CHAPTER NINE
Despite the bad reception at the inn, Emily kept her phone in her pocket every minute of every day that came, waiting and hoping for an email from her dad to arrive. But none did.
Even when the family bundled into the truck and headed off to Chantelle’s Christmas performance one crisp, black evening, Emily kept checking her cell.
“You’re glued to that thing,” Daniel quipped, unaware.
Emily hadn’t wanted to tell him, worried that he’d slip into his logical and practical mindset and tell her the email address she’d found couldn’t possibly belong to her father, that she was just dreaming. As long as only she knew about the email, the only person who could disappoint her was her father himself.
“Sorry,” Emily muttered, staring at the blank screen. “Just work stuff.”
Daniel,
