“Late night?”

I jump at the sound of my dad’s voice from across the kitchen when I step in through the back door.

He chuckles as I whirl to see him camped out at the breakfast nook with a book and a mug of tea on the table in front of him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine!” I half-lie, feeling my pulse hammering in my veins as the shock dissipates.

I’m suddenly reminded of other late nights where I came home by this door - nights where I thankfully did not run into my father.

He’d have killed me back then if I’d come home from where I was coming from at that sort of hour. Actually, he’d kill me now if he knew where I’ve just been.

He’d kill Silas for sure, in either scenario. I think even the good Reverend would look past scruples about that.

“Can we talk?” He closes the book as he reaches for the mug in front of him, cocking a bushy silver brow at me.

There’s that horrible feeling of having done something bad. It’s like sneaking half a beer when you’re young, and then sitting down for dinner with your parents, the guilt across your face.

Or like running around with Silas Hart in his pickup truck and then coming home to your family when you just know they know.

This is much worse than that, having just come from where I did, having just done what I did.

“Sure?”

“Have a seat.” Dad gestures to the chair across the table from him.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I do. Dad looks at me across the table, his hands steepled in front of him as if about to give a sermon.

“You doing okay?” He gives me a wry smile. “Stella spilled the beans about Blaine, honey.”

The funny thing is, I have to suddenly remember to be, or at least look, upset.

“Oh, yeah…” I trail off. “It’s fine, Dad.”

“I’m not your sisters or your mother, but you know you can talk to me about it if you want.”

I smile. “I know. I’m fine, though. It’s for the best.”

He nods, chewing on his words before he opens his mouth again.

“I’m worried about you, Ivy.”

I grin as I shake my head. “Dad, you don’t have to.”

“I do, I’m your dad.” He winks. “Sort of comes with the job.”

I smile and nod. “I know. I really am okay, though.”

“I never thought I’d say this, honey, but you’ve done pretty well leaving Shelter Harbor, after what happened to your brother, and with…”

He trails off and looks down at his hands.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them - before I can rationalize in my head how this’ll only start a fight.

“Excuse me?” Dad’s voice is edged, his brow furrowed.

“You know what I’m talking about. The night of the crash.”

Dad barks out a thin laugh. “Of course it was his fault.”

There’s no winning this, and no reason to have this argument with my father, again, here at whatever time it is at night in the half-dark kitchen. But I can’t stop the anger and the frustration that comes tumbling out.

“He was there trying to stop Rowan from being there, Dad!”

“Who was only there in the first place, because of the damn shadow hanging over that boy, Ivy!”

His voice booms louder than it should this late at night, and he shakes his head.

“Because as lovely as his parents were, and as much as I loved them and as much as we showed him love and tried to give him what was missing after they passed, he still turned out exactly like I never wanted him to.”

I can feel the heat rising in my face as I think of the boy I knew - the kind, loving, broken but not beaten, selfless boy I fell in love with.

“He didn’t.”

“Yes, he did, Ivy,” Dad growls, his voice edged before his face softens. “Look, I know how you felt, and I know how young love is-”

“Apparently not.”

He shoots me a look, but keeps going.

“I also know that eight years later, you’re a grown, confident, bold, successful woman, honey. You’ve moved on and up from this town, and you don’t need anchors like Silas Hart weighing you down.”

“Dad-”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Yes, I know what happened that night. But whatever the secondary motive, the fact remains that I almost lost my son because of that boy.”

“That’s not true.”

His fist slams down on the table. “It is, and we’re done discussing it.”

I roll my eyes as I stand. “You started it.”

“And I’m ending it.” He levels his eyes at me. “I don’t want you seeing him, Ivy.”

I laugh coldly. “I’m twenty-six years old, Dad.”

“So act like it. Make good choices, not familiar ones.”

I say nothing, knowing it’ll just incriminate me.

But I’m also wondering if he’s right.

Make good choices, not familiar ones.

Familiar choices. That’s exactly what Silas is. He’s a comfort - something I know. And even if I know the hurt that could come of it, it’s better than an unknown.

Dad reaches across the table and pats my hand.

“I’m sorry, honey, I just-” He smiles. “I just care about you. We all do.”

I nod, looking down at the table.

“So how long do we get you before you head back to New York?”

I sigh heavily, slumping a little in my chair. “I don’t know, the whole thing with Blaine…”

Dad just smiles as I trail off. “Well you know we’d love to have you as long as we can keep you.”

I do smile this time when I look up and nod. “I know, Dad.”

“I love you, Ivy-girl.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“Everything okay down here?”

My mom appears in the kitchen doorway, holding her robe and peering at us.

“We’re fine, Mom,” I smile at her before turning back to my dad.

“Everything’s fine.”