CHAPTER 12
T he rest of dinner flows easier after my panic moment. We stick to safer topics, his work at the vet clinic, local places worth checking out, and somehow end up in a silly debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. It absolutely does not.
When the check arrives, Gavin insists on paying despite my protests. “Please, let me get this one,” he says, already sliding his card into the leather folder. “You can get the next one.”
The next one. The words hang in the air between us, full of possibility. Do I want there to be a next one? My heart and head wage war, but before I can spiral too far, Gavin speaks again.
“Hey, there’s this great ice cream shop just down the street. Want to check it out?”
I hesitate. Dinner was nice, but maybe I should head home, back to Sophie. Then again, he’s been nothing but kind all evening. I know I can leave anytime. I feel safe. I think.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “That sounds…nice.”
The evening air has cooled slightly as we walk the short distance to the ice cream shop. Gavin keeps a respectful distance between us, and I find myself relaxing with each step.
The shop’s bell chimes as we enter, and I’m immediately charmed. It’s exactly what a small-town ice cream parlor should be. Checkered floor tiles, red vinyl booths, and walls decorated with vintage ice cream advertisements. Each table has either a card game or board game sitting on it, waiting for players.
“Sophie would love this place,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
“We should bring her sometime,” Gavin suggests, then quickly adds, “If you want to, of course.”
The thought of Sophie’s face lighting up at this place makes me smile. “She’d go crazy over all the games.”
We step up to the counter where a teenage boy with braces greets us with an enthusiastic “Welcome to Scoops. What can I whip up for y’all?”
The display case shows dozens of flavors, each one looking more tempting than the last. Everything from classic vanilla to wild concoctions like bubblegum cheesecake and cotton candy swirl.
“I’ll have a strawberry smoothie,” Gavin orders, then turns to me with an expectant smile.
“Mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, please,” I say. “With rainbow sprinkles,” I add impulsively, thinking of how Sophie always insists sprinkles make everything taste better.
While we wait for our orders, I notice more details about the shop. An old-fashioned jukebox stands in one corner, its neon lights casting a soft glow across the checkered floor. Black and white photos of the town from decades ago line the walls—storefronts that I recognize despite their dated appearances, families enjoying ice cream on what looks like this very spot. It feels like stepping back in time, yet somehow perfectly comfortable, as if this place has been waiting for me all along.
The employee hands us our treats and Gavin pays. Then we settle into a booth with our treats. A deck of cards sits in a wooden holder on the table.
“Up for a game?” He asks, already reaching for the cards.
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about Go Fish? Simple but classic.”
“Seriously? Go Fish?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. I’m a Go Fish champion.” He starts shuffling the cards with surprising skill. “Unless you’re scared of losing?”
“Oh, it’s on now.” I take a lick of my ice cream cone. The mint is fresh and cool, the sprinkles adding perfect little bursts of extra sweetness.
As Gavin deals the cards, I watch his hands. Steady, confident movements. The same hands that heal animals, that reached out to comfort me earlier at dinner. Safe hands. Not like…
The thought of Matt crashes into my mind like an unwanted visitor. I should tell Gavin. He deserves to know what he’s getting into. But the words stick in my throat like tar.
“Got any threes?” Gavin asks, pulling me back to the present.
“Go fish.” I adjust my cards, studying them without really seeing them. Matt still feels too real, too dangerous. Even here, his shadow looms.
“Your turn,” he prompts gently.
“Oh, right. Um, got any kings?”
“Here you go.” He hands over two cards.
We play several rounds, and I actually start having fun despite my churning thoughts. Gavin keeps up a steady stream of terrible fish puns that have me groaning and laughing despite myself.
“I’m not doing this just for the halibut,” he says with a straight face as he asks for queens.
“That was awful,” I tell him, but I’m smiling.
“You mean it was o-fish-ally terrible?”
“Stop!” I throw a napkin at him, laughing.
The easy banter helps, but I can’t shake the growing urge to get back to Sophie. It’s not that I don’t trust Ms. Lucy, she’s been amazing with Sophie, but after thinking about Matt, my protective instincts are in overdrive.
I glance at my phone. It’s not even that late, but anxiety crawls up my spine like tiny spiders.
Gavin notices my distraction. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just…” I twist the napkin in my hands. “I should probably head home soon. Sophie…”
“Say no more.” He starts gathering the cards.
Relief floods through me at how easily he accepts this, no questions asked, no pressure to stay longer. We clean up our table and head outside, where the streetlights have clicked on, casting warm pools of light on the sidewalk.
“I had a really nice time tonight,” I tell him as we walk back to the restaurant parking lot, and I mean it. Despite my anxiety and that moment at dinner, it’s been the most normal I’ve felt in a long time.
Gavin’s truck sits under a streetlight, its maroon paint gleaming. When we reach it, he steps ahead and opens the passenger door for me.
“Here let me help you,” he offers, extending his hand.
I hesitate for just a moment before taking it. His palm is warm against mine as he steadies me while I climb into the high cab. Such a simple gesture, but it sends a flutter through my chest that I haven’t felt in years.
Once I’m settled in, I pull out my phone and text Ms. Lucy.
Heading back now. Thank you again for watching Sophie.
Her response comes almost immediately: No rush, honey. We’ve had a wonderful time. Sophie has a bag of chocolate chip cookies she helped make waiting to take home. Drive safe.
I smile at the message. Sophie baking cookies with Ms. Lucy, it’s exactly the kind of normal childhood moment I want for her.
“Everything okay?” Gavin asks as he starts the engine.
“Yeah. Sophie baked some cookies with Ms. Lucy.”
“Are we talking about Ms. Lucy’s legendary chocolate chip cookies by any chance?”
“Umm, yes?” I reply, confused.
“Those cookies are absolutely addictive, Bailey.”
“Well good to know. I’ll make sure to put the cookie jar up high so Soph can’t sneak any.” I smile.
The drive back turns quiet but comfortable, with the soft music from the radio station floating around the cab. Streetlights flash across Gavin’s profile as he drives, illuminating the strong line of his jaw, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth. I catch myself staring and quickly look out the window instead.
When we pull up to Ms. Lucy’s house, warm light spills from the windows.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says, already getting out of the truck.
We make our way up the path to Ms. Lucy’s front porch. The porch light casts a golden glow over everything, cicadas in the darkness beyond, and somewhere nearby, wind chimes tinkle softly.
Standing at the door, I turn to face him.
“I had a really nice time tonight,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Me too.”
Part of me wants to step forward, to feel his arms around me in a hug. It’s been so long since I’ve been held by someone who doesn’t want to hurt me. But another part—the cautious, scarred part—holds back.
He seems to sense my inner conflict. He stands perfectly still, his eyes soft in the porch light.
“Bailey, I’d like to see you again.”
My heart flutters at his words. “I’d—I’d like to see you again too.” The admission feels both terrifying and freeing, like stepping off a cliff and discovering I can fly.
Before I can say more, the front door swings open. Sophie stands there in her pajamas, Ms. Lucy right behind her.
“Mommy!” She launches herself at me, and I scoop her up, breathing her in.
“Hey, baby girl. Did you have fun with Ms. Lucy?”
She nods enthusiastically. “We made cookies! And I drawed pictures!”
“Drew pictures,” I correct gently, adjusting her onto my hip.
Sophie finally notices Gavin standing there. She immediately tucks her face against my neck, suddenly shy.
“Can you say hi to Mr. Gavin Soph?” I ask softly.
She peeks out with one eye, then quickly hides again. “Hi,” comes the muffled response.
“Hi Sophie. Your mom told me you made some amazing cookies tonight.”
She lifts her head slightly. “They got chocolate chips.”
“Ms. Lucy’s chocolate chip cookies are my absolute favorite,” he says seriously.
A tiny smile appears on her face before she buries it against me again.
Ms. Lucy steps forward. “You two have a good evening?” Her eyes twinkle knowingly.
“We did,” I answer, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “Thank you again for watching her.”
“Anytime, honey. This little angel and I had ourselves a ball.” She pats Sophie’s back and I feel her shift her head so she’s now looking at Ms. Lucy. “Now, I’ve packed up those cookies, and there’s a little container of spaghetti for your lunch tomorrow in her backpack.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense, I wanted to.”
Gavin checks his watch. “I should probably head out. Early appointments tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I say.
“I’ll call you?” It comes out as a question.
I nod, shifting Sophie to my other hip. “I’d like that.”
He smiles, and for a moment, everything feels possible.
I carry Sophie into our tiny house, her warm weight against my chest grounding me in the moment. The cookie smell lingers on her pajamas.
“Time for bed, baby girl.”
“But I’m not sleepy.” Her protest ends in a yawn.
“Baking those cookies must have worn you out.” I carry her to our bedroom.
“Can you tell me a story?” She asks as I tuck the blanket around her shoulders.
“Just a short one.” I smooth her blonde hair back from her forehead. “Once upon a time, there was a brave little girl who loved to draw pictures…”
By the time I finish the story, her breathing has deepened into sleep. I watch her for a moment, my heart so full it aches. She looks so peaceful, one arm wrapped around her bunny.
I do my nightly security check, front door deadbolt, back door chain, all windows latched. The routine calms my nerves, helps me feel in control. When I reach for my phone to plug it in, my blood turns to ice.
12 missed calls from Lisa.
8 text messages.
My hands shake as I slip back out of the bedroom, careful not to wake Sophie. In the kitchen, I press Lisa’s contact, my heart hammering against my ribs.
She answers on the first ring. “Bailey! Thank god!”
“Lisa, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She takes a shaky breath. “But Bailey… Matt broke into my house yesterday.”
The room spins. I grip the counter to stay upright. “What?”
“He stole my phone. I just got a new one today, and when everything synced from the cloud… Bailey, he has access to all our messages, and your number.”
My legs give out. I slide down to sit on the kitchen floor, cold tile against my legs. “Did he… did he hurt you?”
“No. But Bailey, no one’s seen him since. The police are looking, but…”
“Oh god.” Bile rises in my throat. I force it down. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself. Listen to me—You never texted me your exact location. We were always careful about that.”
I think back frantically through our conversations. I’d been paranoid about exactly this possibility. “No… no, I never told you where we are. Just that we were safe.”
“He won’t find you. But Bailey, please be careful.” Her voice breaks.
After we hang up, I sit there shaking. My first instinct is to run. Grab Sophie and drive until we hit the ocean. But where would we go? We’re safe here. Ms. Lucy’s property is gated. Matt doesn’t know where we are.
Still, I find myself moving through the house like a ghost, checking locks again. And again. Each shadow makes me jump. Every creak of the house settling sounds like footsteps.
Sleep is impossible. My mind keeps spinning worst-case scenarios. Instead, I channel my nervous energy into cleaning. I scrub the already-clean kitchen counters. Organize the contents of our cabinets. Fold and refold the stack of towels in the bathroom.
At 2 AM, I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the baseboards with my old toothbrush when my thoughts drift to Ms. Lucy and Gavin. I wonder if I should let them know the actual situation. The real reason Sophie and I ended up here.
Should I tell them? But what would I say? ‘Hey, my abusive ex might be hunting me down’. But Matt isn’t my ex, not until I file for divorce. I need to contact an attorney. And that’s what my mind keeps circling back to, over and over again.
My hands are raw from scrubbing. But I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll have to think about Matt having my number. About him possibly tracking us down.
I check on Sophie again. She’s rolled onto her side, blonde hair fanned across her pillow. Looking at her peaceful face, my resolve hardens. I can’t let him find us. I won’t let him hurt her.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of cleaning and anxiety. I reorganize Sophie’s art supplies. Sanitize every doorknob. Line up her shoes perfectly by the door. When dawn finally breaks, pale light creeping through the windows, I’ve cleaned every surface in our tiny house twice over.
Just as the sun is peeking up my phone buzzes again. This time it’s Ms. Lucy.
Would you and Lil Bit like some breakfast this mornin?
Breakfast. Normal life. I have to keep going, keep pretending everything’s fine. I can’t let Matt’s shadow darken this new life we’re building.
Yes ma’am, sounds good. I also need to talk to you about something.
My mind is set. I need to tell Ms. Lucy what’s going on for our safety and hers.
The coffee maker clicks on signaling to me that it’s 6:30am and that I stayed up all night. Sophie will be up soon, ready for breakfast and another adventure. She can’t know how scared I am. Can’t see the way my hands are still shaking as I grab my coffee mug.
I head to the bathroom to shower, hoping the hot water will wash away some of the night’s anxiety. In the mirror, dark circles ring my eyes, stark against my pale skin. I look haunted.
“Get it together,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’ve got to be stronger than this.”
But as I step into the shower, Matt’s face flashes through my mind, the way his eyes would turn cold before he struck, how his hands could shift from gentle to cruel in an instant. The water can’t wash away those memories.
When I hear Sophie, I force myself to take deep breaths. She needs me to be strong, to be brave. I can fall apart later.
“Mommy?” Her sleepy voice calls out.
“Coming, baby!” I wrap myself in a towel, pushing down the fear and plastering on a smile. “Ready for breakfast?”
She stands in the living room, hair wild from sleep, rubbing her eyes. “Can I have cookies?”
“How about we save those for after dinner? You want to go have breakfast at Ms. Lucy’s”
“Pancakes?” She asks, her eyes brightening
“I think so.” I say as I lead her into our bedroom.
As I help her get dressed for the day, I keep glancing at my phone. No unknown numbers. No strange texts. But the fear sits heavy in my stomach, a constant weight I’ve learned to carry.
At least we’re safe for now. Ms. Lucy’s house is visible from our window, solid and reassuring in the morning light. Sophie’s here, whole and happy, humming to herself as she pulls on her socks.
We’re okay. We have to be okay.
But I know sleep won’t come easy tonight either. Or any night, until I’m sure Matt can’t find us. Until I know for certain that the life we’re building here won’t come crashing down around us.
For now, though, I have to focus on getting us ready for the day, on putting one foot in front of the other. I have to be the mom she needs, not the terrified woman who spent all night cleaning baseboards.
“Ready for breakfast, sweet girl?”
She nods, reaching for my hand. Her small fingers wrap around mine, trusting, loving. For her, I can be brave. For her, I can face anything.
Even the ghost of Matt that haunts my thoughts.