The Dad Next Door. Stephanie Dees

      “Wait. The kitchen was still behind the house when the former mayor got married?”

      “Yes, too hot in the South back in the day to have the kitchen inside.” Joe led the way to the back of the house. “Why do you call him the mayor and not your father?”

      The dim corridor was cool, almost chilly, despite the heat outside, the humid air soft on her skin. “He was only my biological father. I didn’t know him. My twin sister and I were adopted by another family.”

      She walked into the kitchen and stared hopelessly at the peeling linoleum and kitchen cabinets, which were painted a color that might have been fashionable about thirty years ago. All hint of laughter vanished. There was so much work to do if she was going to make this sagging place into any kind of home. She tried the deep breath thing again, and again it clogged in her throat.

      Behind her, he said, “I’m sorry.”

      “About my father?” She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t know him. And I had a great mom. One good parent is better than two bad ones.”

      “You think so?” He locked eyes with her, the blue of his startlingly clear in the shadowy room.

      “Of course.” She looked away. That she didn’t need a father was something she’d told herself all through her growing-up years. The real truth was somewhere in the middle. There was a hole where a father should’ve been, yeah, but nothing compared to the gaping cavern of not having parents at all.

      The one visit she and her twin sister, Jordan, had with their birth father had left her with more questions than answers about who she was. Her birth mother had died shortly after giving birth. Their dad didn’t feel like he could raise infant twin girls on his own, so he’d put them both up for adoption.

      She looked back at Joe. “Kids need a constant in their life. Just showing up is half the battle.”

      “I hope you’re right.” Joe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the screen. “Listen, I have to go. My daughter, Amelia, is going to be waiting for me at the school. If I don’t get there on time...well, let’s just say I need to show up.”

      She smiled. “Thank you for bringing the key by. I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted. Being a homeowner is new to me.”

      “No problem,” he said again. “Do you need anything?”

      “No, thanks.” Her eyes filled—the traitorous truth that she did need. So much. Too much. She needed connection and roots. To build something lasting, to somehow fill the void that her mom had left, and the one that had always been where her father should have been.

      No one could help her with that, not even a handsome stranger with kind blue eyes. Okay, yeah, she’d noticed he was handsome, but she wasn’t interested. She’d done love and gotten her heart stomped on. And she definitely didn’t have time for casual. So, no, thanks.

      “Okay, if you’re sure.” He slid the aviators back over his eyes, then pulled a somewhat tattered business card out of his wallet. “It’s old, but the cell number’s still good. Feel free to call me if you think of anything.”

      Claire glanced at the soft-edged card. “Full-service operation you’re running here.”

      “Always aim to please.” He smiled for the first time, and despite her earlier lecture to herself, her heart gave a silly little skip. “Welcome to Red Hill Springs, Claire.”

      His footsteps echoed in the empty house as he left. She followed and watched from the front door as he drove his old F-150 down the drive. When he turned onto the highway, she looked up.

      What she could see of the sky through the overgrown bushes was crystal clear and a shade of blue she’d never seen in the city. Are you there, God? Because I really need You to show up.

      She hesitated, then looked back at the sky. Like, now.

      Maybe God didn’t like being given a timeline, she didn’t know, but maybe He would understand that she had one. This place had to be up and running and making ends meet within six months, or she was toast. And not the good kind of toast, either. The burned kind that made your house smell bad and no one would eat, even if you scraped off the top layer.

      Turning back to the house, she sighed and reached for the light switch. Nothing happened.

      “Oh, perfect.” She closed her eyes. “Just...perfect.”

      * * *

      “The café was buzzing today about the mayor’s daughter turning the plantation house into a bed-and-breakfast. She filed a permit for renovation last week before she ever set eyes on the place.” Joe’s mom tasted the lima beans and turned the heat off on the stove.

      “Is that so?” Joe washed his hands at the sink in his mother’s kitchen.

      Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. “Yes. I think it’s about as bad as the time Hester Jenkins set John’s Dale Earnhardt collection on fire on their front lawn.”

      He shot his mom a glance. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

      “Oh, that’s right. You were somewhere in the sand when that happened.”

      Somewhere in the sand. His mother’s way of making her son’s military deployment bearable. Somewhere in the sand sounded like he could be on a tropical beach smoothing on sunscreen. Not in the middle of a war zone being shot at.

      “John dropped the charges the next week, right after he broke her grandmother’s Lladro figurine, by accident, of course. It’s not a police matter anymore.”

      “Glad to hear it.” His voice was wry and his mother made a face at him.

      “Spoilsport. What’s the mayor’s daughter like? I’d like to get a look at her.”

      “I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough. Everyone comes into the Hilltop eventually.” He sifted through his thoughts about the newest resident of Red Hill Springs. “She’s pretty. Dark brown hair, blue eyes. Five-three or four.”

      “Once a cop always a cop. Sounds like you could pick her out in a lineup.”

      He caught the sassy sarcasm and ignored it, instead choosing to appease his mother’s innate curiosity. “She seemed...I don’t know, lost? But also determined to make a go of that old place.” He tossed his keys into a tray on the counter, where his father had tossed his, along with his badge, for as long as Joe could remember. And then there was a pang, because Frank was gone. A heart attack had taken him from them with no warning a year ago next month.

      Joe had been seven the first time he’d sworn he was leaving this town and never coming back. Eight when he’d stopped hoping his parents could be trusted. Twelve when he’d gotten caught trying to break into the police chief’s garage.

      So yeah, he knew a little bit about being lost. He’d been an angry, defensive kid, striking out at everyone and trusting no one, but instead of arresting him, Frank had taken him inside to Bertie and Bertie had taken him under her wing. Slowly, he’d realized there were no more bruises, no more wondering when he would get to eat again, no more being scared every single minute of every day.

      They’d rescued him from that life, even though they wouldn’t say so, and then they’d adopted him, giving him a real mom and dad, a brother, two sisters and a life he’d never expected. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the feeling of stepping into someone else’s life, wondering when they would realize he didn’t belong.

      Bertie tossed some cherry tomatoes into the salad bowl. “Maybe she’s a little like Amelia, in a way, not having a daddy growing up? I think Amelia feels a little lost, too.”

      And there it was, what his mother really wanted to get at. The very new relationship between him and his daughter. “Amelia has a daddy. Unfortunately, her mother—and believe me, I use that term loosely—was the only one who knew it.”

      He