Chapter 9 #2
We stepped back into the kitchen to find Piper leaning against the counter, plating muffins and burritos, like she'd already claimed setting up breakfast as a personal challenge. Hunter stood across from her, holding his coffee and watching her like she was a one-woman sitcom.
“Everything okay?” Piper asked.
“Everything’s handled,” Ren said simply.
Hunter caught my eye but didn’t press. That was one of the things I liked most about him—he waited until you were ready to talk.
Piper handed me a burrito, warm and fragrant in its foil. “Eat before you start overthinking. You’ve already reached your brain’s daily freakout limit. It’s early, but I know it.”
“Is that a medical opinion?” I asked, peeling it open.
“It’s a sister opinion. Arguably more qualified.”
Ren clapped his hands together. “Alright, our mission is complete. We’ve fed, assessed, and emotionally triaged. Time to go.”
Piper kissed my cheek on the way out. “Call if you need anything. Or don’t. We’ll probably show up either way to bring you and the kids dinner later.”
Ren and Piper left in a flurry of takeout wrappers and quiet affection, and for a moment, the house was still again. I sank into a kitchen chair with my burrito and let the comfort of everyone being safe under my roof sink in.
Until the sound of a door creaked down the hallway.
Lark shuffled in first, wearing fuzzy socks and an oversized sweatshirt with a glittery bunny on it. She squinted at us like we were an optical illusion.
“You’re still here?” she asked Hunter, rubbing her eyes. “I mean that in a nice way. A surprised way. Mornings are not my thing,” she mumbled. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He grinned. “Breakfast is on the table.”
She grunted and grabbed a burrito.
Then Briar padded in, clutching a blanket around her shoulders like a cape. She looked a little pale, but steadier on her feet than last night.
She looked at Hunter. “Thanks for finding me last night.”
“Anytime, kiddo. I’m glad I was there to help.”
She gave a shy nod and leaned into my side when I held out my arm.
Noah followed next, hair sticking up in ten different directions. He grunted a good morning and stared at the muffin box like it was a mirage.
My kitchen had never felt this calm in the morning.
And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat down and simply relaxed into a morning. And even though Eli was attempting to ruin everything again, I wasn’t worried. Ren was more than capable of handling everything. He’d done it before. And this time, I had Hunter on my side.
Hunter sat across from me, took a sip of coffee, and leaned back in his chair just enough to stretch his legs out under the table, bumping mine lightly in the process. I didn’t move away, and neither did he.
“Thanks for staying,” I said finally, voice low.
Eventually, the quiet began to shift again.
Lark yawned, grabbed a muffin without saying a word, and disappeared back to her room like a sleepy little zombie.
Briar gave me a small, tired smile, then mumbled something about finding her phone charger and vanished just as quickly.
Noah followed, rubbing his face and muttering something about texting one of his friends in town for lunch. He stopped long enough to give me a long hug from behind my chair, then wandered down the hall.
And just like that, it was just Hunter and me, with two half-finished cups of coffee cooling on the table. I watched the sunlight shift across the tile and smiled at him.
“I thought I was going to lose my mind last night,” I said softly, tracing my finger along the rim of my mug.
Hunter didn’t interrupt.
“I mean—I did lose it a little bit, when I was alone in my car and on the couch with you, I guess. I’m not always good in the moment. But later? That’s when it all hits. But it didn’t hit this time. I got to talk it out instead of crying into my pillow. Because you were here with me.”
“I’m glad I was. Thank you for letting me stay with you. I was worried. Still am, if I’m being honest.”
I looked at him, and his gaze was so warm, so open, it made something in me ache a little. “You always seem to show up when I need you,” I whispered.
“Not always.” He took a slow sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. “Not when you were married. But from now on, I’ll never stop trying to be.”
I swallowed hard, eyes burning again. “You make everything feel easier.”
“That’s all I want. You do the same for me and you always have, Paige.”
The silence that settled between us then wasn’t awkward. It was weighted, but warm—like we were both standing on the edge of something neither of us wanted to rush.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“I know. So am I.”
“But I’m also tired of feeling alone.”
“I know that, too, and I feel the same way.” He reached across the table and slid his hand over mine. His thumb brushed along the side of my hand, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to startle me.
“You’ve been carrying everything for so long,” he said quietly. “I know you’re exhausted.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” he said gently. “You just haven’t had help you trusted in a long time. And I don’t mean your family, they’re amazing. I mean a man. Your man.”
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth, I might cry. And I wasn’t sure I had any tears left after last night.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Paige,” he added. “I’ve seen you at your best and your worst. I’ve known you forever. None of what you’re going through scares me.”
I looked down at our hands. His skin was rough, calloused from work. Mine were dry from dishes, hand sanitizer, and the constant use that came with being a mom, a bartender, and a woman who did too much. But our hands looked right together.
My breath caught. And maybe it was because the house was at peace again. Maybe it was because my heart was still wide open from last night. Maybe it was just that I was tired of pretending. But I stood up. Walked the few steps around the table. And slid into his lap.
He stiffened for a second, surprised, and then his arms came around me like they were meant to be there. I tucked my face against his neck, breathing him in—cedar and soap and the faintest hint of coffee.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low.
“No,” I whispered. “But I want to be.”
His hand moved up my back, fingers gentle, his touch light. “Then we’ll go slow.”
I pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes searched mine, careful and patient.
Then, finally, he leaned in and kissed my forehead.
And when he pulled back, I didn’t move. I just curled into him again, my arms around his shoulders, my face buried in the soft fabric of his shirt.
We sat there for a long time, holding each other, while the sun rose a little higher and the rest of the house stayed miraculously still.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like something was about to fall apart.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been weird,” I said.
“You’ve been going through a lot lately,” he said, voice steady. “I’m sorry I backed off if you didn’t want me to.”
For a moment, we simply looked at each other, eyes searching, thoughtful and unhurried.
There was a vulnerability hanging between us, as if we were both quietly measuring the distance we’d come and the space that was left to close.
I saw the flicker of uncertainty mingling with hope in his gaze—the silent questions we were both too careful to voice but still lived behind every blink.
I wondered what he saw in mine: hesitation, maybe, but also a willingness that hadn’t been there before.
It felt like the room was holding its breath, waiting for one of us to decide if this was safe ground or just another edge to fall off of.
And as our eyes held, something eased in me—I recognized the steadiness in his, the gentle invitation to trust, to stay a little longer in this fragile, sunlit peace.
“No, I needed the space, so much is going on. I just—” I hesitated. “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend I don’t feel anything than deal with the possibility that I might.”
Hunter nodded slowly as relief suffused his features. “Yeah. I get that. Obviously, because I feel the same way. I’m sorry for being weird, too. That last thing I want to do is push you too far. Or push you at all.”
I drew back to look at him, the morning light slanting through the kitchen window and catching in the strands of his hair. I didn’t know what this thing between us was exactly, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel scary to want something. It felt like maybe I should want this.
“Thank you for being here for me,” I said softly.
He gave a quiet smile, a little sheepish. “Well, you make it hard not to. Especially since you’re always there for me, too.”
I let out a breath that might have been a laugh, but maybe also a sigh of relief. “You’re dangerous, Cassidy.”
He tilted his head, lips tilting up at the corner. “I’ve been told.”
We stayed like this—close, quiet, no pressure.
“This is nice,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”
“I don’t know what I want yet,” I whispered. “No, that’s not it. I’m not sure I even know how to want anything anymore.”
“That’s okay. I don’t either.”
“I just know I don’t want to fight whatever is going on with us, and I don’t want to hide from it anymore.”
His hand found mine, fingers lacing through mine loosely.
“Then we won’t,” he said, like it was that simple. And maybe it was.
We sat there a while longer, wrapped in quiet, and I let myself just exist in that moment—with him, in my kitchen, in the stillness. No expectations. No labels. Just comfort.
When I finally got up, he followed, gathering the mugs and rinsing them in the sink like he’d done it a hundred times before.