Dancing in Lake Mistletoe (Lake Mistletoe #4)

Chapter Eighteen

Mindi

I sit across from Dutch, sipping my wine and watching him as he stares out the window, lost in thought. The winter moon is soft, casting a golden glow on his face. The door chimes as patrons come in, and the low hum of quiet conversations floats around us from the surrounding tables.

We had a wonderful dinner at a quaint little steak house. The food was delicious. We spent the time talking about our days, work, and Josie. It was easy conversation and good company. A great evening. One spent getting to know each other, sharing stories, laughter, and little moments of connection.

But now, as we sit here at a quiet table in an elegant dessert bar, there’s something deeper there—something he hasn’t said yet.

He shifts in his chair, his hands clasped tightly around his own glass.

“Hey, you okay over there?” I set my glass on the table and reach my hand out to him.

His eyes fall to our hands. “I’m sorry. I’m out of practice with this whole dating thing,” he says as he intertwines his finger with mine.

“I don’t know. You’ve knocked it out of the park so far,” I say.

His gaze flickers up to mine. “You think?”

“Well, you started the day with a sleigh ride in the snow, we just had a great meal, and now, I’m enjoying an excellent glass of wine in front of a fire with a cake on its way. I’d say it’s in the running for best first date I’ve ever had.”

“What would it take to push it over the top?” he asks.

I sit back and bring the glass to my lips without answering. Just then, a server places a board with a massive molten chocolate lava cake and two scoops of vanilla-bean ice cream on the table.

“Thank you,” Dutch says before releasing my fingers to hand me a small silver spoon.

I set my glass down, leaning in to inhale the aroma of the confection, and dip the spoon in it. A swell of warm, melted chocolate floats down the sides. I dip a chunk of cake in the wave and take a bite. I moan my approval. Licking away the bit of chocolate that ran down the spoon to the valley between my thumb and index finger.

My eyes flit to Dutch, who is watching me intently.

“Good?” he asks.

“Amazing. You should try it.”

“I’d rather watch you enjoy it,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

I shake my head. “Oh, no, we’re sharing this. I can’t eat it all.”

He relents and digs his spoon into the decadent dessert.

Giving him my full attention, I say, “So, tell me more about Dutch.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He nods, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. I can see him trying to find the right words, trying to decide how much to share and how much to hold back. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then meets my gaze.

“My last name is Lowell.”

“That’s a good start,” I say on a laugh.

“I grew up here, but moved to Boston to attend MIT.”

I nod.

“That’s where I met my wife, Lexi,” he continues.

I can see the love in his eyes as he mentions her.

“We got married two years later, and Josie was born the following year,” he says.

I nod, staying quiet, giving him the space to tell the story in his own time. I know bits and pieces—how his wife died when Josie was just a baby, how he’s raised her on his own since then—but I don’t know any of the details. And I get the sense that this isn’t just about facts. This is about the weight of all those years, the struggle, the grief he’s carried.

“When Lexi died, it was sudden,” he says, his voice laced with emotion. “She was sick for a short while, but we thought … she and I thought she’d get better. It wasn’t until the very end that we realized how bad it was. And by then, it was too late.”

He pauses, looking down at his hands. I reach across the table, gently resting my hand on his. He glances up, his eyes glistening, and that makes my heart ache for him.

“I can’t even explain what it felt like,” he continues, his voice just above a whisper. “One day, she was there, and the next … she wasn’t. And I had this little girl, not even two years old, who had no idea what was happening. She didn’t understand why her mom wasn’t coming home.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, not wanting to make this moment about me. I can’t imagine what he went through—what it’s still like for him.

“It was hard,” he says, his voice steady but low. “Harder than I’d ever thought it would be. There were days I didn’t know if I could keep going. I’d be up all night with Josie, trying to calm her down after she woke up crying, and I was barely holding it together myself. I didn’t have time to grieve, not really. I had to keep it together for Josie. She needed me.”

I squeeze his hand, offering him silent support. He’s opening up in a way I didn’t expect, and I want him to know I’m okay with it, that I’m listening.

“And then,” he continues, “there was the guilt. I wasn’t just grieving for Lexi; I was grieving for the life we were supposed to have. The career I’d worked so hard for. The family we were supposed to be. I’d look at Josie and feel this overwhelming love for her, but at the same time, I’d feel grief for the dreams I knew I had to give up and guilt because I couldn’t give her what she deserved. She deserved two parents. She deserved her mom.”

His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat, looking out the window again, as if he needs a moment to gather himself. The silence between us is there, but not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that carries weight, but isn’t heavy.

After a moment, he looks back at me, his eyes softer now. “I tried my best, Mindi. I really did. But there were days when I thought I was failing her. I wasn’t just trying to be a dad; I was trying to be both parents. And that’s impossible. I knew that. But it didn’t stop me from feeling like I wasn’t enough.”

“You are enough, Dutch,” I say, the words coming out almost instinctively. “You’ve done so much for her. I see it every time I’m around you two. The way she looks at you, the way she knows you’ll always be there for her. You’re her world.”

He gives me a small, grateful smile, but there’s still a sadness in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I don’t always feel like I am. But I love her more than anything. And I’ve tried to make sure she knows that.”

“She does,” I say firmly. “She absolutely does. Everyone around you two does.”

He takes another deep breath, his shoulders relaxing a little, as if sharing those words lifted a weight off of him. “I just wanted to be honest with you,” he says, his voice softer now. “This is a part of who I am. Raising Josie on my own has shaped me in ways I can’t always explain. I’m not the same guy I was before Lexi died.”

I nod, my heart swelling with affection for him. “I wouldn’t expect you to be,” I say.

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. We sit here, letting the quiet settle around us. And in that silence, I realize just how much I like Dutch, how much I admire him—for being that father—and how much I enjoy just being here with him.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Saying good-bye to my wife. For a while, I thought I’d never get over it. Never want to date again. But then I realized that she wouldn’t want that. She left me a great gift and a piece of herself. Now, I can look at Josie and feel appreciation for the years we shared and still be able to look forward to what lies ahead. That love never ends; it lives on in Josie. And I want to show her the happiness the future holds and give her a great, big, beautiful life, not stay stuck in the past.”

Josie’s a lucky girl, and the woman that Dutch Lowell ends up with will be a lucky girl as well.