Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
E lla checked her reflection one last time, tugging at the sleeve of her hiking jacket. She stared at herself, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “A hiking date. At night. How did I get here?”
When Tom’s knock sounded, her heart did a funny little skip. She opened the door to find him looking ridiculously handsome in dark hiking gear, his usual intensity softened by something that looked suspiciously like nervousness.
“Still up for some stargazing?” he asked.
“That depends. Are you planning to murder me in the woods?”
His lips twitched. “Wouldn’t be much point in installing all those security cameras around town if I was.”
“Good answer.” She grabbed her jacket, very aware of the MacGregor brothers watching from their pub window across the street. “Though I’m pretty sure we have an audience.”
“Don’t we always?” His lips twitched. “The perils of small-town life.”
The drive up the mountain was quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that settles between two people who don’t feel compelled to fill every moment with words. Tom handled the winding roads with the same quiet competence he brought to everything, and Ella found herself studying his profile in the dashboard lights.
At the trailhead, he pulled out a backpack and handed her a flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a well-maintained path.
“I promise it’s an easy hike,” he said, noticing her eyeing the trail. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Do you do this often?”
“When my mind gets too loud.” He glanced back at her, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “The stars help put things in perspective.”
He led the way, occasionally reaching back to steady her on rougher patches. His hand was warm and sure, lingering just a moment longer than necessary each time. When they emerged into the clearing, Ella stopped short, wonder stealing her breath.
Below them, Harmony Falls sparkled like scattered diamonds. Above, the sky blazed with more stars than she’d ever seen, the Milky Way a silver ribbon stretching horizon to horizon.
“Oh,” she breathed. “This is...”
“Worth the climb?” Tom spread a blanket on a flat rock, then pulled out a thermos. “Coffee?”
The liquid was perfectly prepared - cream and sugar just the way she liked it. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“Hard not to.” He settled beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. “Security expert, remember? Observation is kind of my thing.”
They sat in companionable silence, sharing coffee and watching the stars wheel overhead. When she shivered, Tom pulled a jacket from his pack and draped it over her shoulders. It smelled like him - pine and something uniquely masculine that made her heart flutter.
“Ever the Boy Scout,” she teased, pulling the jacket closer.
“More like force of habit. In Afghanistan...” he trailed off, then pointed to a bright star. “See that one? Sirius. The Dog Star.”
“The faithful companion,” she said softly. “My husband Jacob used to tell me the stories behind the constellations when we’d go camping.”
“I... I heard about Jacob. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
She drew in a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on the stars above. “Rock climbing accident. He’d done it hundreds of times before, but this time—” Her voice caught. “One minute everything was fine. We’d had this wonderful evening together, and the next morning he went out for a climb. Then my whole world just... shattered. I didn’t even know it was possible to feel pain like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She nodded.
She felt something shift between them as they sat there in the darkness, the weight of her words hanging in the night air. His silence was a gift - no platitudes, no awkward attempts to fix her pain. Just presence. Understanding. She found herself grateful for that simple acceptance, the way he let her sit with the memory without trying to rush her past it. Somehow, sharing that moment of her life with him made her feel closer, like he now held a small piece of Jacob’s story too.
After a while Tom tilted his head again. “The stars were different there. In Afghanistan. But they helped - having something constant to focus on during long nights.”
She turned to study his face in the moonlight. “Is that why you come up here? For the constants?”
“Partly.” His eyes met hers, intense and honest. “Sometimes it’s just good to remember there’s still beauty in the world. Even after...everything.”
Understanding passed between them - about loss, about rebuilding, about finding light in the darkness. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining naturally.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For sharing this with me.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to come.”
A satellite tracked across the sky, a moving light among the fixed stars. Neither moved to break their connection.
“You know,” she said finally, “I half expected this to be another MacGregor scheme.”
His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Oh, it probably is. But...” he squeezed her hand gently. “Maybe they occasionally get something right.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that. Their egos are impossible enough already.”
The moonlight caught his eyes as he turned to her, showing a vulnerability that made her breath catch. “I’m not good at this, Ella. At...letting people in.”
“Neither am I.” She reached up, touching his cheek. “But maybe that’s okay. Maybe we just need to be brave enough to try.”
When he kissed her, it felt like coming home. Like finding something she hadn’t known she was missing until it was right there in front of her. His hand tangled in her hair as she curled closer, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. The kiss sent tingles racing down her spine, heat flooding through her body. His lips were firm but gentle against hers, making her head spin and her knees go weak. She gripped his shoulders for balance, amazed at how just one kiss could make her feel so dizzy, so alive. Every nerve ending seemed to spark with electricity where they touched. Oh wow. She felt like she was melting and flying all at once.
“Well,” she managed when they parted, both slightly breathless. “That’s one way to see stars.”
His laugh was everything she’d hoped it would be - warm and real and just for her. They settled back to watch the sky, her head on his shoulder, his arm secure around her waist.
Some risks, Ella was learning, were worth taking.
Even if it meant admitting the MacGregors might have been right all along.
Ella slouched in her corner booth at the Harvest Moon Café, absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. The café’s ancient ceiling fans whirred overhead, creating a drowsy late morning atmosphere that matched her mood. She’d chosen this spot carefully - a clear view of both exits, which she realized with a start was exactly what Tom would do. The thought made her smile.
“Found you!” Zoey’s voice broke through her reverie as she slid into the booth, copper hair gleaming in the sunlight. “I ordered lattes for everyone. Hope that’s okay.”
“Everyone?” Ella barely got the word out before Lissa and Amber appeared, juggling drinks and a pile of chocolate croissants that made Ella’s mouth water.
“We’re stress-eating,” Lissa announced, easing her pregnant form into the booth with the careful movements of a woman well-acquainted with her changing center of gravity. “Doctor’s orders.”
Amber snorted, distributing pastries with practiced efficiency. “Pretty sure Dr. Wildner would have a stroke if he heard you say that.”
“I’m eating for two,” Lissa patted her belly. “This little guy’s already showing MacGregor tendencies - he’s always hungry!”
Despite her earlier mood, Ella found herself grinning. The MacGregor wives had a way of steamrolling over melancholy with their particular brand of warmth and wit. Unlike their husbands’ sometimes overwhelming intensity, their attention felt like slipping into a favorite sweater - comfortable and oddly familiar.
“So,” Zoey leaned forward, her eyes holding that otherworldly knowledge that still unnerved Ella sometimes, “how are you really settling in?”
“It’s...” Ella paused, searching for the right words. “Different. Smaller. But in a good way, mostly. Like trading a symphony for a string quartet.”
“Except for our husbands conducting the whole thing like medieval maestros?” Amber’s eyes danced with mischief.
“They mean well,” Lissa jumped in, though her tone suggested this was a well-worn defense. “They’re just...”
“Stuck in another century?” Ella suggested dryly.
The three women all looked startled, then laughed. “Emotionally speaking? Absolutely.” Zoey’s agreement came with a knowing smile.
“Very, very stuck,” Amber muttered into her latte, leaving a smudge of foam on her upper lip.
Ella studied their faces - Lissa’s gentle understanding, Zoey’s ethereal perception, Amber’s vibrant energy. They’d each married into this strange family, yet seemed completely at peace with their choices. “How did you handle it? When you first met them, I mean. Weren’t you at least a little concerned they’d escaped from a Renaissance Faire?”
The women exchanged glances loaded with shared history.
“Oh honey,” Lissa laughed. “I thought Gareth was certifiable. He kidnapped me right off the bat. He kept going on about destiny and protection and family legacy. I actually googled local psychiatric facilities.”
“Really?” Ella leaned forward, intrigued.
“Really. I considered police intervention, restraining orders and everything.” Lissa’s hand drifted to her belly. “Then he proved he wasn’t crazy. Well, not in the way I thought, anyway.”
“Aiden saved me from a nasty ex-boyfriend,” Zoey offered, her voice soft with memory. “He’s like an immovable object, and be very in intense. Like a storm gathering on the horizon - you know it’s coming, but you can’t look away.”
“Wow.” Ella turned to Amber. “What about you?”
“Oh, I knew exactly what Liam was.” Her grin turned feline. “Some of us appreciate a man who can start a bar fight in Latin.”
Something in her tone made Ella wonder yet again about Amber’s mysterious background. The woman had an air about her that suggested private jets and fortified estates. Before she could probe further, Lissa spoke again.
“Tell us about before,” she said gently. “About Ohio. If you want to. We want to get to know you better.”
The invitation hung in the air, pressure-free. Ella found herself talking before she’d made a conscious decision to do so.
“I was happy there, with Jacob.” She traced a pattern in the spilled sugar on the table, her gaze distant. “We had plans—the kind you make when you think you have forever. Travel. Maybe kids someday. He loved climbing, lived for the next challenge.” Her voice faltered, her throat tightening as she forced herself to continue.
“Until the last one.”
The room grew quiet, the other women exchanging glances, but no one interrupted. She knew they already knew, thanks to small-town gossip. But they hadn’t heard it from her—not until now.
“He didn’t make it.” She swallowed hard, the words sharp and bitter on her tongue. “Jacob died in a climbing accident. A freak fall.”
Her hand stilled on the sugar, the pattern smeared and forgotten. She glanced up, bracing for pity, but what she saw in their faces was something softer. Understanding. Respect.
It didn’t erase the ache, but it made the moment a little less unbearable.
Zoey’s hand covered hers, warm and steady. “How long?”
“Two years next month. It was a routine climb, one he’d done dozens of times.” She shrugged, the movement jerky. “But equipment fails. Weather changes. Sometimes the universe just...” She spread her fingers wide.
“And your family?” Lissa’s voice was soft.
“Mom’s wrapped up in new-marriage bliss. Dad...” Ella took a fortifying sip of coffee. “Let’s just say his new wife came with a fresh start package. New house, new hobbies, new life. I get Christmas cards and birthday calls, when he remembers.”
“Well,” Amber’s voice cut through the melancholy like a blade, “their loss is our gain. You’re stuck with us now.”
“Whether I like it or not?” Ella meant it as a joke, but something flickered across their faces. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Another loaded glance bounced between them like a hot potato.
“Our husbands,” Lissa said carefully, “have strong feelings about family. About protecting people they care about.”
“I’ve noticed.” Ella attacked her croissant with maybe more force than necessary. “Though I still don’t understand why they care so much about me specifically.”
“Some connections,” Zoey said, her voice taking on that mystical quality that meant she was seeing something the rest of them couldn’t, “run deeper than logic. Like stars aligning after centuries apart.”
“Great,” Ella groaned. “Now you sound like them.”
“We learned from the best.” Amber’s smile softened. “But seriously, whatever cosmic GPS brought you here - fate, chance, or our husbands’ medieval meddling - we’re glad you came.”
“Even if the men are being...” Lissa waved vaguely.
“Overwhelming?” Ella suggested. “Overbearing? Desperately in need of a history lesson on women’s rights?”
“All of the above,” they chorused, dissolving into laughter.
The morning sunlight painted everything golden, and Ella felt something in her chest loosen. These women understood - not just about loss or new beginnings, but about finding your place in a world that sometimes felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces.
“So,” Amber’s eyes gleamed with sudden mischief. “Speaking of overwhelming men... what’s happening with you and our favorite brooding security expert?”
“Nothing is happening with me and Tom.”
“Your aura begs to differ,” Zoey hummed. “It’s all sparkly around the edges.”
“Not you too!” But Ella was smiling as she said it, and when the others laughed, she joined in.
Maybe, just maybe, she could find a home here after all. Even if it came with three meddling Scotsmen who thought the internet was witchcraft, and their wives who apparently could see emotions in technicolor.
At least there were good croissants.