Chapter 5
Dylan
Saturday morning arrives with clear skies and the kind of spring weather that makes Valentine look like a postcard. I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, adjusting my shirt for the third time, and tell myself I'm not nervous about Piper coming to Maddie's school fair.
It's just a school event. Parents and volunteers, and kids hopped up on sugar. Nothing significant.
Except it feels significant.
Because inviting Piper into this part of my life, the part where I'm just Maddie's dad and not the baker or the widower or the guy everyone in town wants to see happy again, feels like crossing a line I cannot uncross.
"Daddy, are you ready?" Maddie calls from the hallway. "We’re going to be late!"
I take one last look in the mirror, decide I look as good as I'm going to get, and head downstairs.
Maddie is waiting by the door in a yellow sundress covered in daisies; her hair is pulled into two pigtails that I managed to make mostly symmetrical this morning. She bounces on her toes with barely contained excitement.
"Is Piper meeting us there?" she asks for the fourth time this morning.
"Yes, bug. She’ll be there at ten."
"Do you think she will like my art project?"
"I think she will love it."
"Do you think she will want to do the ring toss with us?"
"Probably."
"Do you think she will stay forever?"
The question stops me in my tracks. I crouch down to Maddie's level and brush a loose curl from her face.
"I don't know, sweetheart," I say gently. "Piper has her own life and her own job. We can’t ask her to give that up."
"But what if she wants to stay?" Maddie asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"Then that would be her choice," I say. "But we have to be okay either way. Do you understand?"
She nods, but I can see the worry flickering across her face. She has already started to care about Piper, and the thought of Piper leaving is beginning to feel real to her.
It's beginning to feel real to me, too.
We drive to the elementary school in comfortable silence, Maddie humming along to the radio while I try to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. The parking lot is already full when we arrive, and I can hear the sounds of the fair drifting across the playground.
Music. Laughter. The distant squeal of children on carnival rides.
I help Maddie out of the car, and she immediately spots her teacher near the entrance.
"Miss Rodriguez!" she yells, running ahead.
I follow at a slower pace, scanning the crowd for Piper. I don't see her yet, but I feel the anticipation humming under my skin.
And then I see her. She’s standing near the face painting booth, camera in hand, capturing shots of kids with butterfly designs on their cheeks. She’s wearing jeans and a soft green sweater that makes her eyes look even brighter, and her hair is loose around her shoulders.
She looks beautiful. She looks like she belongs here. The thought hits me with unexpected force.
Maddie sees her at the same moment I do and takes off running. "Piper!"
Piper turns, and her entire face lights up when she sees Maddie barreling toward her. She crouches down just in time to catch her in a hug, and the sight of it does something painful and wonderful to my chest.
By the time I reach them, Piper is standing again with Maddie's hand firmly clasped in hers.
"Hi," she says, looking at me with a smile that makes my pulse skip.
"Hi," I reply, and I'm acutely aware of how much I've been looking forward to seeing her.
"This place is amazing," she says, gesturing to the fair around us. "I've already gotten some great shots."
"Even on your day off, you’re working," I tease.
"It’s not work if you love it," she replies.
Maddie tugs on her hand. "Piper, do you want to see my classroom? I've a picture on the wall!"
"I would love to see it," Piper says.
We follow Maddie inside, weaving through clusters of parents and teachers. The hallways are decorated with student artwork and science projects, and Maddie points out every single thing she has contributed with pride.
When we reach her classroom, she drags Piper over to a wall display where a drawing of a bakery is pinned front and center. It's unmistakably Spice Spice Baby, complete with stick figures labeled "Daddy, Maddie," and "Evan."
And there, standing next to them, is a figure labeled "Piper."
My throat tightens. Piper stares at the drawing for a long moment, and when she looks at Maddie, her eyes are suspiciously bright.
"This is beautiful," she says softly. "Can I take a picture of it?"
Maddie nods enthusiastically, and Piper pulls out her phone to capture the image.
I step closer, lowering my voice. "She drew that before she even met you."
Piper looks at me, confused. "What?"
"She drew it the day before you arrived," I say. "She told me she dreamed about a cupcake fairy who was going to visit the bakery. I thought she was just being imaginative."
Piper's breath catches. "Dylan..."
"I know," I say quietly. "It's strange, but Maddie has always been like that. She knows things before they happen sometimes."
Piper looks back at the drawing, then at Maddie, who is now chattering with another little girl about the bounce house.
"She is special," Piper says.
"Yeah," I agree. "She is."
We spend the next hour wandering through the fair. Maddie drags us to every booth, insisting we try the ring toss, the duck pond, and the cake walk. Piper wins a stuffed bear at the basketball throw, and Maddie refuses to let it out of her sight for the rest of the day.
At the bake sale table, I run into several parents I know from school drop-offs and pickups. They all greet Piper with the kind of knowing smiles that make it clear the entire town is already speculating about us.
"Dylan," one of the moms, Karen, says with barely concealed glee, "is this your girlfriend?"
I feel my face heat. "This is Piper. She is working on the festival content."
"Right," Karen says, drawing out the word. "Working."
Piper handles it with grace, smiling, shaking hands, and making small talk as if she has known these people for years. She fits in so easily that it makes my chest ache.
By the time we reach the bounce house, Maddie is vibrating with excitement.
"Can I go in? Please, Daddy?"
"Go ahead, bug. But be careful."
She kicks off her shoes and disappears into the inflatable castle with a squeal of delight.
Piper and I stand side by side, watching her bounce with reckless abandon.
"She adores you," Piper says quietly.
"The feeling is mutual," I reply.
"You are a really good dad, Dylan."
The compliment settles into me, warm and solid. "I try. Some days are harder than others."
"That is what makes you good at it," she says. "You show up even on the hard days."
I glance at her, and the sincerity in her expression makes it hard to breathe.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"Of course."
"The Seattle job. Are you going to take it?"
She hesitates, and I can see the conflict playing out across her face. "I don't know yet. It's a good opportunity. Stable income. Real security."
"But?" I prompt.
"But it means leaving," she says simply. "And leaving is starting to feel like the wrong choice."
My heart pounds. "Piper."
"I'm not saying I'm staying," she adds quickly. "I'm just saying that for the first time in my life, I'm not sure I want to leave."
I turn to face her fully, and the noise of the fair fades into the background. "What if I told you I don't want you to leave either?"
Her breath catches. "Dylan, you have Maddie to think about. You can't make decisions based on someone who might not stay."
"I'm not making decisions based on maybes," I say. "I'm making decisions based on what I feel. And what I feel is that you have become important to me, to both of us."
She stares at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "You are important to me, too."
"Then stay," I say, the words coming out more raw than I intended. "Not forever. Not yet. Just stay long enough to see where this goes."
"And if it doesn't work out?" she asks softly.
"Then at least we tried," I say. "At least we gave it a chance instead of walking away because we were scared."
She reaches up and touches my face, her palm warm against my cheek. "I'm terrified."
"Me too," I admit. "But I would rather be terrified with you than safe without you."
The words hang between us, heavy and true.
Before either of us can say anything else, Maddie comes running out of the bounce house, breathless and laughing.
"Daddy! Piper! Did you see me do a flip?"
"I saw," I say, ruffling her hair. "Very impressive."
"Can we get ice cream now?" she asks hopefully.
I glance at Piper, who smiles. "Ice cream sounds perfect."
We leave the fair and walk to the small ice cream shop on Main Street. Maddie orders a cone with three scoops that is taller than her head, and Piper and I share a knowing look as we watch her try to eat it without making a complete mess.
She fails spectacularly, and by the time we are done, she has chocolate ice cream on her nose, her chin, and somehow in her hair.
"Bath time when we get home," I say, wiping her face with a napkin.
"But I don't want a bath," she whines.
"Non-negotiable, bug."
She pouts, but it's half-hearted. She is too happy to really complain.
As we walk back to the car, Maddie reaches up and takes both our hands, swinging between us like we are a unit. Like we are a family.
The realization hits me hard. This is what I've been missing, not just a partner, but someone who fits into our lives so seamlessly that it feels like they were always meant to be there.
When we reach the parking lot, Piper hesitates before getting into her own car.
"Thank you for inviting me today," she says. "I had a really good time."
"Thank you for coming," I reply. "It meant a lot. To both of us."
She smiles, and there is something soft and hopeful in her expression. "Dylan, about what you said earlier."
"Yeah?"
"I want to try," she says quietly. "I want to see where this goes."
Relief floods through me, so strong it nearly buckles my knees. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she says. "I'm still scared, but I think you might be worth the risk."
I step closer. "I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't regret it."
"I know," she whispers.
I lean down slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she rises on her toes and closes the distance between us.
The kiss is soft and sweet and feels like a beginning.
When we pull apart, Maddie is watching us from the car window with the biggest grin I've ever seen.
"Does this mean Piper is staying?" she calls out.
I laugh and glance at Piper, who is blushing. "We’re working on it, bug."
"Good," Maddie says. "Because I like her."
"Me too," I say, looking at Piper. "Me too."
Later that evening, after Maddie is asleep and the house is quiet, I sit on the couch with my phone in my hand, staring at the text I just sent to Piper.
Me: Thank you for today. For everything.
Her response comes quickly.
Piper: Thank you for giving me a reason to stay.
I smile at the screen like an idiot and type back.
Me:I'm going to do everything I can to keep giving you reasons.
Piper: I'm counting on it.
I set the phone down and lean back against the cushions, feeling lighter than I've in years. For the first time since I lost Sarah, the future doesn't feel like something to survive.
It feels like something to look forward to.
The next morning, I wake to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I grab it groggily, expecting a text from Piper or maybe my mom checking in.
Instead, it's an alert.
WILDFIRE WARNING. CONDITIONS ELEVATED. MONITOR LOCAL UPDATES.
My blood runs cold.
I sit up immediately, my heart pounding as I pull up the alert details. The fire is south of town, far enough that there is no immediate danger, but close enough that the wind could shift and change everything in a matter of hours.
I think of Piper's rental house on the south side of town, I think of the smoke that will start drifting in by afternoon, and I think of the last time I watched smoke fill the sky and was powerless to do anything to stop what came next.
My hands shake as I call her. She answers on the second ring, her voice still thick with sleep. "Dylan? Is everything okay?"
"There’s a wildfire alert," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You need to pack a bag and get out of that rental. The south side is too close to the fire line."
"Dylan, it's just a warning," she says gently. "I'm sure it will be fine."
"Please," I say, and I hear the desperation in my own voice. "Please just trust me on this. I can’t lose someone else because I didn’t act fast enough."
She goes quiet for a moment, and I know she understands what I'm really saying.
"Okay," she says softly. "I'll pack a bag. Where should I go?"
"Come here," I say. "Stay with us, at least until we know it's safe."
"Dylan, are you sure? I don't want to impose."
"You aren’t imposing," I say firmly. "You’re staying where I can keep you safe."
"Okay," she says again. "I'll be there in an hour."
"Thank you," I breathe.
I hang up and sit on the edge of the bed, trying to slow my racing heart. I know I'm overreacting. I know the fire is not an immediate threat, but logic doesn't matter when the memories are this loud.
All I can think about is Sarah's car disappearing into the smoke. If I close my eyes, I can hear the sirens, and I can feel the chaos of that day, but most of all, I feel the helplessness of not being able to save her.
I can’t go through that again. I won’t.
An hour later, Piper pulls into my driveway with a duffel bag in her trunk and worry etched across her face. I meet her at the door and pull her into a hug before I can stop myself.
"I'm okay," she murmurs against my chest. "We’re okay."
"I know," I say, even though my heart is still pounding. "I just needed you here."
She pulls back and looks up at me, her hands resting on my arms. "Hey. I'm here, I'm safe. We’re both safe."
I nod, trying to believe it. Maddie appears at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes. "Piper? Are you staying over?"
"Looks like it, sweetheart," Piper says with a smile.
Maddie squeals and runs down the stairs to hug her, and I watch the two of them together, feeling something settle in my chest. They are both here with me, and they are both safe.
And for now, that’s enough.