Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HAZEL
The rest of the week blurred. My days were filled with work, helping dad clean out the house, spending time with my friends, and slipping away now and then to knock another fix-it-because-you-broke-it task off my list.
And then there was Tucker.
Making late-night snacks had become a ritual. We didn’t plan it. We didn’t talk about it. But somehow, we kept ending up in his kitchen, the world muted, the quiet between us warm, intimate…and electric enough to burn the edges off my restraint.
The other night, when we’d walked down the hall to go to bed, we’d stopped right between his door and mine, then stared at each other. He slid a hand to the nape of my neck and kissed me good night on the forehead.
I tipped my face up, and our mouths ended up a fraction of an inch apart. We stared some more, and then he whispered my name.
I whispered, “Yes,” and he took my hand…
And then we went to his bed, where we lost hours in each other.
He touched me like he was learning every part of me, kissed me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my soul.
We took each other apart and put the pieces back together, aching and hungry, and still starved for more.
We moved in rhythm like muscle memory, like a prayer, slow, reverent, and greedy.
Every gasp and graze rewrote the past, and nothing else existed.
We didn’t talk about it. We talked about everything under the sun except…it.
Maybe because it felt too fragile.
Or maybe it was a way to protect our hearts.
Every morning when I woke, wrapped up in Tucker’s big, warm body, I wondered how long we could keep pretending. Because this couldn’t last, right? And when it ended, could I stay in Star Falls without breaking wide open?
Or would the Seattle job save me by giving me a new place, a clean slate, and a job I knew I’d love?
Did I want a fresh start? Or did I want this—this life, these people, this man—to work?
Deep down, I knew what I wanted. I just didn’t believe I could have it.
Then, one night, I’d gotten home just as Tucker finished grilling chicken and veggies. The scent alone made my mouth water. Or maybe that was the sight of Tucker cooking with a casual efficiency that seemed ridiculously sexy.
Everyone showed up. Hank, Caleb and Emma, Kiera and the twins, my dad. And…Sybil.
The woman made my dad’s plate, smiling sweetly—sweetly!—when he asked for butter on his veggies but didn’t give him any.
Dad looked down at the plate she’d set before him and sighed.
And I actually found myself laughing with the woman who’d made my high school life a special kind of hell.
“You had potential, you know,” Sybil said, settling in beside me. “In class. That’s why I was always hard on you. You gave zero effort, but you could’ve taught the class.”
I blinked, unsure whether to be flattered or confused. Had hell frozen over?
She nodded, smiling at the look on my face. “I’m happy to see you making something of yourself. I’ve heard about your woodworking. Seen the new gazebo. The women’s shelter. And I have a feeling the cantilever shade structure at the bus stop downtown has your fingerprints on it too.”
I hadn’t told a soul about that one. “How did you—”
“Just a feeling.” She smiled, tapped her water bottle to mine, and turned to tease my dad about his untouched zucchini.
I was still blinking in surprise when Tucker set a plate in front of me. I stared at the mouthwatering chicken and veggies, then realized he’d either pulled out the zucchini or eaten them for me, and I stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You remember I hate zucchini.”
“You hate any green foods,” he said, his tone conveying duh.
I made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh but missed. “You know stuff about me that no one knows.”
“Yes,” he said, then leaned in and kissed me. Soft but sure. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Around us, you could’ve heard a pin drop, and I froze. Oh my God, that’s how stupid he made me—I forgot everything when he looked at me like that.
Caleb was first to speak, because of course he was. “Does this mean you’re more than…just friends?”
Kiera smacked him upside the back of his head.
“We are friends,” Tucker said easily, not taking his eyes from mine. “We’re a lot of things. All of them none of your business.”
There were a few laughs, and conversations restarted. Everyone moved on, and Tucker gave me a slow smile. The kind that felt like a promise. My insides went mushy as I struggled to pretend my world hadn’t just tipped off its axis.
Tucker went on shift for two days, burning the candle at both ends like he always did.
Me too. And today had been…a special kind of terrible.
The air was cooler than usual, dusk settling in with streaks of orange and purple across the horizon. I sat in the grass outside my childhood home, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the house.
Once, it’d been full of life and laughter. Once, it’d been where I went for acceptance and love. But then I’d lost my mom.
Today was her birthday.
Around me, the air felt thick with grief and the kind of homesickness you feel only for someone who’s gone.
For the first time since being back, I wanted to go inside.
I wanted to lose myself in her memories but felt stuck, trapped in a swirl of emotions I didn’t know how to untangle.
I actually wanted to go inside, but I was afraid.
I couldn’t feel her anymore. I closed my eyes, trying to summon her voice, her laugh, the warmth of her embrace, but it was all gone.
“Hey.”
My heart stuttered at the sound of Tucker’s voice behind me, and I hurriedly swiped my eyes as I straightened. Slowly, I turned to find him standing at the edge of the yard, a bag in hand.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he said, mirroring my long-ago words back to him. “But do you want company?”
I closed my eyes. How did he always know what I needed, even when I didn’t?
And why couldn’t I open my mouth and say yes?
Somehow understanding me as always, Tucker didn’t wait for a verbal response.
That armload of emotional intuition was already walking toward me, slow and deliberate, like he was checking for land mines.
He crouched at my side, meeting my eyes, searching my face, undoubtedly catching the remnants of the tears I’d shed.
He handed me the bag.
I opened it and peered in to find a cupcake. Vanilla with thick pink frosting and a single unlit candle. I stared at it, stunned.
“Her favorite,” he said, quiet.
My throat burned. He’d remembered. Of course he had. He always remembered. I looked at him, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.
He sat next to me, long legs out, leaning back on his hands. Neither of us spoke for a long time, just sitting with the soft sounds of the neighborhood carrying faintly on the breeze.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered, the only words I could get out.
He nodded and let the silence be a comfort. After a few minutes, he said, “So…Her Fluffiness is officially on kibble strike. I’m feeding her tuna now.”
I couldn’t help it. The smallest laugh bubbled up from my chest.
“You like her,” he teased, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “Admit it. You like her and me.”
“I might.” I pulled the cupcake from the bag.
Tucker pulled matches from his pocket and lit the candle. I stared at the flame, made a wish, and blew. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
I bit into the cupcake. Heaven. I turned and offered it to Tucker, but instead of taking it from my hands, he simply leaned in for his bite.
When it was gone, he looked at me. “Still can’t go inside?”
I eyed the house again. “I’ve gone in a lot this week. We’ve been packing up her things.” I let out a breath. “But today, my feet don’t want to take me inside.”
He nodded. He knew firsthand.
“All day, I’ve been thinking about the fight she and I had right before she died. The last thing I said to her.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to go inside today.”
“You go in with someone you trust.”
I met his eyes. He meant it. He meant him. I could use him as an unfailing, unwavering support. A tether.
I hesitated, but he stood and held out his hand, not letting go as we walked up to the house.
Inside, I paused, taking it in, the air so thick with memories.
“Your bedroom?” he asked.
“Yes.”
As he’d no doubt already noticed from the night he’d crawled in the window to sleep on the floor, my dad and I hadn’t gotten this far yet, so the room was virtually untouched and had been for years.
In fact, it was exactly as I’d left it. I ran my fingers over dust-covered books and long-forgotten teenage knickknacks, such as the lamp my mom had given me when I was fourteen. It was all still here.
The version of me I’d thought I’d outgrown, but maybe hadn’t.
The past was alive and well.
Tucker stood at my side, waiting for my cue, silent. Solid.
We started with the bookshelf, packing up the photo albums but got distracted for a moment, sitting on the bed, on my old comforter, flipping through pieces of a life that didn’t feel like mine anymore.
“She’d be so proud of you, Haze.”
I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
And maybe I believed it. Just a little. Because Tucker did. And sometimes, that was enough.
I set the photo albums aside. I’d keep these. Turning to the closet next, I drew a deep breath and opened it up. I’d taken my clothing with me, so what little I’d left, we now packed. Same with the dresser.
I kept my focus tight, one item at a time. Until, kneeling in front of my dresser, the bottom drawer open, I pulled out the small stuffed bear Tucker had given me for my sixteenth birthday. It’d come with a birthstone necklace—emerald.
“I wore the necklace every day,” I said softly. My hand drifted to my throat instinctively, to the place it used to rest. “I was so sad when I lost it years ago.” I shook my head. “Why did I let only the negative memories of my teenage years stick? There are good memories, really good memories.”