Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JACKO
Maya unlocks the door and lets us in, dropping her keys in a bowl by the front door. Lila darts ahead, still buzzing from the rink, talking at top speed about her “spin move” and how Cupcake deserves a medal.
“Alright, Miss Tornado,” Maya laughs. “Jacket off first. Boots by the door.”
I help Lila shrug out of her puffy coat and set it over a hook As Maya checks and double checks all the locks on the front door. Then she moves to the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. She glances back at me.
“You serious about that hot chocolate?”
“Deadly,” I say.
“Then you’re on whipped cream duty.”
I salute and head into the kitchen after her. It’s a small space, but warm and tidy, with Lila’s artwork taped to the fridge and a dish towel that says Bakers Gonna Bake hanging off the oven handle.
Lila clambers up onto one of the stools at the table, swinging her legs. I follow, grabbing the cream and the marshmallows off the counter.
“Extra marshmallows, Bear,” she instructs me solemnly.
“Your wish is my command, Jellybean.”
Maya hands me three mismatched mugs. “I’ll do the milk. You do the magic.”
The routine’s easy. Familiar. The three of us move around each other like we’ve done this before. Like it’s normal. Comfortable and real.
Lila watches closely as I pile the marshmallows in and top them with a ridiculous swirl of cream. Her eyes go wide.
“That looks like a snow mountain!”
“Only the best for the champion skater,” I say, sliding the mug across.
She beams. Maya hands me mine and then sits beside Lila with hers, both hands cupped around the warm ceramic.
We drink in companionable silence. Lila sips messily, gets cream on her nose, and tells me all about the unicorn medal Cupcake will receive tomorrow. Maya listens with a soft smile, her hand resting lightly on Lila’s back.
Then Lila’s stomach growls. Loudly. She freezes. We all do.
Maya lifts an eyebrow. “Someone sounds hungry.”
Lila grins sheepishly. “My tummy forgot the crackers.”
“If you could eat anything,” I ask her, “anything in the whole world, what would it be?”
Lila doesn’t even blink. “Pizza. With extra cheese. And extra olives on the side.”
Maya groans. “Olives. Of course.”
“And crusts shaped like stars!” Lila adds.
I pull out my phone. “Star-shaped might be a stretch, but I know a place with good crusts.”
Maya leans over. “Owen, no you don’t have to… I think I have some frozen ones in the freezer.”
She goes to stand up but I reach across the table and rest my hand on her arm. “I want to.”
“Then at least let me pay.”
I shake my head. “Nope. This one’s on me.”
She frowns. “I don’t want you thinking—”
“I’m not thinking anything except that I got to skate with a tiny tornado today and I’m in the mood to celebrate.” I keep my voice gentle. “It’s not a favour, Maya. It’s dinner. With my two favourite girls.”
That softens her. Her shoulders relax and she nods once. “Alright. But I’m doing dishes.”
I grin. “Deal.”
The pizza arrives in record time. We eat on the floor, picnic-style, because Lila insists the couch is the “pizza fort.” Cupcake, the unicorn, gets her own crust. I pretend to be scandalised.
Maya groans dramatically every time Lila adds more olives to her plate. I take a few myself just to back her up. When Lila says we’re part of the Olive Club now my heart melts a little more.
By the time the last slice disappears, Lila is drooping against Maya’s side, thumb half in her mouth, eyelids heavy.
“Alright, Olive Queen,” Maya murmurs, brushing a hand through her hair. “Bedtime.”
Lila whines a little but doesn’t protest. I help tidy up the boxes while Maya carries her off, murmuring lullabies in low tones I can’t hear.
I rinse dishes and let the silence stretch. Trying not to feel the ache of how natural this all feels.
Maya returns ten minutes later, barefoot, wearing leggings and one of those long, oversized jumpers that make her look warm and soft and too beautiful to be real.
Her hair’s down. She tucks a strand behind her ear and leans on the counter.
“She asked if you’d come again tomorrow.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah?”
“I said maybe. If we’re lucky.”
I dry my hands and face her. There’s a quiet between us, but not awkward. Just full. Full of all the things we’re not saying. All the things we want to.
She steps a little closer and I match it.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
“For what?”
“The skates. The car seat. The pizza. All of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me for wanting to show up.”
Her eyes shine and she blinks fast.
I lift a hand, brush my fingers lightly against hers. “You okay with this?”
She nods, slow. “Scared. But yeah.”
“Me too,” I admit.
Then I lean in, slow and careful, like I’m waiting for permission with every inch.
She meets me halfway.
It’s not a dramatic kiss. No fireworks. No sweeping strings.
Just warmth. Trust. The gentle press of lips that says, I see you. I’m here.
When we part, she rests her forehead against my chest.
“Stay for five more minutes?” she whispers.
I nod. “Yeah. I can do five.”
Though if she asked for forever, I’d say yes to that too.
We move to sit at the table. The kitchen is quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of Lila talking in her sleep from the other room.
Maya’s curled one leg under herself, her hand wrapped around her mug like it’s still full, though she hasn’t taken a sip in ten minutes.
Her eyes are distant. Not faraway-in-a-dream way. Faraway-in-a-memory kind of way. I don’t speak. I just let her sit with it, because I’ve learned silence can be gentler than questions.
After a while, her voice breaks the stillness. Soft. Careful. As though she’s testing how much the air can hold.
“He used to hate when I cooked dinner.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe too loud. I just nod once, slowly. She’s not looking at me, her gaze is fixed on a smudge on the table, but I know she feels me listening.
“Never said why. Just didn’t like it. The smell, the mess. If I forgot to wipe the counters down before he got home…” She trails off. Clears her throat.
My hand rests on the table between us, palm up. I don’t push it toward her, but I don’t take it away either.
She glances down, her gaze flicking to my hand. Then she exhales. Not quite a sigh. More like letting go of something.
“I got good at guessing moods. At pretending it was all normal. Especially once Lila came along. You do stupid things to survive that feel smart at the time. Like making yourself smaller. Quieter.”
She finally looks up at me then, eyes shining, not with tears, but the kind of raw honesty that feels braver than anything else.
“I’m scared,” she says. “Of how easy it feels with you. How Lila looks at you. How I look at you. How fast this has all turned around.”
I keep my voice low. Gentle. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak, Maya.”
She smiles. It’s sad, but real. “That’s the thing. I know I’m not weak. Not anymore. But sometimes I still feel like I’m walking through a minefield. Even when the ground is solid.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
Her brows lift, surprised that I didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t rush in with reassurances or platitudes.
“I won’t step on any mines,” I say simply. “And if I do, I’ll sit in the crater with you until it’s safe to climb out.”
A quiet sound escapes her, it’s part laugh, part exhale. She reaches out, her fingers brushing mine. This time, she links them.
“I don’t want you to save me,” she says. “I just want to feel like I can stand beside you.”
“You already are.”
She squeezes my hand, eyes shining in the low light of the kitchen. And I see the faintest shift. Not the walls coming down completely. But a door, cracked open enough for trust to peek through.
She lets go first. Pushes her chair back. “C’mon,” she murmurs. “We should both try and sleep. You’ve got training tomorrow and I have to open the bakery.”
“Yeah,” I say, rising too.
I don’t press for more. I don’t ask what else she’s survived or how deep the scars go. She’s told me just enough. And that’s more than I hoped for.
As she turns out the kitchen light and walks past me toward the hall, she pauses. Looks back over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Owen.”
My name in her voice lands soft as a whisper. Strong as a promise.
“Anytime, Maya,” I say. And I mean it.