CHAPTER 11
I take one final look in the bathroom mirror, adjusting a stubborn curl that won’t quite cooperate. My hands are shaking slightly as I apply the last swipe of peachy lip gloss, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. The mint green romper I chose hugs my body in all the right places, and I smooth out the cuff of fabric on my left thigh where the shorts end. The white wedges I paired with this outfit make my legs look even longer than usual. But despite how put-together I look on the outside, my stomach is twisting on the inside.
Matt never would’ve let me out of the house in something this “revealing.” His voice creeps into my thoughts, and I grip the edge of the sink. The romper isn’t even that short, it hits mid-thigh, perfectly modest, but I can almost hear him. “What, you trying to get attention from other men? Is that what you want, you whore.”
I shake my head at my reflection, trying to dislodge his voice. We’re states away. He can’t control what I wear anymore.
But should I change? Maybe this is too much for a casual outing. What if people stare? What if they think I’m—
“Mommy! I drawed you a flower!” Sophie’s voice breaks through my spiral as she appears in the doorway, holding up a crayon masterpiece of purple and green scribbles.
“It’s beautiful, baby.” My smile comes naturally as I move down to her level. “Is that for me to keep?”
She nods enthusiastically, her blonde waves bouncing. “For your purse!”
I carefully fold the drawing and tuck it into my small white crossbody bag. Sophie doesn’t care what I’m wearing. Ms. Lucy won’t care either. The only person judging me is the ghost of Matt I still carry in my head.
I stand tall and look at myself again. This romper isn’t revealing—it’s pretty. I’m allowed to feel pretty. I’m allowed to dress for the warm Texas weather without feeling guilty.
“You look like a princess, Mommy,” Sophie declares, grabbing my hand.
I squeeze her tiny fingers. “Thank you, sweet girl. Are you ready to go?”
The anxiety doesn’t vanish completely, but I refuse to let it win today. One step at a time, I remind myself. One outfit, one outing, one day at a time.
I pace the tiny living room, my bare feet padding against the hardwood floors. The wedges I wore earlier sit discarded by the front door—they looked cute, but comfort won over style the moment I got back to our tiny house. My fingers drum against the cool glass of water in my hand as I try to quiet the buzzing thoughts in my head.
Sophie’s goodbye plays on repeat in my mind. The way her little arms wrapped around my neck, squeezing tight but it wasn’t the usual desperate grip she’s had since we left Oklahoma. There was a subtle shift, when she pulled back, her eyes weren’t filled with the panic I’ve grown used to seeing whenever we separate.
“Have fun with Ms. Lucy, baby girl.” I had kissed her forehead, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo.
“We’re gonna make cookies.” Her whole face lit up. “And I’m gonna make sure we save you some, Mama.”
The statement brought both relief and an unexpected ache. It’s good that she’s adjusting, that she feels safe enough with Ms. Lucy to let go a little. But part of me, the part I’m not proud of, misses being her entire world, her only safe harbor.
I take another sip of water, trying to wash away the selfish thought. This is what healing looks like. For both of us.
A soft knock at the door shatters the quiet.
The glass slips from my fingers, hitting the rug with a muted thud. Water seeps into the beige fibers beneath my feet, but I barely notice. My entire body freezes, muscles locking into place as ice floods my veins.
That knock. Too gentle. Too careful. Matt always knocked like that right before—
No. No, he can’t be here. He doesn’t know where we are. We’re safe. We’re safe. We’re—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I nearly jump out of my skin. With trembling fingers, I pull it out.
I’m at your front door
The breath I’ve been holding rushes out in a shaky exhale. Not Matt. Gavin. It’s Gavin.
My legs feel like jelly as I force them to move toward the door. Each step requires conscious effort, like I’m learning to walk all over again. The rational part of my brain knows it’s Gavin waiting on the other side, but my body hasn’t caught up to that knowledge yet.
I reach for the doorknob, my hand still shaking. The metal feels cool against my palm as I turn it, pulling the door open.
Gavin stands on the small porch, backlit by the setting sun. He’s traded his usual work attire for dark jeans and a fitted light green button-down that makes his amber eyes seem warmer than before. In his hands, he holds a stunning bouquet of wildflowers in every shade of purple imaginable, mixed with delicate white baby’s breath.
“Hi.” His smile falters slightly as he takes in my face. “Everything okay?”
I realize I must look as rattled as I feel. “Yeah, yes. I’m fine. You just… startled me a little.” I manage a smile, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels. “Those are beautiful.”
“They’re for you.” He extends the bouquet. “I hope you like the color purple.
“It’s actually my favorite color.”
My fingers brush against his as I take the flowers. The simple touch sends an unexpected electric pulse through me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this, this gentle buzz of connection that doesn’t hurt. My breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, I almost pull away out of instinct.
But I don’t.
I let myself feel it. The warmth of his skin. I let it ground me.
“Thank you,” I manage, cradling the bouquet close to my chest.
I remind myself, I’m safe here. This man isn’t Matt. This touch isn’t a prelude to pain.
“I should put these in water,” I say, stepping back to invite him in. My bare feet leave damp prints on the hardwood from the spilled water. “Sorry about the mess. I split my glass of water.” I’m torn between wanting to clean up the spill or not making him wait on me more than needed. The rug and my feet will dry, so I walk, carefully picking up the empty glass on my way to the kitchen, the flowers cradled in my other arm.
He follows me inside, keeping a respectful distance that I both appreciate and find myself wishing was a little less. “No worries. I’ve been known to cause disasters just by showing up.”
His joke lands softly between us, and I find myself smiling as I set my glass in the sink. I grab a mason jar from a cabinet and fill it with water for the flowers.
“These are gorgeous,” I say, arranging the purple blooms. “Where did you find wildflowers like this?”
“There’s a field behind my clinic.” He leans against the counter, careful not to crowd me.
I look around at the tiny house at the few personal items we’ve accumulated since leaving Oklahoma. Sophie’s drawings are taped to the refrigerator, the only real decoration we have.
“Thank you.” I say, placing the jar on the small dining table.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m ready,” I say, before the anxious part of my brain can start listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t go.
I slip my damp feet back into the white wedges by the door, suddenly grateful for the extra height they give me. I check my phone one last time—no messages from Ms. Lucy about Sophie. Everything’s fine.
Gavin holds the front door open for me, and I step out into the warm evening air. His older model truck sits in the driveway, a dark maroon Ford that’s clean but clearly well-used. My steps slow as we approach it, my heart picking up speed with each foot closer we get.
The last time I was alone in a vehicle with a man…
No. Don’t go there. This isn’t the same. Gavin isn’t Matt.
“You okay?” He asks, noticing my hesitation.
I force a smile. “Just checking if I forgot anything.” The lie slips out easily, a reflex developed over years of hiding my true feelings.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in, fighting the urge to immediately check for an escape route. The leather seat is cool against the back of my legs where the romper doesn’t cover. I watch as he walks around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, giving myself a silent pep talk.
I can’t help but notice the manual locks, little plastic knobs I could pull up myself if I needed to. Something in me relaxes a fraction. At least I’m not trapped.
Gavin slides into the driver’s seat, and suddenly the cab feels smaller. I’m hyper-aware of how close he is, how confined this space is. I press myself subtly against the passenger door, trying to create distance without being obvious about it and put my seatbelt on.
“All set?” he asks, starting the engine.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The truck rumbles to life beneath us, and I curl my fingers into my palms, focusing on the slight sting of my nails against skin to ground myself.
“So where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
“I thought we could try out The Clay Pot. It’s about fifteen minutes from here,” he says as he backs out of the driveway. “Unless you had something else in mind?”
“Nope, that sounds good.” I say as I watch us pass Ms. Lucy’s house. Where my daughter is baking cookies.
As we drive through the streets of the small town, I find myself stealing glances at his profile. The setting sun catches his face just right. His hands rest confidently on the steering wheel, and I notice a small scar on his hand, just below his thumb.
“So… how’s the flower shop been?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Oh. I’m umm really enjoying working there. Mary Beth taught me how to make these amazing succulent arrangements the other day. Did you know that some succulents can go weeks without water? They store it in their leaves, kind of like-” I catch myself starting to ramble and feel my cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry.” I blink. “I tend to get carried away talking about plants when I’m nervous.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, turning his gaze to look at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road again.
I fidget with my fingers in my lap, twisting them together as the car hums along the road. The motion seems to help calm my nerves.
Gavin glances down, noticing my restless hands. “Bailey, I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. We can turn around if you’d rather not do this.” His voice is gentle, lacking any trace of disappointment or judgment.
The tenderness in his tone catches me off guard. With Matt, any sign of my anxiety was met with irritation and condescending comments, never concern. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.
“Thank you but I’m fine,” I say quietly, barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I can manage.
We drive in silence for another minute before Gavin turns into the parking lot of The Copper Pot. The restaurant’s warm lights glow invitingly through large windows, and I can see people inside laughing and enjoying their meals. My stomach tightens with a mixture of hunger and apprehension.
He parks the car and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Hold on,” he says, and before I can reach for my door handle, he’s already out and walking around to my side.
He opens my door with a small flourish that makes me want to smile despite my nerves. Then he extends his arm toward me, offering it without expectation.
I stare at his arm for a moment, hesitating. Physical contact with men still makes my pulse quicken, and not in a good way. But something about this moment feels different, safe somehow.
Taking a deep breath, I place my hand gently on his forearm. His skin is warm through the fabric of his shirt. He waits patiently as I step out of the car, giving me time to find my balance.
With my hand resting lightly on his arm, we walk toward the restaurant entrance. The evening air carries the scent of the delicious food cooking inside, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to enjoy this simple act of walking beside someone who seems to respect my boundaries.
The restaurant has twinkling lights strung across the entrance and window boxes overflowing with flowers.
“Hi, I made a reservation,” Gavin says as we approach the hostess stand. “Under Mitchell.”
The hostess, a young woman with a friendly smile and a neat black apron, leads us to a cozy corner table near a window. The whole place feels warm and intimate, with exposed brick walls and copper accents everywhere, from the light fixtures to the decorative plates on the walls, hence the name, I suppose. The Copper Pot suits it perfectly.
“Your server will be right with you,” she says, handing us our menus with a practiced flourish.
I open mine but find myself lowering the menu and peeking over the top at Gavin instead of reading it. The soft lighting enhances his strong jaw line, and he catches me looking at him and I quickly duck back behind the menu. I curse at myself. Caught red handed. I inwardly roll my eyes at myself.
“So,” he says, setting his menu down, “tell me more about these succulents.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you don’t want to spend our whole date talking about plants.”
“Bailey,” he says, his voice serious enough to make me look up. “I want to know everything about you. The plants, your passions, your favorite books, what makes you laugh, what scares you… all of it.”
I swallow hard, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “That’s… that’s a lot to share on a first date.”
“Well I’m hoping that there will be more than one, if you’re up for it.” he replies with a sheepish smile.
Our server arrives then, introducing herself as Rebecca, and taking our drink orders. I opt for a glass of sweet tea, and Gavin does the same.
“Okay, your turn,” I say, feeling bold. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
I watch as his expression shifts, a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment crossing his face. He scratches at the back of his neck and then leans in closer across the table.
“Alright, but you have to promise not to laugh… too much,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair.
“I promise nothing,” I tease, leaning in as well.
He glances around dramatically, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and I do the same. “So, you know how I’m a veterinarian who handles all sorts of animals?”
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral.
“Well,” he continues, lowering his voice, “I’m absolutely terrified…” He trails off. Looking around again “of hamsters.”
My lips twitch and my eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Hamsters,” he repeats, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Those tiny little rodents with their beady little eyes and stuffed cheeks. Can’t stand them.”
“But… but you’re a vet.” I whisper-shout, trying desperately to keep my promise not to laugh too much. “You handle dogs and cats and horses….and even cows.”
“I know, I know,” he groans, but he’s smiling too. “It happened when I was eight. I had this evil hamster named Mr. Whiskers that was gifted to me by my aunt. One day, I was trying to help clean its cage, and the little demon escaped. It ran straight up my pant leg.”
At this point, I can’t hold it in anymore. I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my hand to muffle the sound. “Up your pant leg?”
“It gets worse,” he says, shaking his head.
“I panicked and started running around the room, trying to shake it out. Knocked over my mom’s favorite lamp, tripped over the coffee table, and ended up falling into the Christmas tree. It was July, by the way, my mom just really liked having a Christmas tree up year-round.”
I try picturing little eight-year-old Gavin in this scenario, struggling to hold in my laughter. “What happened to Mr. Whiskers?”
“The little monster finally fell out and scurried under the couch. My mom was trying not to laugh while also being mad about the state of her living room, and I was traumatized for life.” He leans back into his booth seat. “To this day, whenever someone brings their hamster into the clinic or any little rodent for that matter, I make my assistant handle it. I’ve treated snakes, ferrets, even a baby alligator once, but hamsters?” He shudders dramatically. “Nope. No thank you.”
Rebecca returns with our drinks. “Y’all folks ready to order?” She smiles and holds out her notepad and pen.
“Bailey?” Gavin gestures to me going first.
“Oh, um. I’ll get the butternut squash ravioli, please.”
Rebecca writes down my order then turns to Gavin.
“And I’ll do the ribeye, medium-rare with mashed potatoes and brown gravy.”
“You got it.” She finished writing everything down and takes our menus.
I take a sip of my sweet tea. “Your secret is safe with me.” I assure.
“So, where did you and Sophie live before moving here?” Gavin asks, taking another sip of his sweet tea.
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. My muscles tense instantly, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. Images flash through my mind—our old house, Matt’s face contorted with anger, the sound of glass shattering against the wall.
“Why do you need to know that?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “What does it matter where we came from?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Gavin’s expression shifts from relaxed to surprised, his eyebrows lifting slightly. The easy conversation we’d been having evaporates in an instant.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “That was… I shouldn’t have…” I stare down at my hands, now trembling slightly in my lap. “It’s just…I’m sorry.”
I force myself to look up at him. His face shows no anger, just concern.
“Bailey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to pry. That was thoughtless of me.”
“No, it wasn’t thoughtless. It was a normal question.” I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
He reaches across the table, his hand stopping just short of mine, giving me the space to decide. After a moment’s hesitation, I place my fingertips lightly against his.
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” he says. “And you definitely don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable sharing.”
I nod, grateful for his understanding. The knot in my chest begins to loosen.
And then Rebecca appears with our food, setting down steaming plates that smell divine. “Butternut squash ravioli for the lady, and ribeye medium-rare for the gentleman. Can I get y’all anything else?”
We both shake our heads, and I silently thank the universe for the interruption.
“Enjoy your meal,” she says before walking away.
I look down at my plate, the golden-brown ravioli drizzled with a sage butter sauce. The aroma helps pull me back in the present moment.