43. Alessandra
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
alessandra
It’s late when an abrupt bzzzt noise interrupts the silence in my apartment.
I jump from my spot on the sofa, and without checking, I let him in—because who else would it be?
Through my hazy state, giddy excitement takes root at the thud of his boots from the stairwell.
His knuckles barely touch the door before I’m swinging it open and throwing myself into his body.
He’s late and I’m greedy for him as I seal my lips over his and drag him inside.
But when my face nuzzles into his neck and hands slide over his shoulders, they’re tense.
I attempt to make some space to look at him, but he squeezes me harder.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” My voice is muffled against the collar of his coat.
The curls around my hairline flutter as he exhales deeply.
“ Can we talk?”
My heart drops.
“ What happened?”
When he finally releases me, his expression is pensive.
“ Let’s sit.”
He tugs me toward the sofa, but my feet dig into the floor.
“ Let’s not. Something is wrong, and I need to know. Spit it out, Booth .”
He doesn’t coddle me; he’s direct, and speaks the next three words calmly.
“ Harvey is here.”
However delivered, this news was bound to tilt my world on its axis.
But I have Booth , who keeps me standing.
After processing his words, I blink once, then the hunt for answers becomes a priority.
“How do you know? Did you see him? Does he know about me?” My voice is surprisingly level.
It’s been weeks since Martin first reached out to his son.
Day by day, the hope I held onto dwindled.
I’m aware I could have reached out to Harvey without Martin’s input, but gradually, I’ve wanted this more for Martin than myself.
We’ve grown close, our weekly meetups something I look forward to.
Booth’s gaze tracks my face slowly.
I’m an open book to him.
He’s studied my pages, familiarized himself with my words, and accepted my hard exterior.
He knows me, and because of that, he doesn’t waver.
“He and his wife showed up at Our Place after we closed looking for somewhere to eat. They’re staying in Jacob’s Bluff . I … I don’t know if he knows about you. I came here as soon as I could. Martin doesn’t know. I thought you should tell him.” He sucks in a breath after rattling off each detail.
Then he waits. Patient .
Steadfast .
“How did you know it was him?”
“The eyes. Hair . I just knew.” He drags a hand through his hair.
“ To be sure, I offered to make them a reservation for tomorrow night and he confirmed his name. Martin was right, he took his mom’s maiden name. He goes by Harvey Campbell .”
My head thumps against his chest as I plan my next steps.
A calloused palm curves around my throat, tilting my head up.
“ What do you need? ”
“You.” My chest deflates with the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“ I need you.”
“You’ve got me, Silv .” His fingers skim my jaw, the soothing touch lulling me to sleep.
“ Do you want me there?”
“I want you there.” The knowledge that he’ll be by my side quells the bubbling anxiety.
“Then that’s where I’ll be.” He tucks my head under his chin.
“ It’s where I always want to be.”
The scent of freshly ground coffee fills the air.
A firm hand rests at the base of my spine.
The sun shines through the window, highlighting the dust mites as Martin settles into his chair.
Those are the things most people would pay attention to.
My eyes remain glued to the row of framed photographs sitting on the mantelpiece above his fireplace.
Four photos that were not there during our last visit to the farmhouse, all of his son at different stages of his childhood.
“He really hasn’t called?” I ask for the second time and finally drag my gaze away.
Martin stares into his cup, the steam slowly ebbing as it cools in his hands.
“ I thought maybe my answering machine broke or I missed the call, but nothing.”
We arrived at the farmhouse first thing and explained how Harvey turned up at Our Place last night.
Considering he refused to answer Martin’s calls or respond to his letters, we’re all a little shell-shocked and unprepared for this development.
Martin especially .
“This is good,” Booth says.
“ Maybe he’s willing to talk. I doubt he’s here on vacation.”
Martin nods solemnly but doesn’t look convinced.
“ How did he seem?”
“Happy. He and his wife were friendly. We chatted a little about his construction business.”
This gives Martin some relief and he looks at me with a gentle smile.
“ If he calls, do you want me to tell him about you?”
As we’ve gotten to know each other, I’ve learned that Martin is very intuitive and mindful.
Our coffee mornings always start with him asking how I am and, once assured, he relaxes.
It’s no longer awkward or tense.
“There’s no use in waiting.” I lean forward.
“ If you get the opportunity, take the time to get to know him again. He’s your son above everything else. I’ll understand and respect his decision if he doesn’t want to meet me. I simply ask that you talk to him. Be honest. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that taking the jump is the hardest part, anything that comes after is easier when you have people who you trust surrounding you.” My eyes drift to Booth , who’s already watching me intently.
Like me, Martin isn’t overly emotional.
So when he reaches over the coffee table to clasp my hand, that single touch tells me how much this means to him.
“ If he’s as lucky as I am in getting to know you, he’ll be in awe of the wonderful woman you are.”
I squeeze his hand, breath seizing in my throat.
“ Thank you.”
He glances at the clock and straightens.
“ Now , I’m sure you two have better things to do than keep an old man company. I’ll call if there’s an update.”
Bundled in our coats, Martin waves at us from the doorway as we walk to Booth’s truck.
We’re about to climb in when the sound of tires rolling on gravel has us pausing, and we look down the driveway to find a red pickup trundling toward the house.
Martin frowns at the vehicle in confusion, clearly not expecting any more visitors.
When it parks up, a woman with dark skin and chocolate brown hair steps out.
She looks shocked to see us, but she’s quick to smile when she spots Booth .
“ Oh , it’s you! Twice in twenty-four hours.”
Usually keen to chat with anyone, Booth is eerily quiet.
He stares at me through the open door, mouth screwed tight.
The sound of another door opening has my attention drawn to the truck again.
The driver’s side swings open, revealing a tall gentleman with dark hair.
His shoulders drop as he slowly scans the snowy fields.
With his gaze locked on the farmhouse, the air fogs in front of him as he releases a loud exhale.
Martin’s cheery smile evaporates, and his hand hovers midair.
I’m confused until the man turns our way and it all makes sense.
He raises a hand in Booth’s direction, then smiles politely at me.
Maybe I imagine it, but I swear his gaze flashes with recognition.
Which is impossible.
I’m a stranger to this man.
A stranger to my biological father.