Chapter 9
Dylan
Morning light filters through mom’s guest room curtains, warm and soft, and for a moment, I forget where I am. Then I feel the weight of Piper's body against mine, her head tucked under my chin, her hand resting over my heart, and everything comes rushing back.
The fire, the evacuation that followed, and the fear that clawed at my chest like a living thing.
And then this. Piper and the promise we made to each other in the dark.
I press a kiss to her hair and breathe in the scent of her shampoo, it’s something tropical. She stirs against me, making a soft sound of protest when I shift slightly.
"What time is it?" she mumbles.
I check my phone on the nightstand. "Almost eight."
"Too early," she says, burrowing deeper into my side.
I smile despite everything. Despite the smoke still hanging in the air outside, despite the knot of anxiety that lives permanently in my chest these days, and despite all of it, she makes me smile.
"I need to check on the bakery," I say quietly. "Make sure it's still standing."
She lifts her head and looks at me with sleep-soft eyes. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"Always," I say without hesitation.
We get dressed and head downstairs to find my mom already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with Maddie. They are coloring together, and the sight of it does something warm and painful to my chest.
"Morning," my mom says, looking up. "I made coffee."
"You’re a saint," Piper says, heading straight for the pot.
Maddie abandons her crayons and runs over to hug my legs. "Daddy, can we go home today?"
I crouch down to her level and brush a curl from her face. "I need to check on a few things first, bug. But hopefully soon."
"Can I come with you?"
I glance at my mom, who nods. "Of course. We’ll make it an adventure."
Twenty minutes later, we’re driving through Valentine in the early morning light. The streets are quiet, most people still at their evacuation shelters or checking on their own homes. Smoke still hangs in the air, but it's thinner now, less oppressive.
When we turn onto Main Street, my breath catches.
The town is intact. The Corner Diner still stands with its neon sign flickering. The bookshop windows are unbroken. The festival banners, though singed at the edges, still flutter in the breeze.
And then I see it.
Spice Spice Baby.
My bakery is in one piece, untouched. It’s exactly as I left it.
I pull into the parking lot and just sit there for a moment, staring at the building that has been my anchor for the past three years. The place where I poured all my grief and all my hope and all my determination to build something good for Maddie.
"It's okay," Piper says softly, reaching over to take my hand. "It's still here."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
We get out of the truck, and I unlock the front door with hands that shake slightly.
The moment I step inside, I'm hit with the familiar smell of flour and vanilla, and butter.
Everything is exactly where I left it, the prep tables, the mixers stand there waiting to be used and the rows of piping bags are hanging on their hooks.
And there, in the center of the workspace, sits the phoenix cake.
It’s perfect, it’s in once piece, untouched by the chaos that threatened to consume everything around it. It’s a symbol of what this town has been through and it survived, just like we did.
I walk over to it slowly, like it might disappear if I move too fast. When I reach it, I run my hand along the edge of the table and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
"Daddy, the cake is so pretty," Maddie says, tugging on my hand. "Can we eat it?"
I laugh, and it comes out shaky. "Not yet, bug, this one is for the festival."
"When is the festival?"
"Two days," I say. "If everything goes according to plan."
Piper is filming, her camera trained on the cake, then on me. I should probably tell her to stop, that this moment is too raw, too vulnerable. But I don't, because somehow, having her witness this feels right.
"It's beautiful," she says quietly. "You should be proud."
"I'm just relieved it survived," I admit.
"It's more than that," she says. "This cake is everything you promised it would be. Resilience. Renewal. Hope."
I look at her, and the way she sees me makes my chest tight.
Before I can respond, the front door opens, and Evan walks in. He stops short when he sees us, and his face breaks into a grin.
"You’re here," he says. "I was just coming to check on the place, I figured you would be at your mom's until the all-clear."
"Couldn’t stay away," I say. "I needed to make sure everything was okay."
"Well, we got lucky," Evan says, walking over to inspect the cake. "The fire came close, but the wind shifted just in time. A few blocks south got hit hard, though, the yoga studio lost part of its roof."
My stomach sinks. "Rebecca's place?"
"Yeah, she’s okay, but the building took some damage."
I make a mental note to check in with her later. Valentine is a small town, when one person hurts, we all feel it.
Evan glances between me and Piper, and his grin turns knowing. "So, you two look cozy."
"Evan," I warn.
"What? I'm just saying. You have that look."
"What look?" Piper asks, amused.
"The look of a man who finally pulled his head out of his ass," Evan says cheerfully.
I glare at him, but there is no real heat in it. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Not really, the bakery was closed yesterday, and we don't open until tomorrow. I'm just here to make sure nothing exploded."
"Nothing exploded," I confirm.
"Good, then I'll leave you lovebirds alone." He winks at Piper. "Take care of him, he needs it."
After Evan leaves, the bakery feels quiet again, peaceful even. Maddie wanders over to her little table and starts coloring, and Piper sets her camera down to help me check the equipment.
We work in comfortable silence, testing the ovens, making sure nothing was damaged during the evacuation. Everything is fine. Everything is intact.
And yet, I can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.
"Dylan," Piper says after a while. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
She leans against the counter, her arms crossed. "What are you going to do about the festival? Do you think it will still happen?"
"I don't know," I admit. "The committee will probably meet today to decide. But honestly, after everything that just happened, I think this town needs the festival more than ever."
She nods slowly. "You’re right. People need something to celebrate, something to remind them that they survived."
"Exactly."
She looks at the phoenix cake, then back at me. "This is going to mean everything to them."
"I hope so."
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I feel the weight of everything that has happened in the past few weeks pressing down on me. The fire, the fear and the realization that I'm falling in love with this woman, and there’s no going back.
"Piper," I say quietly. "About you staying."
"I meant it," she says quickly. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. But I also know that staying here means giving up a lot; the Seattle job and the freedom to move around. All of it."
She steps closer and takes my hands. "Dylan, I've spent my entire adult life running from place to place, never putting down roots, never letting myself get too attached to anything or anyone. And you know what? I was miserable. I didn't even realize how miserable until I came here."
Her voice softens. "You and Maddie and this town have given me something I didn't know I was looking for. A home. A family. A reason to stay. And I'm not giving that up."
My throat tightens. "You’re sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
I pull her into my arms and hold her tight, and for the first time in three years, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, the future is not something to survive.
It's something to look forward to.
We spend the rest of the morning at the bakery, cleaning up and preparing to reopen the next day.
Around noon, Gina from the festival committee calls to confirm that the Heart-to-Heart Festival is still happening.
The town council voted unanimously to move forward with it, believing that the community needs the celebration now more than ever.
"Can you have the cake ready?" Gina asks.
"It's already done," I tell her. "Just needs to be transported to the square."
"Perfect. We will send someone to pick it up the morning of the festival. Thank you, Dylan. This is going to be exactly what we need."
After I hang up, I turn to Piper. "The festival is on."
She grins. "Good. I've a lot of footage to edit."
We head back to my house to pick up some clothes and check on things. The neighborhood is quiet; most people are still at evacuation shelters or staying with family. My house is exactly as we left it, and the relief I feel is almost overwhelming.
Maddie runs inside and immediately starts playing with her toys, happy to be back in her own space. Piper and I collapse on the couch, exhausted from the adrenaline crash.
"I can't believe we are here," she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Yesterday I thought we might lose everything."
"Me too."
"But we didn't."
"No," I agree. "We didn't."
She tilts her head to look at me. "Do you think things will go back to normal now?"
I consider the question. Normal. What even is normal anymore? My life has been turned upside down in the best possible way since Piper walked through the bakery door three weeks ago.
"I don't think things will ever be the same," I say honestly. "But maybe that is a good thing."
She smiles. "Maybe it is."
We sit there for a while, just holding each other, listening to Maddie hum in the other room. And for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace.
That evening, after Maddie is in bed, Piper and I sit on the back porch with glasses of wine, watching the stars come out. The smell of smoke still lingers in the air, but it's fading, replaced by the scent of pine and earth and the promise of spring.
"Can I tell you something?" Piper says after a while.
"Always."
"I called the Seattle coordinator today. Told them I'm not taking the job."
I turn to look at her, my heart pounding. "You did?"
"I did. And you know what? It felt good. It felt right."
I set my wine glass down and pull her into my lap. She comes willingly, wrapping her arms around my neck.
"I'm so glad you are staying," I say, my voice rough with emotion.
"Me too."
I kiss her, slow and deep, pouring everything I feel into it. When we finally pull apart, we are both breathing hard.
"Dylan," she whispers. "Take me to bed."
I don't need to be asked twice.
I carry her inside, careful not to wake Maddie, and take her to my room. We undress slowly, taking our time, savoring every moment. And when I finally sink into her, it feels like coming home.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
"I love you," I say into the darkness.
"I love you too," she replies.
And in that moment, everything feels exactly as it should be.