The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(36)

He sat up, frowning. He had a new boss to impress and a daughter who needed 1,000 percent of his attention. When it came to Steffi, neither destiny, fate, nor his own sheer will would give him spare time for any relationship with her. It was just as well that this weekend’s sailing trip got canceled.

Resigned, he went downstairs to find his mother, who was putting a casserole dish in the oven. “Hey, Mom, I need Steffi’s number.”

She double-checked the temperature and looked up. “It’s the same as it always was.”

“Well, I deleted it from my phone a decade ago, and honestly, I scrubbed it from my memory.” He stared at her, his hands on his hips, daring her to roll her eyes or do something else to express her opinion about his way of handling himself.

She surprised him by nodding in sympathy. “203-555-1204.”

As soon as he heard it, he remembered calling her over and over, not knowing why she wouldn’t answer. That texting and waiting—and waiting and waiting—for a response. That burning in his gut when he realized what she was doing. The pain. The emptiness . . .

Old bitterness swelled like a wave forming in the middle of the sea and gathering strength as it moved toward shore. Maybe if they actually had a grown-up conversation about why she’d left him that way, those waves wouldn’t broadside him anymore.

“Thanks.” He strode onto the porch, which was now fully framed. He ran his hand along a two-by-four and caught himself smiling while admiring her handiwork. Steffi had always been strong and active, so it didn’t shock him that she’d chosen a career that required such physicality and precision. He punched the ten-digit phone number on his phone and held his breath.

For the first time in a decade, she answered his call.

“Ryan? Is something wrong?” Apparently, she’d never deleted his contact info.

“No.” He paused, tongue-tied like he’d been at seventeen. “I just realized I hadn’t told you that our Sunday sailing outing is off. Val’s taking Emmy for the long weekend.”

“She’s over the moon.”

He heard the smile in Steffi’s voice. It worried him that he liked the fact she cared about Emmy. He might be able to forgive her for letting him down, but he couldn’t bear it if she hurt Emmy. “She is, but I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. Hope it doesn’t screw up your weekend.”

“It’s fine.” She paused, as if waiting for him to say something more. “You must be looking forward to some freedom this weekend. Any big plans?”

“If sleeping in for a change qualifies as big plans, then yes.” He smiled when he heard her chuckle in that low way he remembered. He could picture her dimples whenever she made that sound.

She cleared her throat. “Benny, Claire, and I are going to see the Basement Boys play at the Sand Bar tomorrow night. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His voice sounded scratchy, which was damn embarrassing. “Thanks, but . . . I just need some downtime, like you said before.”

A beat or two passed between them before she said, “Well, if you change your mind, I’m sure Benny would love to catch up with you.”

“I’ll think about it.” Would he? Probably about a hundred times.

“Have a good night. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at your mom’s.”

His gaze went to the pile of plywood and table saw in the corner. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”

“For the time being, only Sundays. I need to hire some help now that we’re booking bigger jobs at the same time.”

“Too bad Emmy isn’t ten years older.” He surprised himself with the bit of levity. Joking with Steffi was another thing he wouldn’t have banked on when he’d first returned home.

Steffi tsk-tsked. “I don’t know about that. She’s gunning to be the boss, not an employee.”

A proud grin erupted. “That’s true.”

Another quiet moment left space for conflicted emotions, turning his phone into a hot potato. “I’d better run. Have a nice night.”

“Bye, Ryan.”

He stuffed his phone in his pocket and walked out to the yard, seeking an escape from the prison of the new family room framing. Standing in the fresh-cut grass reminded him of the rainbow kicks from earlier that week. His thoughts flickered with visions of Steffi with Emmy, of yesteryear and soccer, of friends and enemies and love and hate and failure.

Ryan hated failure of any kind yet had suffered it with the two most important love interests in his life.

Steffi and Val were completely different women. His relationships with them had nothing in common, either. Well, scratch that. They had one thing in common—him. Perhaps it was time to consider that he might be the reason things went wrong.

Two seagulls screeched overhead, racing toward shore a few hundred yards south. Boston was surrounded by water, but the sounds of the city drowned out the gulls and crickets and other peaceful things that soothed the soul.

“Daddy?” Emmy called from behind him.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He turned and strolled back toward the house.

“Can you show me how to do that juggle thing with the soccer ball on your knees?” She stepped out of the framed opening of the former porch, wearing her sunflower dress and sandals, her springy curls as lively as her eyes.