CHAPTER 17
I stretch lazily in the morning sunlight streaming through my window, still wrapped in the warm cocoon of last night’s memories. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, startling me from my reverie. An unknown number from… Roanoke, Texas? The call ends before I can decide whether to answer.
I let my head fall back against the pillow, dismissing the mystery caller. My mind drifts back to Gavin, to the way he smiled, how safe his hand felt in mine. The kiss…
My fingers drift to my lips, remembering the gentle pressure of his mouth against mine. It was nothing like Matt’s demanding, possessive kisses. Gavin asked permission, gave me a choice, treated me like I mattered.
But the guilt crashes over me like a wave. He doesn’t know about Matt, about the bruises that have finally faded, about the nights I spent planning our escape. He doesn’t know that every tender moment between us is built on a foundation of lies and half-truths.
My phone pings and I see it’s a text from Ms. Lucy: “Heading into town later today. Need anything, honey?”
Perfect timing. We need to go grocery shopping, and having Ms. Lucy along might help keep my thoughts from spiraling. I type back: “Actually, we’re going grocery shopping. Could use your cooking expertise.”
Another ping makes my heart skip.
Gavin: “Good morning, beautiful. Still thinking about last night. Would you and Sophie like to come over for dinner tonight?”
The smile spreads across my face before I can stop it, followed immediately by another stab of guilt. He’s so genuine, so open. He deserves someone who can be honest with him.
Ms. Lucy’s response pops up: “Would love to! Meet you girls up here at 10? We can take my car.”
I send back a quick “Sounds good.” then roll onto my side, staring at Gavin’s message. What do I say? How do I balance this growing connection with the weight of my secrets?
“Good morning. Last night was wonderful. Thank you again.” I hit send before I can overthink it.
Not even a minute passes before his reply buzzes through.
“I’m glad. So… dinner?”
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the screen. I want to say yes. Of course I do. The thought of seeing him again makes something flutter in my chest. But the idea of going to his house, crossing that invisible line into his space, it sends a ripple of anxiety through me. What if I say the wrong thing? What if Sophie says too much? What if he sees more than I’m ready to share?
Still, I know what I want.
“We’d love to. Could you text me your address and the time?” I finally type, my thumb lingering over the send button before tapping it.
There. It’s done. No taking it back.
Sophie’s voice carries from the living room, probably talking to Mr. Hoppy about another drawing or Buttercup. I need to get up, get her breakfast, and start our day. But I allow myself one more moment to remember the feel of Gavin’s hand on my cheek, his eyes searching mine in the porch light.
It’s dangerous how safe he makes me feel.
I push myself out of bed, padding to the bathroom. In the mirror, I see a woman learning to stand on her own feet again, learning to trust her own judgment. But also, someone carrying the heavy burden of deception.
“Mommy.” Sophie calls. “I’m hungry!”
“Coming, baby!” I pull my hair into a messy bun. Time to focus on what matters most, keeping my daughter safe and happy. Everything else, including the complicated tangle of feelings about Gavin, will have to wait.
In the kitchen, Sophie sits at our small table, Mr. Hoppy propped in the chair beside her. Her hair is a wild mess, reminding me she needs a trim.
“What would my princess like for breakfast?” I ask, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
“Pancakes! With faces!” She bounces in her seat.
“How about we compromise with toast and eggs? We can make the eggs into a smiley face.”
She considers this, head tilted. “Can the toast have jelly?”
“Of course.” I pull out the bread and eggs, seeing our dwindling items in both the pantry and refrigerator. “Guess what? We’re going grocery shopping today with Ms. Lucy.”
Her eyes dart to me. “Can I get some cheesy sticks?”
“We’ll see what they have.” I crack eggs into a bowl.
I whisk the eggs, watching Sophie arrange her silverware just so. She’s humming a little tune.
“Mommy, when are we going back home?” She asks it so casually, like she’s asking about the weather.
My hand freezes mid-stir. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too warm. Home. What does that even mean anymore? The house in Oklahoma wasn’t home. It was a prison with nice furniture. This tiny house isn’t quite home yet either, just a safe harbor.
“What do you mean, Soph?” I manage to keep my voice steady, buying time to think.
She shrugs, picking up Mr. Hoppy and making him dance across the table. “Tommy said he’s going to Disney World in the summer. Can we go back home and then go to Disney World too?”
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. She’s not asking about Matt or Oklahoma specifically. Just the concept of “home” and the life we left behind.
“Well, sweetie, this is our home now.” I pour the eggs into the hot pan, watching them cook. “Remember how we talked about our big adventure? Moving to a new place?”
“But Daddy’s not on our adventure.” Her voice is small, confused.
My throat tightens. We’ve had variations of this conversation before, but it never gets easier.
“No, he’s not.” I scramble the eggs around the pan, add the bread in the toaster and pull the handle down. “Some adventures are just for us girls.”
“Like princesses?” She perks up at this comparison.
“Exactly like princesses.” I turn to her and place a cup of chocolate milk in front of her, relief washing through me. “Princesses who are brave and strong and have their own adventures.”
She lifts it to her mouth and gulps some down. “I’m the bravest princess,” she announces, sporting a chocolate mustache above her top lip.
“You certainly are.” I sit beside her with my own cup.
For now, the crisis is averted. But these questions will keep coming, getting harder to answer as she grows older. Someday, I’ll have to tell her the whole truth. Just not today.
I guide the cart down the cereal aisle, Sophie balanced on the side like it’s her personal chariot.
“Careful, baby.” I keep a hand on her, even though she’s getting better at holding on.
Ms. Lucy consults her shopping list, squinting through her dark-rimmed glasses. “Now, how’s Mary Beth treating you at the shop? She can be a bit overwhelming at first with all that energy.”
“I love it there.” I grab Sophie’s favorite cereal. “Mary Beth’s teaching me so much about different flowers and their meanings. Did you know purple iris represents wisdom?”
“That woman knows so much.” She chuckles, dropping a box of bran cereal in our cart. “She’s been running that shop for ages.”
Sophie points to the end of the aisle. “Look Mommy, pop tarts!”
I follow her gaze to the boxes of sugary goodness, but my attention catches on a man standing there, staring in our direction. My heart rate spikes. I grip the cart handle until my knuckles turn white and pull Sophie closer to me.
“Bailey?” Ms. Lucy’s voice breaks through my panic. “You alright, honey?”
The man starts walking toward us. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and as he gets closer, I see he’s older, probably in his seventies, with a gentle smile.
“Lucy!” His voice booms across the space between us. “I thought that was you!”
Ms. Lucy’s face lights up. “Well, if it isn’t Frank Peterson! Bailey, this is one of our town council members and head of the Spring Fling committee.”
My pulse slowly returns to normal as he reaches us, though my hands still shake slightly. “Nice to meet you,” I manage.
“So, this is the young lady helping Mary Beth at the flower shop?” His smile grows wider. “Mary Beth hasn’t stopped talking about you at our council meetings.” He looks down at Sophie, still on the side of the cart. “And who might this be?”
Sophie steps off her perch. “Sophie.” She says shyly.
“Well hello there, Miss Sophie.” He tips an imaginary hat. “Are you helping your mama shop today?”
She nods. “I’m the cart driver.”
He gives her a smile and then looks back up to us.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other as Ms. Lucy and Frank chat about the Spring Fling. My fingers absently trace the metal ridges of the shopping cart, trying to ground myself.
“Oh, Frank, you’ll never believe what Mary Beth’s planning for her booth this year.” Ms. Lucy’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Bailey here has the most wonderful idea for flower crowns.”
My head snaps up. “Oh, I didn’t—I mean, Mary Beth mentioned it, but—”
Frank clasps his hands together. “That’s exactly the kind of fresh thinking we need! The Spring Fling has gotten a bit stale these past few years.”
Sophie bounces on her toes. “Can we make pink ones? And purple?”
Ms. Lucy laughs. “We can make them in every color of the rainbow.” She turns to Frank. “Mary Beth’s already ordered extra supplies. Says she’s never seen anyone take to flower arranging as quickly as Bailey has.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I just really enjoy working with the flowers. It’s… peaceful.”
The shop has become my sanctuary these past few weeks. The gentle routine of trimming stems, arranging bouquets, learning the language of flowers, making deliveries, it helps quiet the constant whir of anxiety in my mind. And Sophie loves visiting the shop, sitting at the little table in the corner with her coloring books while I work.
Frank checks his watch. “Well, I better get moving. Council meeting in twenty minutes.” He gives Sophie another warm smile. “Looking forward to seeing those flower crowns, Miss Sophie.”
As he walks away, Ms. Lucy steers us toward the produce section. “You know, Bailey, you have a natural talent.”
I focus on selecting apples, avoiding her knowing gaze. “I’m not really… I mean, crowds aren’t…”
“I know, honey.” Her voice softens. “But just so you know this town, these people. They’re good folks.”
My hands shake slightly as I place the apples in the cart. She’s right, I know she’s right. But the thought of being visible, of drawing attention… Matt always said I was an attention-seeking whore when I tried to make friends, when I dressed nice, when I did anything that made me stand out.
Sophie tugs at my shirt. “Can we practice making crowns, Mommy?”
I look down at her eager face, see the hope there, the simple joy at the prospect of creating something beautiful together. And suddenly I can picture it. Us at the booth, surrounded by flowers and friendly faces. Her pride as she helps hand out our creations.
“You know what? That’s a great idea.” I reach for her hand. “We can use some of the dried flowers Mary Beth gave us to practice with.”
“And ribbons?” Her eyes grow wide. “The sparkly ones?”
“And ribbons.” I squeeze her hand, feeling a spark of excitement push through the anxiety. “We’ll make them extra special, just for us.”
Ms. Lucy beams at us. “Mary Beth will be over the moon. She’s already planning where to put the booth, right by the face painting station.”
As we continue shopping, Sophie talks about all the different crowns she wants to make. Pink ones with butterfly ribbons, purple ones with stars, and rainbow ones. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself adding ideas, suggesting different flower combinations.
“The dried lavender would look beautiful with fresh baby’s breath,” I muse, picking up a bunch of bananas. “And we could use those pressed daisies Mary Beth showed me the other day…”
“See?” Ms. Lucy’s eyes twinkle. “You’re a natural at this. The Spring Fling needs fresh energy like yours.”