Chapter 5
Danielle
Mmm. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before. Is this what I’ve been missing? The contrast of rough scruff against the softness of my skin sends a jolt straight through me, a new sensation, raw and electric. His lips are firm, sure, devastatingly good at what they’re doing.
I feel like I’m falling under a spell. No, not falling, floating.
The world spins out of focus, all sound and thought dissolving into the rush of sensation.
His kiss is consuming, like heat blooming under my skin, a rising tide I can’t—and don’t want—to fight.
He pulls me to the edge of something vast, and with each press of his lips, I tumble further.
This isn’t just chemistry. It’s ignition.
"What happened to 'no kissing'?" he murmurs against my skin as he pulls away to meet my gaze.
"You were never going to beat me in a race," I whisper. "I don't think I could've waited forever."
He grins, pulling me closer and nuzzling my neck. "You think you're funny, don't you?"
"You're tickling me," I reply, arching my head back to give him better access to the sensitive crook of my neck.
"You're so soft, Elle," he murmurs, kissing my neck, then my cheek. "Just like I imagined."
"So you'd been thinking about this?" I tease, my tone playful.
"Since the day I met you," he admits with a grin. "The whole hiking, running thing was just a ploy to get you like this. Right here. Right now."
I laugh softly, nudging him. "Actually, you fell right into my trap."
He raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," I say, my smile widening as I look into his eyes. "This was part of my plan all along."
He chuckles, his forehead resting gently against mine. "Remind me never to underestimate you."
"Too late," I whisper.
He grins, brushing his lips across mine in a featherlight kiss. "Guess I'm yours now."
"Guess you are," I say, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. "No take-backs."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Then, he gives me a lingering kiss, soft and sweet, that makes me forget everything around us.
***
“I think we need a new mailman,” I say, handing Cal a letter addressed to Jackson it’s about putting your name on the map. ”
“So you’re going?” I say.
He shrugs like it’s no big thing, but there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes. “I got invited, but I can’t go.”
“Why not?” I ask, stunned.
“Hannah has school. I can’t leave her. Her mother was supposed to keep her the week I'd be gone, but she backed out.”
I nod, choosing not to say what I really think about that.
Cal reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that’s been folded and refolded so many times it’s soft at the seams, barely holding together.
“This is the invitation,” he says, trying to sound casual.
“That’s amazing, Cal!” I exclaim, studying the invite. “You have to.”
He glances toward the driveway, where Hannah’s crouched over the concrete, drawing hearts in chalk. A small smile of resignation touches his lips.
I step closer, drawn in by the blue of his eyes, and suddenly it’s hard not to imagine how easy it would be to fall in love with this man.
“I can stay with her,” I say, without hesitation.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he says, crossing his arms.
“I don’t mind,” I reply gently.
“I’d pay you, of course—”
“I don’t want your money,” I say, cutting him off.
That raises an eyebrow. “No? Then what do you want?” His voice is low, steady, and the way he’s looking at me makes it hard to breathe for a second.
“I want you to make me something,” I say. “A keepsake box. Something special. Just for me.”
He blinks, surprised. “You serious?”
I nod. “I have… a few things. Memories. Some photos. I’ve never had a real place to keep them safe. I’d rather have something made by someone who actually puts their heart into what they build.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then nods slowly. “You’ll have the most beautiful box I’ve ever made. I swear it.”
I smile and hold out my hand. He takes it—but neither of us lets go. We just stand there, hand in hand, suspended in something that feels like the start of everything.
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to find mine, and when they do, I’m not disappointed.
I’m falling.
With every glance, every touch, every kiss, I know it more and more: I’m falling in love for the first time in my life.
***
The phone rings, and when I see Mick Dawson flash across the screen, my heart lurches. Everything else—sound, movement, thought—just stops.
I swallow hard and answer, my voice unsteady.
“Hello?”
“Danielle,” he says, his voice deep and familiar. “This is Mick Dawson.”
“Hi, Mr. Dawson.” I try to sound composed, but my pulse is pounding in my ears. “Do you… do you have any news?”
“I found her.”
Three small words. That’s all. But they hit with the force of a tidal wave.
I hear them. I know what they mean. And yet, my brain refuses to catch up. For a moment, the room narrows, like I’m looking through a tunnel. My knees buckle slightly.
I reach for the back of the couch, gripping it with my hand like I’m bracing for impact, like a passenger caught in violent turbulence. My breath comes in shallow bursts, and a strange mix of hope and panic surges through me.
Because he found her.
He found her.
"Are you okay, Miss Keaton?"
"Where is she?" The words leave my mouth like a breath I’ve been holding for years. My voice sounds unfamiliar to my own ears—laced with panic, raw hope, love, and a desperation I can’t disguise.
"Where is she, Mr. Dawson?"
There’s a pause. Then Mick draws in a breath, slow and heavy, like he knows everything is about to change.
"She’s here. In Madison."
Another beat.
"She’s been here all along."
My knees nearly give out. I clutch the phone tighter, heart hammering, waiting for the rest.
"She was placed with a foster family, and they adopted her six months later. Her name now is Elizabeth Hazel Callahan."
A stunned silence hangs between us.
“Callahan,” I say, the name tasting bitter in my mouth, though I can’t quite place why.
“They changed her name,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the sudden rush of pain. “Just enough to hide her. To make her disappear.”
Anger rises in my chest like a tide, hot and bitter, but I force it down. "What else? Please, tell me everything."
Mick hesitates, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer.
"Do you want to see her?"
I don’t even think. "Yes!" The word bursts out of me, immediate and absolute. "Yes, of course I do. When? How?"
"There’s a soccer match this Friday. She’ll be there. I can point her out to you."
A pause.
"What you do after that, Miss Keaton… that’s your call."
***
We come prepared with two lawn chairs, a blanket to spread across the grass, a tote bag full of snacks, and a small ice chest stocked with water and sodas. Everything carefully curated to make us look like we belong.
“Why do I feel like we’re breaking the law?” Tina mutters, setting down the blanket. “I swear, if there’s a cop in this park, we’re getting questioned.”
"It wouldn't be the first time," I say, letting out a nervous laugh. My eyes sweep across the sidelines, searching for Dawson.
I glance at my watch—4:50.
“Dawson should be here any minute,” I say. “The game starts at five.”
I fight the urge to start scanning the field, speculating which of the girls might be Izzy.
Is she still blonde? Is she tall now, or petite like me?
At fourteen, she might still be shorter than me.
A wave of anxiety creeps in, tightening my chest, so I take a few steady breaths, trying to calm the storm inside.
“Is that him?” Tina asks, nodding toward a man making his way across the field.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s him.”
“That guy managed to do in a few weeks what we’ve been trying to pull off for years?” she says with a laugh. “We must’ve been doing something way, way wrong.”
“Don’t let the frumpy appearance fool you,” I reply. “He’s the real deal—professional, experienced, and backed by dozens of successful cases. I followed up on most of the references he gave me.”
“Really?” she says, her voice tinged with surprise.
“I wasn’t about to hand over thousands of dollars without proof he could actually deliver.”
"Miss Keaton," he says in greeting, extending his hand. I shake it, immediately aware of the dampness—not in his warm, steady grip, but in mine. The nerves are definitely getting the best of me.
"Hi, Mr. Dawson," I manage, wiping my hand discreetly on my jeans. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little nervous."
"More like fighting a panic attack," Tina adds, stepping in smoothly. "Hi, I’m Tina."
They shake hands, and when Dawson smiles, something shifts. It makes him look younger, even handsome. Tina has that effect on men. Always has.
"Would you like something to drink?" I offer Dawson, reaching to open the lid of the ice chest.
"No, I'm good," he says, pulling a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and slipping them on. "Let’s see... where is this young lady?"
Tina takes my hand, standing close like she can sense how hard my heart is pounding. Together, we scan the soccer field, though I have no idea who, or what, we’re even looking for.
“There she is,” Dawson says, pointing with quiet certainty.
"Are you sure?" I whisper, barely able to breathe. "You’re absolutely sure?"
He nods. “Yes. That’s her. She’s the goalie.”
My eyes land on a tall girl guarding the goal—long blond braids trailing down the front of her uniform. She's strong. Athletic. Beautiful. And she's my sister. I know it instantly.
I recognize her in the way she stands, the tilt of her head, the way the sunlight catches her hair. It’s like my heart knew before my mind could catch up.
My eyes well up before I even realize I’m crying. Then the tears fall fast, unstoppable. My knees buckle, and suddenly Dawson’s arm is there, steadying me. Tina drops beside me, unable to hold me up, but unwilling to let me fall alone.
“That’s her,” I whisper, voice breaking as sobs overtake me. “That’s her.”
I can barely breathe. But I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.
"Thank you," I say, looking up at Dawson. "You've given me my life back. I haven't known peace in ten years. Not until this very moment. I feel whole again. I can finally breathe. I could die this instant and have absolutely nothing to complain about."
"Well, that's not gonna happen," Tina cuts in. "This isn’t the end, Elle. It’s the start of a whole new chapter."
"You're most welcome," Dawson replies, quiet pride shining in his eyes. "I need to head out, but I’ll email you the complete report with everything I found. If anything comes up, you know how to reach me. It was nice meeting you, Tina."
"Likewise," Tina says, giving him a flirty smile as he walks away, his job done.
"Are you okay?" she asks, gently rubbing my back.
I nod, wiping my eyes, then find Izzy on the field again. "Isn't she beautiful?"
"She is," Tina says softly. "She looks like you."
"I think she looks like our mother," I murmur. "I have a couple of pictures of her and Dad. Izzy’s the spitting image. Same eyes. Same smile."
Out on the field, Izzy stands tall in front of the goal, her gloved hands resting on her hips, legs planted in a wide stance.
She’s alert, focused, scanning the field like she’s ready to launch herself in any direction.
When the opposing team charges toward the goal, my breath catches.
The ball cuts through defenders like a bullet, and Izzy moves.
Fast. She dives to the left, arms outstretched, and blocks it.
A cheer goes up from the crowd, and my hands fly to my mouth as a sob breaks free.
"She’s amazing," I whisper, overwhelmed by pride, awe, and heartbreak all at once.
I watch her pop back up to her feet, brushing off her knees and flashing a triumphant grin at her teammates. It’s the smile that guts me, so full of life and confidence, like she knows exactly who she is.
Tina squeezes my hand. “She looks happy, Elle.”
I nod, my eyes never leaving Izzy. “She does. And for now… that’s enough. I’ll wait. As long as it takes. But one day, I’ll tell her everything.”