Chapter 36
Logan
After visiting Dani and Harper on that quick trip, the rest of my time in Florida seemed to drag on. Each day felt repetitive and unnecessary. I found myself having to fight the impulsive part of me that wanted to leave the job behind and get back to my girl.
The thought alone told me I was in way too deep.
And that’s the same thought I had every day until the job had wrapped.
The Tampa sky was streaked with pink and gold when I left the site for the last time. The kind of sunset that softened everything it touched—construction cranes, shipping containers, the hard edges of a job built on deadlines and pressure. It almost made the place look peaceful.
Almost.
We wrapped up ahead of schedule. No security breaches. No last-minute fires. Carter clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You earned a few early days, Carter. Go home.”
Home.
The word landed heavier than it used to.
Most of the time, home meant routine. Lunchboxes lined up on the counter. Bedtime stories read with one eye already closing. Exhaustion that settled deep in my bones but kept everything else steady. Safe.
But this time… it meant something else.
It meant laughter that wasn’t just Harper’s.
It meant Dani.
She’d been sending pictures all week. Not asked for—just sent. Like she knew I’d need them even if I wouldn’t say it.
Harper sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, nails half-painted, Dani hovering behind her with mock horror on her face.
Harper asleep on the couch, stuffed bunny tucked under her chin, Dani’s cardigan draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.
Harper and Dani at the kitchen table wearing ridiculous green face masks, both grinning like they’d cracked some kind of secret code.
They looked happy.
They were happy.
And for the first time since Harper was born, I didn’t feel guilty for leaving her.
That realization should’ve rattled me more than it did.
My thoughts went back to the call I had with Dani the night before, as she sat on the back patio long after Harper had fallen asleep. The crashing of the waves in the background. “I think I’m going to miss this,” she had said suddenly.
When I asked her what she’d miss, she had said, “Being here, waking up with the ocean. Watching Harper discover new things every day.”
Her words lingered in my mind that night, chasing away any hope of sleep.
I realized I was afraid. Afraid of how attached she’d become to Harper, and possibly to me.
Afraid of the idea that she might leave and take this newfound sense of warmth and stability with her.
I feared losing the bond that had subtly woven itself into the fabric of our lives.
For some reason, those words had kept me up all night. She had built a bond with Harper, cared for her, and she’d slowly found herself tied into my home and into my head.
So instead of heading straight for my gate, I found myself standing in the middle of the airport gift shop. It smelled like burnt coffee and lemon disinfectant, shelves stacked with things nobody really wanted—flamingo mugs, novelty T-shirts, overpriced souvenirs.
I grabbed the easy thing first. A plush dolphin wearing sunglasses that I knew would cause Harper to lose her mind.
It was the second gift that stopped me, something for Dani.
She’d been more than a babysitter. More than help.
More than a favor I could repay with a thank-you text and a paycheck.
As I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the thought struck me again—she’d stepped into my house like she’d always belonged there.
I ran a finger absentmindedly over the edge of the candle lid, feeling the smooth surface.
Dani had found the balance between structure and fun I’d spent years forcing myself to maintain.
She’d kept my daughter’s heart light while mine stayed… careful.
I didn’t do careful by accident.
After Elena died, everything had become about containment.
Feelings boxed up. Grief folded neatly into routines.
Harper needed stability, not a father unraveling under the weight of what never got to happen—of a woman who never got to hold her daughter, never got to see her smile, never got to come home.
I wandered the aisles, already irritated with myself.
Key chains felt too thoughtless, but a necklace felt personal. There were coffee mugs stamped with Tampa, lined up in neat rows, but none of it said what I was trying to say.
Then I saw the candles all lined up, in simple matte glass jars. Each one carried a name that leaned into the coastal theme printed on the label: Beach Haven, Ocean Breeze, Home.
That one made me stop.
I lifted the lid and breathed it in. It was a grounding scent with notes of sage, cedar wood, and something warm beneath it all.
It reminded me of the way Dani moved through my house. She wasn’t trying to replace anything or fix what couldn’t be fixed. She was just there, present, brightening everything without asking permission.
Like the way she’d said, You don’t have to do this alone, without making it sound like pity.
I turned the candle over, reading the description.
For when the world feels too loud.
That was her.
Not loud. Not demanding. Just… solid.
“You’re overthinking,” I muttered to myself.
Still, I didn’t put it back.
Because the tranquility she brought into my home hadn’t felt like pressure. It hadn’t felt like a replacement. It felt like relief. Like something easing instead of breaking.
At the register, I hesitated again.
Maybe it crossed a line. Maybe she’d laugh. Maybe it meant more than I was ready to admit. But what if it meant something deeper, something I wasn’t sure I was prepared for? The idea of changing what we had into something undefined, with all its potential joy and risk, made my heart race.
But then I pictured Harper asleep on Dani’s shoulder. Peaceful. Safe. I pictured the way Dani never flinched when Harper asked questions that didn’t have easy answers. The way she didn’t try to erase the past.
Or mine.
I grabbed the candle. Added a box of sea-salt caramels, because I’d caught her sneaking them once from Harper’s ice cream toppings, and paid before I could talk myself out of it.
When the cashier handed me the bag, I caught my reflection in the glass. Scruff too long. Dark circles that never quite faded. A man who’d learned how to survive without letting himself want.
But there was something else there too.
A softness I didn’t recognize.
I slipped the candle into my carry-on.
In a few hours, I’d be home.
Harper would squeal. Dani would laugh. And maybe, if I didn’t screw it up, I’d find the right moment to tell her what I’d been carrying since the night I’d seen her there on the dance floor.
That she hadn’t just taken care of my daughter.
She’d brought warmth back into a house that had been surviving on memory and habit.
And somehow… without asking for it—
She might have brought me back, too.
???
The driveway came into view just as the sun dipped low enough to turn the windows gold.
I slowed without meaning to.
There were balloons. Pink, gold, and white balloons tied in hurried knots to the mailbox, bobbing in the breeze. A banner stretched across the front porch, crookedly.
WELCOME HOME
My chest tightened so fast it stole the air from my lungs.
I killed the engine and sat there for a second, hands gripping the steering wheel like the ground might tilt if I let go. The house looked different like this—alive in a way it hadn’t in years. Loud in the best sense. Expectant.
The front door flew open before I could even open my car door.
“DAD!”
Harper barreled down the porch steps, her sneakers flashing pink as she ran. Dani followed more carefully, laughing, one hand already up like she knew what was coming.
Harper hit me at full speed.
I caught her, the impact knocking the breath out of me as she wrapped herself around my neck. “You’re home. You’re home forever!” she yelled, gripping me tightly, her excitement vibrating in the air around us.
“I’m home for good,” I laughed, lifting her easily, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like strawberries and sunscreen and the faintest hint of nail polish remover. “Missed you, bug.”
She pulled back just long enough to cup my face between her hands, inspecting me like she needed proof. “You look tired.”
“Harsh,” I said.
I set her down, and that’s when Dani stepped closer.
She didn’t rush me. Didn’t interrupt the moment. She just stood there with a soft smile, hands tucked into the pockets of her cardigan, eyes warm in a way that made my ribs ache.
“Welcome Home, Cowboy,” she said in her best mock southern accent.
“Nice try.” I deadpanned.
She laughed and I didn’t think. I just reached out, caught her wrist gently, and pulled her in long enough to steal a quick hug.
Not long. Not obvious.
She froze for half a second before relaxing into it, my hand settling against the small of her back. The soft fabric of her sleeve brushed against my neck as I settled in her warmth and breathed her in.
“Glad you’re back,” she murmured.
Something in my chest, clicked into place. I caught myself locked in her gaze. Thinking about pulling her into a kiss, holding her, doing all of the things I didn’t get to do the last time I saw her.
Harper cleared her throat loudly. “HELLO. Cake.”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me inside like I might disappear if she didn’t keep physical contact.
The kitchen was chaos in the best way with streamers taped to cabinets, a lopsided cake on the counter covered in too much frosting and rainbow sprinkles scattered everywhere. The sweet, sugary smell of the frosting mixed with the faint, smoky scent of the half-melted candle burning in the middle.
“It’s chocolate,” Harper announced. “With chocolate frosting. And chocolate chips. Dani said it might be a lot, but I said it’s a celebration.”
“I’m proud of you for standing your ground,” I said solemnly.
Dani snorted. “She threatened to revoke my babysitting privileges.”
“Correct.”
Harper beamed and then gasped dramatically. “WAIT.”
She ran to the couch, grabbed my carry-on, and plopped it on the floor. “Did you bring souvenirs?”
I knelt and unzipped the bag, pulling out the plush alligator first.
She screamed.
Like full, ear-piercing, jumping-in-circles screamed.
“He has sunglasses” she shouted, clutching it to her chest. “He’s so cool, daddy.”
“Just like you,” I said.
She hugged me again, tight and fast, then froze. “Oh! I almost forgot.”
She disappeared down the hall and came back holding a small gift bag with purple tissue paper. “This is for you. Dani helped.”
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a crooked photo frame with a picture of the three of us at the farm: Harper mid-laugh, Dani squinting into the sun, my arm around Harper.
My throat closed.
“It’s for your desk,” Harper said softly.
I pulled her into me again, holding on longer this time. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
She nodded, satisfied, then pointed at Dani. “He brought us stuff too.”
I reached back into the bag and pulled out a small wrapped box, handing it to Harper first.
“For you.”
She tore into it, revealing a little bracelet with pink beads and a tiny silver dolphin charm.
She slipped it on immediately, then threw her arms around my waist. “I love it.”
I looked up to find Dani watching us, something unreadable flickering across her face.
I reached into the bag again, slower this time.
“Hey,” I said, holding out the second gift. “This one’s for you.”
Her brows lifted in surprise as she took the bag carefully, like it might disappear if she moved too fast.
Inside was the candle. Matte glass with a simple label that read:
Home.
She lifted the lid and breathed in.
Then she turned it around to read the label; her eyes softened instantly.
“Oh,” she whispered.
The room went still.
“I—uh,” I started, suddenly aware of my heart beating way too fast. “I thought of you when I saw it. I remember you saying how you felt by the water. Wanted you to always know you’d have a home here.”
She looked up at me then, really looked at me, and I noticed the tears building in the corner of her brown eyes.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I love it.”
Not I like it.
Not This is nice.
I love it.
Harper clapped her hands. “Okay! Cake now!”
We lit the candle again and Harper made a wish for “Dad to stay home forever,” and Dani shot me an apologetic smile that made my chest warm instead of tight.
As I blew out the flame, frosting already smudged on Harper’s nose, I realized something terrifying and perfect all at once.
This.
The mess.
The laughter.
The woman standing barefoot in my kitchen like she was exactly where she belonged.
This felt like more than coming home, and although I had no idea how to manage it, and grief still crawled at the edge of my mind on tough days, I knew I wanted her to stick around.