Chapter 6
Jonah
“No, Daddy, you’re doing the wolf voice all wrong!”
I look up from the book to find both twins staring at me with identical expressions of disappointment. It’s seven-thirty at night, and we’re in their room. Ava and Mia tucked into their matching beds, surrounded by stuffed animals and the soft glow of the star nightlight.
“What’s wrong with my wolf voice?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“It’s not scary enough,” Mia explains with the patience of someone talking to a small child. “Wolves are supposed to be scary.”
“But not too scawy,” Ava adds quickly her little lisp giving her a cute little pronunciation. “‘Cause then I’ll have bad dweams. Don’t like bad dweams.”
“So... scary but not too scary?”
“Yes!” they say in unison.
I glance at the doorway where Chloe is leaning, trying not to laugh. She’s been standing there for the last five minutes, watching me butcher The Three Little Pigs with an expression that’s somehow both amused and fond.
“Any suggestions?” I ask her.
She pushes off the doorframe and walks into the room, and something in my chest loosens at her presence. It’s been happening all day— this sense of relief whenever she’s nearby, like the world makes more sense when she’s in it.
Which is a problem I’m trying very hard not to think about.
“May I?” She holds out her hand for the book.
I pass it to her, and our fingers brush. Again. For the third time today. I’m starting to think the universe is messing with me.
Torturing me.
Chloe settles on the edge of Mia’s bed, and both girls immediately scoot closer to her. She’s only been here a week, but they already gravitate toward her like she’s the sun and they’re planets caught in her orbit.
I know the feeling.
“Okay,” Chloe says, opening the book. “Let’s see this wolf. Where were we?”
“The part where he blows down the straw house!” Ava bounces excitedly. “That’s the best part!”
“The brick house is the best part,” Mia argues. “‘Cause the wolf can’t blow it down.”
“Both parts are good,” Chloe says diplomatically. She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, her voice is deeper, rougher. “Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”
Both girls gasp, delighted and slightly scared.
“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” Chloe squeaks in a high-pitched pig voice.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” The wolf voice is perfect— menacing enough to be exciting but not so scary that Ava will be up all night.
I watch her perform the story, doing different voices for each character, making exaggerated expressions that have the twins giggling. She’s a natural at this. At making them feel safe and entertained and loved.
At being exactly what they need.
What we need.
The thought hits me hard enough that I have to look away, focusing on the bookshelf lined with picture books instead of the woman making my daughters laugh.
“And the wolf fell down the chimney into the pot of boiling water, and that was the end of the big bad wolf!” Chloe closes the book with a flourish. “The end.”
“Again!” Mia demands. “Again!”
“Nope. One story, remember? That’s the rule.” Chloe sets the book on the nightstand and starts tucking Mia in, smoothing the covers with gentle hands. “It’s time for sleep.”
“But I’m not tired,” Ava protests, even as she yawns.
“Okay, but let’s find out.” Chloe moves to Ava’s bed, giving her the same treatment. “Close your eyes. I bet you’ll be asleep in thirty seconds.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
“Will not!”
“Tell you what,” Chloe says, leaning down to kiss Ava’s forehead. “If you’re still awake when I count to thirty, you win. Deal?”
“Deal…” she yawns through the word and I can see the snores coming.
Chloe starts counting slowly, her voice soft and rhythmic. By the time she reaches twenty, Ava’s breathing has evened out. At twenty-five, Mia’s asleep too.
Chloe finishes counting anyway, in a whisper. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. I win.”
She stands up, and I realize I’ve been staring at her the entire time. Watching her be gentle with my daughters. Watching her care for them like they’re hers.
It’s the most dangerous thing I could imagine.
“You’re good at that,” I say quietly as we step into the hallway, pulling their door mostly closed but leaving it cracked for the nightlight.
“I’ve had practice. I used to babysit in college.” She stretches, rolling her shoulders, and I absolutely do not notice the way her shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. “They’re really sweet girls. You’ve done an amazing job with them.”
“I don’t feel like I have most days.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “I feel like I’m constantly messing up. Forgetting things. Not being enough.”
Chloe stops walking, turning to face me in the hallway. “Jonah. They’re happy. They’re thriving. You’re more than enough.”
“Their mother didn’t think so.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and bitter. I don’t know why I said the words… the admission. Don’t know why I’m suddenly spilling my insecurities to a woman I barely know.
Except I do know her. Somehow, in just one month, she’s become the person I talk to. The person I trust.
“Their mother was an idiot,” Chloe says fiercely. “Anyone who could walk away from those girls, and from you, is an idiot.”
Something in my chest cracks open at the conviction in her voice. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t need to. I know what I see. A dad who gets up at four in the morning to work his ass off so he can provide for his daughters.
Who reads them bedtime stories even when he’s exhausted.
Who’s patient with them even when they’re covered in flour and arguing about who started it.
” She takes a step closer. “You’re a good father, Jonah. Honestly, the best.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe her so badly.
“Rachel, my ex, she said I was selfish,” I hear myself say. “That I cared more about the bakery than I did about her. That I chose Valentine over her dreams.”
“What were her dreams?”
“She wanted to move to Seattle. Said there were better opportunities there, that she felt suffocated in a small town. She wanted me to sell the bakery, move the girls, start over.”
“And you said no.” I lean back against the wall.
“The bakery is my dream. Valentine is my home. I couldn’t—” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “She said if I really loved her, I’d choose her over everything else. But the twins needed stability. Needed family nearby. Needed...”
“You to be happy,” Chloe finishes softly. “Because kids need happy parents, not miserable ones.”
I look at her, this woman who’s been in my life for seven days and somehow understands me better than my ex-wife did in ten years of marriage.
“She left six months after that conversation,” I say. “Filed for divorce, signed away her parental rights, moved to Seattle with some guy she met online. Last I heard, she’s managing a tech startup and living her best life.”
“Without her daughters.”
“Without her daughters,” I confirm.
Again, I don’t hate her. I think the real pain, anger, and denial have worn down and I’m into acceptance. It is what it is and anymore I can’t imagine it being any different.
Chloe’s eyes are fierce, protective. “Then she doesn’t deserve them. And she sure as hell doesn’t deserve to make you feel like you’re not enough.”
“Maybe I was forcing her give up her dreams.”
“No. She made a choice. She chose her desires over her family. That’s on her, not you.
I’m not saying it’s wrong what she did, I’m saying it hurt other people and maybe she could have done it differently.
” Chloe reaches out, and before I can process what’s happening, her hand is on my arm.
“You can’t sacrifice your entire life, your happiness, and your dreams just because someone else wants you to.
That’s not love. That’s control. And you let her go to do what she wanted and you do what you love, too.
That’s generous and giving. Two things that I know you are.
In a way she was giving you a gift, too.
You have two beautiful daughters who adore you.
Someday she’ll think about what she did and maybe she’ll feel guilty, but that’s not your journey.
You need to celebrate. Celebrate what you’ve accomplished, Jonah. ”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. Because maybe —maybe—she’s right. Maybe I’ve been carrying guilt that isn’t mine to carry.
“Why are you here, Chloe?” The question comes out rougher than I intended. “Really here. You could have stayed in Missoula, found another substitute position, waited for something to open up there. Why come back to a town you clearly couldn’t wait to leave?”
She drops her hand, and I immediately miss the contact. “You read me pretty well, huh?”
“You’re not subtle about disliking Valentine after having grown up here.”
“I don’t hate it.” She leans against the wall, and I mirror her position, keeping a safe distance between us.
“I just... I left here thinking I was going to have this amazing life. Build something of my own. Prove that I was more than just another Valentine girl who peaked in high school.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“Instead, I ended up with a degree I can’t use, an ex-boyfriend who moved on in record time, and a bank account that’s more depressing than my dating history. ”
“So you came back.” I’m not judging. Being an adult is hard. She tested the waters of the world, but sometimes the pool in your back yard is warmer than the ocean miles away.
“So I came back,” she agrees. “With my tail between my legs and my mother’s I-told-you-so echoing in my ears. Super fun.”
“Your mom said you should stay in Valentine?”
“My mom said I should marry Derek and stop chasing ‘unrealistic career goals.’” Chloe’s voice is sharp with old hurt. “She said teaching jobs are competitive and I should be grateful for what I have. That wanting more was greedy.”
I think about my ex-wife saying almost the same thing. That I should want more. That staying in Valentine was settling and the opportunities were limited.
Funny how people can make you feel guilty no matter what path you choose.
“For what it’s worth,” I say carefully, “I think you’re going to be an amazing teacher. And Mrs. Henderson is lucky the position will go to you when she retires.”
Chloe’s smile is small but genuine. “Thanks. That... that means a lot.”
We stand there in the hallway, the house quiet around us except for the soft sound of the twins’ breathing from their room. The space between us feels charged, like there are a thousand things we’re not saying.
“I should probably go to bed,” Chloe says finally. “Early morning at the bakery and all.”
“You don’t have to keep coming,” I remind her, even though the thought of mornings without her makes something in my chest ache. “That’s not part of the job.”
“I know. But I like it.” She meets my eyes, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression. “I like learning. I like the quiet. I like—” She stops herself.
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” She pushes off the wall. She stops right beside me and rises to her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Good night, Jonah.”
She’s halfway to her room when I call after her. “Chloe?”
She turns back.
“I like it too. Having you there.”
Her smile could light up the entire house. “Good. Then I’ll see you at five.”
I watch her disappear into her room, and I stand in the hallway for a long moment, trying to get my thoughts under control.
This was supposed to be simple. She was supposed to be just the nanny. Temporary help until I figured something else out.
But somewhere between the flour explosion and the bedtime stories and the early morning hours in my bakery… it stopped being simple.