Where We Call Home (Faircloud #2)

Chapter 6

Six

B oone let me leave work early today. I wasn’t entirely honest about why, but a little white lie didn’t hurt anyone. I needed time to grab the groceries for dinner with Theo. If Boone knew, he’d run straight to Aspen and spill. I wasn’t ready for that.

For the first time in a while, my heart fluttered in a way that wasn’t tinged with dread. The sensation was warm, like butterflies shifting inside my chest. Usually, the only woman occupying my thoughts was Jess, and the spike in my heart rate then wasn’t pleasant, it was hammering anxiety. Tonight felt different, and I clung to the feeling.

As I wandered through the grocery aisles, I was laser-focused on making tonight special. Boxed pasta wouldn’t cut it. I was making everything from scratch.

The store's fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the only sound was the hum of old-school country music. My basket was filled with flour, eggs, red pepper flakes, and tomatoes. Most of the other seasonings were already at home.

When I talked to Theo earlier, I was smiling like an idiot. Thank God she couldn’t see me. She might’ve hung up and never called again, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. Still, hearing her agree to dinner felt like a win.

Turning into the freezer aisle, I froze. A puff of teased black hair, unmistakable and too familiar, caught my eye. My chest tightened, the air around me suddenly feeling too thin.

Jess’s mom.

She wore her usual uniform: capris, a short-sleeved shirt, and that gravity-defying hairstyle. My palms dampened as old, unwelcome memories surged like a wave breaking over me, each one sharper than the last.

I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut. Ten, nine, eight... I counted backward, willing myself to stay calm, to stay grounded. The knot in my stomach only twisted tighter.

You don’t have to stay. You can leave. The thought was a lifeline, something solid to hold onto. I opened my eyes, scanning for an escape route.

Every nerve in my body screamed the same command: Get out. Now.

Spinning on my heels, I decided ice cream could wait. Instead, I veered into the baking aisle to grab double chocolate chunk cake mix. No ordinary store cake for Theo. Sure, it was box mix, but I knew my limits. I wasn’t much of a baker, and asking Aspen for help would only give her more ammunition to tease.

For me, this wasn’t just dinner, it was a shot at something new. Theo wasn’t just stunning; she was effortlessly cool in a way that made you want to lean in and stay a while.

Maybe I was chasing something familiar. Or maybe it was the timing—she’d come back to town just as I was beginning to feel whole again, like some kind of nudge I couldn’t ignore. Either way, this was a step I had to take, even if it scared me.

Eventually, I circled back to the freezer aisle, relieved to see Jess’s mom had vanished. My chest loosened, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Grabbing the ice cream, I ran through my mental checklist.

At the last second, as I was heading to checkout, I spotted something. Without overthinking, I reached for it and tossed it into my basket. A small, impulsive gesture but one that felt just right.

To my surprise, Indie was working the register. This wasn’t my usual day to shop, but it was comforting to know at least she was my one constant. Her reaction to seeing me was as flat as usual, minimal talking, quick exchange of cash, a fake smile.

Bags in hand, I jogged to my truck to quickly drive home.

My little bungalow sat on several wooded acres. The dark gray paint and metal roof gave it charm, while the wraparound porch pulled it all together. Inside, it was too big for one guy—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a decent kitchen, however, the rent was a steal thanks to the sweet couple who owned it. I’m pretty sure they just felt bad for me.

This place was just a house. Every night, I came back to the same thing: lights off, darkness swallowing the space, and an eerie silence no one could explain. Being just a few years shy of thirty, I never thought I’d be here—starting over. Alone. Spending my nights tossing frozen pizzas in the oven, living like a bachelor.

Over the past year, I’ve had to be okay with being on my own. Therapy taught me that I needed to find peace within myself before I could truly be with someone else, and I did. I became content. I’d realize though, being content wasn’t enough anymore.

I wanted more. I wanted a family.

I could see it so clearly: little versions of me running around, their laughter filling this empty house. A partner who wasn’t just someone I loved but someone I could call my best friend.

Was that too much to ask?

Balancing all the grocery bags in one trip, I barreled through the door and dumped everything on the counter.

I’d start with the pasta first, leaving out the eggs and flour. Mid-washing my hands, my phone started to ring and a picture of my mom popped up on the screen. Quickly, using the towel to dry my hands, I swiped and accepted the video call.

“Hi, Sweetie!” she greeted, her face filling the screen, way too close for comfort. She and I were spitting images; people said I looked like the male version of her. She had black hair, which she kept cut to above her shoulders, and vibrant green eyes.

“Ma, pull the phone back.” I laughed, leaning on the counter.

She huffed and adjusted the angle. “Better?” Behind her, I caught glimpses of a hotel room.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Rob surprised me with a trip to the city! He knows how much I love to shop.” She grinned like a teenager, clearly thrilled.

My mom and Rob still lived in Faircloud. Even though she was still close, I didn’t get to see her as often as I should have. She worked the night shift as a nurse in the city, which meant she would work when I was getting off. Rob was a saint in that he always supported her and had nothing negative to say about her job. Instead, he gloated about how amazing and committed she was.

We chatted as I worked, but the moment she noticed me making pasta from scratch, her mom instincts kicked in.

“Homemade pasta? Who’s the lucky lady?”

I hesitated. Lying to my mom wasn’t an option. Lying in general wasn’t something I did. “Theo Matthews,” I admitted, keeping my tone casual.

“And you’re making her a meal? From scratch?” Her voice carried a hint of worry. “Isn’t she… pregnant? Oh my God, is it?—?”

“No, Ma. Definitely not. If it were, you’d have known months ago.”

She softened, but doubt still lingered in her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you. I saw what Jess put you through. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know,” I said, focusing on the dough beneath my hands, kneading it like it could absorb the tension. “It’s just a date. She’s a nice girl, and she needs a friend right now.”

“Are you sure it’s worth it? That’s a lot to take on if this becomes more than just a date.”

I paused, pressing the heel of my palm into the dough a little harder. “I’m not thinking that far ahead. I’m taking baby steps, Ma, trying to get back out there. And she’s a friend. It’s okay, seriously.”

Her expression softened on the screen, worry etched in the lines around her eyes. “I trust you. Just be careful, okay?”

Her words hit deeper than she probably realized. She’d been there, picking up the pieces. My mom had spent countless sleepless nights sitting with me, pushing through her own exhaustion to make sure I didn’t drown in mine. Back then, the bottle had been my crutch, my escape, and she’d been the one forcing me to face the reality I kept trying to avoid.

“I will. Always,” I promised, meeting her gaze.

Still, I needed to steer the conversation away. Even though she said she trusted me, I could hear the judgment in her voice, subtle but unmistakable.

Just because Theo was pregnant didn’t mean she deserved less care or attention. The weight she carried didn’t make her less worthy of kindness or companionship.

Would my mom feel the same skepticism if the baby were already here? If I invited Theo and her child over for dinner, would she still see it as a risk?

The questions churned in my mind as I shaped the dough, but I didn’t voice them. Some battles didn’t need to be fought out loud.

We’d continued our conversation about work and other little stuff before it was time for them to leave for their dinner reservations.

After we hung up, I put the final touches on my meal. Luckily, I had my mom on the phone because it had been a while since I had made this dish. The recipe was hers, which came from her mom, and so on. It was a generational thing.

Cake baking, sauce simmering, everything felt right. When I glanced at the clock, the nerves hit me like a truck.

Was the house clean enough? Would Theo feel comfortable?

Walking around, I made a few last-minute adjustments. I made sure my bed was made and my bathroom cleaned up, and I even wore a little cologne. A lot depended on the first impression.

Should I light a candle for the table? Was that too forward?

Forget the candle.

I ran my hands down the front of my jeans, looking down to check out my outfit. Suddenly, I hated this shirt. The fabric was too tight. I needed to change.

Taking off in a jog towards my bedroom, I mentally flipped through all four shirts I owned and I landed on a standard Black Carhartt tee.

While I was mid change, there was a knock on the door, barely enough for me to hear. Panic took over, and I ran down the hall while also trying to put my shirt on.

Pro tip: don’t do that.

As my head came through the hole, I barely stopped myself in time from running into the wall. I needed to calm down, take a deep breath, and put on my game face. I repeated those steps in real time, shutting my eyes and counting back from ten. When I steadied myself, I approached the door as calm and collected as I could be.

There she stood, her overalls unbuttoned on one side, her tube top hinting at fair and smooth skin beneath. Her pigtails—damn those pigtails—made my heart stutter. She wasn’t even trying, and I was already completely under her spell.

“Hey there, Honey,” I said, plastering on a confident grin while desperately hoping she couldn’t tell I was one step away from falling to my knees.