hair falls in loose waves down her back.
“Move, sis,” she says. “Let the poor kids breathe. And give me that baby.”
Dahlia laughs, tired but real. Maren rolls her eyes, but she carefully transfers Chloe into Ginny’s arms.
“Hi, lovey,” Ginny says.
“Hi, Aunt Ginny,” Chloe croaks and then burrows into Ginny’s neck like she’s happy to see her too.
“It smells delicious in here,” I say.
“We have roast beef, garlic mashed potatoes, rosemary focaccia, and apple pie that’s still bubbling on the stove,” Maren says.
“Wow.” My stomach growls, and everyone laughs. “I guess you can tell what I think about that.”
“I can’t take credit for any of it.” Maren puts her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Ginny did all the work. I didn’t even set the table.” She laughs. “I had a pickleball tournament, and it went later than I expected.”
“Well, thank you,” I say.
“Yes, thank you, Aunt Ginny.” Dahlia smiles at her warmly.
Conversation flows easily at dinner. Chloe sits in an ornate wooden high chair that looks like an antique and says everything is “yum-yum.” Ginny keeps refilling my plate like I’ve got a bottomless stomach.
Ginny tells stories about Dahlia at eleven years old trying to surf on a boogie board in Lake Minnetonka.
“She was determined,” she says, smiling at Dahlia fondly.
Dahlia laughs. “Because I kept wiping out spectacularly.”
They ask questions about me and my family.
“I’d love for you to meet them. They’re wonderful,” Dahlia says, smiling over at me.
Halfway through, Maren sets her fork down and looks at me, really looks.
“Dylan,” she says, her voice low. “I need to say this once, and then we can talk about happier things. I am so sorry. About Bruce. About the fire. All of it.” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry.
“He’s always had this…thing about your family.
I thought it was mostly pride, stubbornness…
and a misguided loyalty to his father. I never thought he’d—” She stops, shakes her head.
“I never dreamed he’d go that far. I’m ashamed…
and, well, devastated for your sake…my daughter’s…
my granddaughter’s. I don’t know if he’ll ever see sense about his vendetta toward the Whitmans, but I want you to know, you are always welcome here. You’ve made my girls so happy.”
The table goes quiet for half a second. Dahlia’s hand finds my knee under the tablecloth.
I swallow. “Thank you, Maren. I appreciate you saying that. I feel like the luckiest man alive having your daughter by my side. And Chloe, well, there’s no one like her.
” I smile at Chloe’s sweet little face. “And honestly? The shop’s going to be better than it’s ever been.
We rebuilt it the way it should’ve been all along.
Insurance covered most of it. And Bruce…
he’ll have to live with what he did. I’m more concerned with how this affects Dahlia than anything. ”
Maren nods, presses her lips together, and reaches across to squeeze my forearm once. She smiles over at Dahlia. “He’s a keeper.”
Dahlia smiles, her eyes glassy, and clears her throat. “Can we officially declare the arson portion of the evening closed? I’ve heard the word ‘fire’ more in the past few weeks than I ever want to again.”
Ginny raises her wine glass. “Hear, hear. Only happy topics.”
Later, Chloe crashes hard on the couch between Dahlia and me, clutching her unicorn.
Dahlia’s curled on the other end, feet in my lap, eyes half-closed, while Maren shows me baby pictures: Dahlia in a tutu, Dahlia missing both front teeth and holding a fish longer than her torso, Dahlia during a growth spurt, her sleeves and pants a little too short while she’s playing outside.
Maren leans over and whispers, “She hasn’t looked this peaceful in years, you know.”
I look at Dahlia, her eyes fully closed now, and my chest squeezes.
“I’m so in love with her,” I whisper back.
Maren puts her hand on her chest and sighs.
“I should probably get them home before Dahlia’s sleeping too hard,” I say.
“Are you spending the night at her condo or going to Windy Harbor?”
“I think we’ll sleep at the condo tonight and drive to Windy Harbor first thing in the morning. Dahlia wants to get a feel for the office at the resort before she starts work on Monday.”
“I’m so excited she’s out of that job,” Maren says, shaking her head. “I think a new environment will be amazing for her.”
“I hope so. I know my family and the rest of the employees are really excited about her joining the team. And my brother Tully has been covering the excursions at the resort for me the past few days and needs to get back to training, so the sooner we get back, the better.”
“Tully is such a good player,” Ginny says, her cheeks flushing. “I started watching hockey around the time he joined the team, and I’m hooked.”
“Ginny doesn’t miss a game,” Maren says, grinning at her sister. “Someone’s got a crush on your brother.”
“I do not,” Ginny says, laughing. “He’s awfully pretty, though.”
That cracks me up. “I’ll have to tell him you said that. I’m not sure he’s ever been called pretty.”
“Those tattoos.” She sighs. “If I were younger, I might have a crush.”
“Mm-hmm. Methinks this crush is timeless,” Maren says.
I put my hand on Dahlia’s knee, and her eyes open. “Should we head out?”
She sits up. “Yes. Sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been having fun looking at your baby pictures.”
“Mom,” she groans.
Maren laughs. “Don’t worry. I didn’t show him the one with the perm.”
Dahlia puts her face in her hands.
“You’re beautiful, Doll,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I bet I would’ve loved you with a perm.”
“Awww,” Maren and Ginny both say, sighing dramatically.
Dahlia laughs and turns to rub her nose against mine. “Didn’t take you long to win them over.”
After Chloe’s in bed, we crash in Dahlia’s bed, making sleepy love before falling asleep.
We wake up slow the next morning, tangled and warm. Dahlia yawns into my shoulder.
“Do we have to get up?” she says, muffled against my skin. “My body is still in California.”
“I’ll start the coffee. How’s that?” I ask.
She grins. “You’re the best.”
By the time she makes it to the kitchen with Chloe in her arms, the house smells like coffee and toast. Chloe is still half-asleep but smiling.
Dahlia brings Chloe over so I can kiss her cheek and neck, which always makes her laugh until she gets the hiccups.
Then Dahlia sets Chloe in her chair, and she swings her legs while I cut up strawberries for her.
Dahlia leans against the counter, watching us with this soft look in her eyes.
And then a knock rattles the front door.
Dahlia frowns, pushing off the counter. “Who would that be? You weren’t expecting anyone, were you?”
“No.”
When she opens the door, every muscle in her body goes rigid.
Bruce Granger stands on the porch.
Chloe squeals “Grumpy!” and tries to launch herself off her chair, but Dahlia moves fast. She scoops Chloe up before those tiny feet hit the floor.
“Dad,” she breathes, voice thin. “What are you doing here?”
Bruce steps inside like he owns the damn place. His jaw is tight, his eyes cold, and he’s wearing a suit like it’s just another workday instead of…the nuclear fallout zone he helped create.
“I don’t even want to know how you knew we were home,” Dahlia says.
He rolls his eyes. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of sending more law enforcement my way,” he says, brushing past her. “I’ve already had another delightful visit from the police this morning.”
“Why were they—” she whispers.
“They’re grasping at straws,” he snaps. “They’ve already been there once, asking questions that should’ve never been asked.
They wanted to know where I was the night your boyfriend’s shop went up in flames.
” He throws me a scathing look like I’m a human stain.
“As if I have nothing better to do than set fire to some shabby surf shop.”
“Dad, stop,” Dahlia says, holding Chloe protectively against her chest.
“No, I won’t stop.” Bruce straightens his tie like he’s the one whose feelings have been hurt. “I don’t appreciate being accused of criminal activity. I don’t appreciate my employees hearing about it. And I certainly don’t appreciate my own daughter allowing my name to be dragged through the mud.”
Dahlia flinches. “I didn’t drag your name anywhere. There’s footage—”
“Yes, yes, the mysterious footage of someone I supposedly know,” he says dismissively. “Someone who, apparently, you’ve already decided I hired. You think I don’t see what’s happening here? You two”—he gestures between us—“are playing detective, and I’m the villain of the week.”
“Bruce,” I say before I can stop myself. “You have to admit, it’s suspicious. Your threats on the boat, a fire to my shop not long after. We just want answers.”
He rounds on me with a sneer. “Answers? I was nowhere near your shop. I didn’t do a thing. And if I were to do something, I wouldn’t be stupid about it.”
Dahlia takes a small step back.
Bruce keeps going, voice low and venomous. “I’d damn well make sure there wasn’t a single thing to trace it back to me.”
The house goes silent.
Dahlia’s breath catches.
And I swear the temperature drops ten degrees.
Because what he said…it wasn’t denial.
It was a warning.
“You need to leave,” I say.
He grins, and it’s so arrogant, my stomach curls.
“I’m leaving.” He turns and pins Dahlia with a steely look. “Call the cops off of me, Dahlia. If I see them again, I won’t be happy.”
He walks out the door, slamming it hard.
My blood goes cold.
He didn’t come here to defend himself.
He came here to remind us what he’s capable of.