ONE TARAN #2
Five years had passed since Royce died. I’d worked hard to keep my life together, to raise Rory on my own, to create something stable for us.
I couldn’t afford to get too close, not like before.
Royce was gone, and that part of my life was over.
I had to keep going the way I had been, focusing on Rory, the bakery, and the life I’d managed to piece together.
It was safer that way. Wynter belonged with Lisa, and I had to remember that.
Whatever closeness we once had, it had to stay in the past. There was no place for it in the life I was building now, not without Royce.
Wynter stepped into the kitchen, his gaze immediately taking in Rory and the array of baked goods.
Rory looked up from his task at the counter with wary curiosity. His posture stiffened as he noticed Wynter.
I cleared my throat, trying to bridge the gap. “Rory, you may not remember him, but this is Wynter. He’s an old friend of mine.” I glanced at Wynter, who was observing Rory with warmth in his expression. “Wynter, you remember my son, don’t you?”
He offered a smile, though his eyes lingered on Rory with a searching quality. “Of course, I do. He’s all grown up.”
Rory shifted slightly, a hint of shyness in his demeanor as he fidgeted with the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I guess,” he replied, his gaze darting away from Wynter.
I couldn’t help but smile at my son, a few crumbs clinging to the corner of his lips. “He’s twelve now.” I playfully nudged him with my elbow, earning a playful swat from him. “Pretty soon, I’ll have a teenager on my hands.”
Rory’s grin flickered as his fingers traced the edge of the counter. “Dad says I’ll be baking full-time by then.” There was a touch of pride in his voice, though his gaze was guarded and unsure when it briefly darted toward Wynter.
“Only if you stop burning the cookies,” I joked, hoping to ease the tension. He laughed, but it was subdued, and I couldn’t miss how his eyes kept drifting back to Wynter, sizing him up with a quiet wariness.
Wynter’s smile softened as he watched the interaction, but the tension in the room was palpable.
Rory’s shoulders remained stiff, and he seemed uncomfortable with Wynter’s presence—a man who, despite his familiarity to me, was almost a stranger to Rory.
Seven the last time they met, Rory’s memories of Wynter would be little more than a blur.
“So, you’re the famous baker now, huh?” Wynter said, attempting to engage Rory. But Rory merely nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Sensing the need to step in, I cleared my throat. “Rory, why don’t you finish up with the batter? We’ve got a lot to do before I leave for my appointment.”
“Okay, Dad.” Rory resumed mixing the batter, focusing on his task with an intensity that was unusual for him.
Wynter shot me a questioning look, but I just gave a small shake of my head. There was no need to force anything. Rory would come around when he was ready, but for now, it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about Wynter being here.
“Is it okay if I stick around for a bit?” Wynter asked, his voice low as he leaned closer to me.
“Of course,” I said, but the words felt heavier than they should have. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing, letting Wynter stay, but I couldn’t turn him away. Not after everything.
Wynter moved to the other side of the kitchen, keeping a respectful distance from Rory, who was engrossed in his task. I could still feel the unspoken tension in the room.
Rory suddenly looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed Wynter. “You knew Papa, my second father, right?”
The question hung in the air, sharp and direct, and I felt a pang in my chest. Rory had never called Royce his “second father” before, and I knew this was his way of testing the waters, trying to figure out where Wynter fit into our lives.
Wynter’s expression softened even more, and he took a step closer, but not too close. “Yeah, Rory. I knew Royce really well. We were best friends.”
Rory nodded, but his gaze remained skeptical. “So, how come you haven’t been around till now?”
The question was blunt, and I could see it caught Wynter off guard. I opened my mouth to intervene, but Wynter raised a hand slightly, signaling that he could handle it.
“I wanted to, Rory,” Wynter said quietly, “but sometimes life takes you places you don’t expect. I’m here now, though, and I’m hoping we can all get to know each other again.”
Rory’s eyes flicked to me, and I gave him a reassuring nod. He shrugged, clearly not fully convinced, but he didn’t press further. “I guess,” he muttered, turning back to the batter.
The conversation lingered in the air, a reminder of the changes that had unfolded over the years. I knew this was just the beginning; Rory would need time to process everything. I’d have to navigate this new dynamic with care.
“Why don’t you grab a seat, Wyn?” I suggested, trying to bring the focus back to something lighter.
Wynter smiled, but I could tell he was still thinking about Rory’s questions. “Sounds good.”
As I went back to icing the cupcakes, I knew the easy, carefree days we once had were long gone. We were different people now, shaped by loss and time. And while I was glad Wynter was here, I wondered if we could ever truly pick up where we left off—or if it was even wise to try.
I resisted the urge to glance at Rory, sensing the tension in his posture.
He was always slow to warm up to new faces, especially since Royce had passed.
The protective barrier Rory had built around himself was palpable, a shield he had erected out of necessity and loss.
He’d become like a mother bear, fiercely guarding our small, fragile world.
I understood Rory's hesitation, and it cut deep. Losing Royce had left a void that was never truly filled. Even before that tragic day, Royce had been deployed for extended periods, leaving Rory with fleeting memories of his father. Those memories were scattered, like fragments of a dream, and Rory rarely spoke of them. I knew he was struggling, but he chose silence over conversation—a silence that weighed heavily on my heart. It troubled me that Rory was so closed off, preferring to keep his pain buried. Whenever I brought up going to see a therapist, he was adamant he didn’t need one, and I didn’t want to force him.
Every chance that I could, I assured him I was there for him, ready to listen whenever he opened up.
I cleared my throat, desperately needing a change of topic. “So, how is Lisa?”
Wynter’s smile faltered slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “I haven’t seen her yet,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of discomfort.
Say what? The words hit me like a cold splash of water. “Haven't seen her yet?” I echoed, trying to process the unease in his voice. Something’s off, way off.
“I came directly from the airport,” Wynter said with what would seem like a casual shrug to someone who didn’t know him well, but I knew better. What the heck was going on? “Since I was on my way home, I thought I’d stop by and say ‘hello.’ I’ll head out now.”
I watched him closely, noting the stiffness in his posture and the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, like he was holding back words he hadn’t yet decided whether or not to say.
His gaze flickered around the room, never quite settling on anything for long.
This wasn’t the behavior of a man eager to reunite with his wife after a long separation.
If anything, it hinted at something more troubling, a tension beneath his polished exterior.
A man who hadn’t seen his spouse for over a year wouldn’t make a casual pit stop unless there was more going on.
My mind raced with unspoken questions. Was he planning to surprise Lisa?
Or, was there something more? Like trouble in their marriage?
Did he want to talk about Royce? Well, I didn’t. At least, not now.