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But it would mean leaving Candle Bay. Leaving the treehouse half-finished. Leaving Niall and Winnie just as they were starting to build something together.

“I need some time to think about it.” Chuck made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders and his brow.

“Don’t think too long. They need an answer by Wednesday. The project starts next Monday.” Lloyd’s voice softened. “This is what you’ve been working toward, Chuck. Don’t throw it away because you’re feeling sentimental about some small-town sabbatical.”

After the call ended, Chuck sat in Niall’s office chair, staring at the phone in his hand. A week ago, this offer would have sounded like an easy lift—a chance to redeem himself as a professional, to prove that his career wasn’t over, that his talent still mattered.

Still… now? Complications kept piling at his feet like sawdust. A half-built treehouse and a nine-year-old who expected him to be there for chess rematches and bedtime sleuthing. A man who was starting to trust him, to let him into the carefully constructed life he’d built.

Chuck stepped out of the office to find Niall waiting.

“Everything okay?” Niall asked, too casually.

“Yeah. Just… work stuff.” Chuck forced a smile. “Nothing urgent.”

The lie fell heavy from his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to discuss the job offer yet—not until he’d had time to think it through, to weigh his options.

To figure out what he really wanted.

Dinner at Niall’s house was quieter than the day before, with Winnie nodding off soon after and Niall seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Chuck studied Niall’s profile, committing to memory the curve of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows when he was thinking.

Would it be so terrible to leave? To go back to Seattle, to the career he’d worked so hard to build? He could come back on weekends, after all. Keep in touch. It wouldn’t have to be a complete break.

Even as he considered it, Chuck knew it wouldn’t work. Seattle was a four-hour drive from Candle Bay, minimum. The project would be all-consuming, especially at the beginning. Weekend visits would become monthly, then occasional. Calls would get shorter, less frequent. The connection would fade, as connections did when not nurtured by daily presence.

Besides which he had to factor in Winnie. The thought of her face when she realized he wasn’t coming back to finish the treehouse, when she understood he was only another adult who’d made promises and then disappeared—made Chuck ill.

By the time they climbed the stairs to the apartment, Chuck had worked himself into a state of silent panic. This was exactly why he avoided serious relationships, avoided attachments—because eventually, inevitably, he’d have to choose between what he wanted and what others needed from him.

He’d always been terrible at making those choices.

After Winnie was in bed, Chuck told Niall he needed to head back to his aunt’s place—he had some work to catch up on, he claimed, some emails to send. The excuse sounded pitiful, but Niall didn’t push, just walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye with a tenderness that made Chuck’s guilt sharpen.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Niall asked, uncertainty threaded through it again, that flicker of doubt Chuck had hoped was fading.

“Of course.” Chuck forced confidence into his voice. “Got a treehouse to finish, don’t I?”

Niall smiled like he believed every word, and the lie left a sour weight. He kissed Niall once more and tried to pour into it all the things he couldn’t say—that he was confused, that he was scared, that he didn’t know how to be the person Niall needed him to be.

Then he walked to his truck and drove away, Lloyd’s offer and Niall’s trust pressing down like hands on his shoulders.

At Aunt Lydia’s, he found the house dark and a note on the kitchen table—she was at her book club and wouldn’t be back until late. Chuck was grateful for the solitude. He needed space to think, to weigh his options without anyone else’s expectations clouding his judgment.

He poured himself a whiskey and sat at the kitchen table, Lloyd’s offer on one side of the mental scale, Niall and Winnie on the other.

The project was everything he’d wanted as a craftsman—creative control, recognition, financial security. A chance to build something significant, something that would last and bear his name. A redemption arc for his career after the spectacular flame-out at the city council meeting.

But Niall and Winnie… they represented something he hadn’t known he was looking for. Maybe he could have a different kind of life than the one he’d been pursuing.

Chuck took a long swallow of whiskey and let it burn down his throat. He didn’t know if he could be what they needed. Didn’t know if he had it in him to be reliable, consistent, present with the steadiness a real relationship—a family relationship—demanded.

What if he tried and failed? What if he stayed and then found himself restless, resentful, trapped by the very connections he now found so appealing? Wouldn’t it be kinder to leave now, before they became truly attached, before his inevitable departure could do real damage?

As he sat there, staring into his glass, Chuck remembered the look on Niall’s face when he said, “I want to see where this goes.” The trust there. The hope.

Then came Winnie’s sleepy voice. “Don’t mess it up, okay?”

He’d promised to try. Promised not to disappear without a word. Yet here he was, less than twenty-four hours later, contemplating exactly that—taking the Seattle job and making a clean break, telling himself it was for the best, that he was sparing them the pain of a slower, more drawn-out disappointment.