Chapter 5
HUDSON
The roof had dripped again last night. Enough to wake me with that slow, rhythmic, annoying plink.
So this morning, I finally climbed up and patched the damn thing myself, propped up on the rusted ladder with a hammer in one hand and a prayer in the other, expecting the worst and somehow ending up with decent results.
No busted limbs and no cracked shingles.
Ivy deserved a cozy home, not one with a draft and a ceiling that leaked when it rained. With monsoon season rolling in, I could only hope it held up. At least for a little while.
I was feeling damn near accomplished. Four years ago, before arriving in Bristlecone Springs, the only thing I knew how to fix was a high I couldn’t afford to chase.
I couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t keep a promise, and sure as hell couldn’t be trusted with a hammer.
Now here I was, patching roofs and praying they held, doing my damndest to build something Ivy could count on. To be a better man for her.
I sat with my back against the worn couch cushions, legs stretched out, and Ivy perched on the ottoman with her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth in fierce concentration.
She had a tiny bottle of bubblegum pink polish clutched in one fist and was painting my nails with all the intensity of a brain surgeon.
The polish was gloopy, the brush kept catching on my cuticles, and it smelled like chemicals and sugar… but I let her do it anyway.
Hell, she was happy. That was all that mattered. I’d taken the day off work just for this.
“Almost done?” I asked softly.
She gave me a stern look. “No talk, Daddy. Gotta… got to…” She frowned, scrunching her face. “Gotta cen-cen-tate.”
I huffed a laugh and nodded, familiar enough with her talk to know she meant she had to concentrate. “All right, all right. No talking.”
The look on her face was way too serious. I yawned, leaning back against the cushion and closing my eyes for a minute. Last night I’d slept badly, weighed down by decisions that needed to be made and old doubts that I could never be a good father.
One minute Ivy was humming under her breath and gently pulling at my hand, and the next—
Silence.
Warmth.
I blinked awake. A throw blanket was tucked under my chin. My hand was still resting on the ottoman, the pink polish cap screwed on beside it.
And no Ivy in sight.
Fuck. I’d fallen asleep.
My heart jumped into my throat.
“Ivy?” I sat up too fast, the blanket falling away. “Ivy!”
I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding, half expecting to find her curled in a ball, crying or God forbid, hurt. The polished nails meant nothing now. All I could think about was the fact that I had fallen asleep. I’d let my baby fend for herself.
“Here, Daddy.”
I found her in the kitchen.
She was kneeling on the floor, clutching a soggy roll of paper towels in her small fingers. A puddle shimmered beneath her, and she looked up with a start. Her face crumpled instantly.
“I’m… I’m s-sorry, Daddy.”
My gut clenched. “Hey, hey,” I said gently, kneeling beside her. “What happened?”
“W-wanted water. Y-you was sleepy,” she stammered, lip wobbling. “Dropped… I dropped it and I… I….”
I took the paper towels from her sticky hands and pulled her into my arms.
“Baby, it’s okay. It’s just water.” I brushed her hair back from her forehead.
She sniffled. “Ivy made mess.”
“Messes happen. Next time, just call Daddy, all right? Even if he’s sleeping. You don’t ever have to handle something on your own, okay?”
She nodded, her nose brushing my neck. “But… but you was tired.”
My throat tightened. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still your daddy, and I’m always gonna show up for you. No matter what.”
She leaned back slightly, considering me with those big, wise eyes, placing her hands on my cheeks. “You ’kay now?”
I smiled, even though my heart still hadn’t stopped racing. “Yeah, baby. I’m okay now.”
Her eyes brightened, and she poked one of my half-dried pink nails. “You ’nored weally loud, Daddy.”
That got a real laugh out of me. “Did I scare you?”
She shook her head. “You not a monster. You Daddy!”
Smiling, I lifted her to her feet so she didn’t slip on the wet floor. “Think we should go to the bakery? Maybe get some cupcakes with unicorn frosting?”
“Yay, bakery!”
I quickly cleaned up the water, then brought Ivy to her bedroom to change her, since she was all wet. She wriggled on the bed while I dug through her drawer for her favorite T-shirt. The one with the glittery heart that had mostly flaked off in the wash.
“Pink shorts or the rainbow ones?” I held them both up.
She pointed. “Wain… rain…”
“Rainbow?”
“Yes!”
“You got it, Bug.”
As I helped her step into them, she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding on a little longer than usual. And I let her, tightening my grip around her tiny back.
Because yeah, I was still rattled. Still felt guilty as hell. I’d fallen asleep, and anything could’ve happened.
But it hadn’t.
Because Ivy was brave and smart.
And I was gonna spend the rest of my life making sure she never had to clean up alone again.
Ivy sang all the way to the bakery. Her voice was clear, sweet, and off-key, belting out every word to the “Happy Horses” song like she’d written it herself.
But when it came to talking, especially with new people, the words got stuck.
She got anxious, and when she got that way, she sometimes clammed up.
She’d fumble, pause, twist her fingers in her shirt, trying to sound things out. Whole sentences lived inside her, but sometimes they didn’t want to come out.
But singing?
Singing made her brave.
It was like the words didn’t scare her when they had a melody to ride on.
As we rolled down the quiet main road, past the flower shop and the coffee shop, Cole’s Cuppa with the crooked OPEN sign, I found myself breathing easier. That was the thing about Bristlecone Springs. It made space for people like Ivy. For people like me.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t fast. But it was steady.
Folks looked you in the eye when they asked how you were, and they stuck around to hear the answer.
Kids still rode their bikes past sunset, neighbors brought you soup when you were sick, and nobody cared if your truck was old as hell so long as it got you where you needed to go.
There was honesty in this town. Kindness too. The quiet kind that didn’t need a show.
And after everything I’d crawled through to get here, it felt like the safest place in the world to raise my daughter.
That comforting thought lasted right up until I caught sight of a man about a decade older than me across the street. Our eyes met for half a second, long enough for him to give me a smile that wasn’t friendly so much as smug. Grant.
He clapped a hand on his husband’s shoulder, leaning in to say something that made both of them laugh, and bile crept up the back of my throat.
Grant always rubbed me the wrong way, even before I learned the full story, before I found out he’d married Lawson’s ex, the one who’d stolen from him.
I’d dealt with him when I was setting up my bank account, and there was just something slick under his skin, like oil on water.
I pushed the thought down and guided Ivy into the bakery. As we stepped inside, the bell above the door jingled, and Ivy gasped like she’d walked into Disneyland. Probably the closest she would get to visiting. And that made me fucking depressed.
“Smells like… like ’ake dweems!” she squealed, pressing her face to my leg.
She wasn’t wrong. The bakery did smell like cake dreams.
The air was thick with the warm scent of vanilla and buttercream, sugar and cinnamon, freshly baked bread, and something fruity. Peach, maybe. Every breath felt like it could give you a cavity, and even I had to admit it smelled like happiness.
The display cases gleamed under soft golden lights, rows of cupcakes lined up like little crowns, frosted pink and blue and lavender, some with sugar pearls, some with sprinkles, a few with tiny fondant animals that made Ivy giggle.
“Daddy, look. Bun-nies!”
I crouched beside her, resting a hand on her back. “You see the unicorn one too?”
She nodded, bouncing on her toes. “With the ’ark-’parkles!” she said, dragging out the word.
I knew she wouldn’t eat a single one, not even a nibble. That was never the point. Ivy just liked to look. To marvel at the colors, the swirls, the tiny sugar flowers, and the fondant wings. The cakes were art to her. Little masterpieces behind glass.
And every time we came in, she looked at them like they were brand new.
A woman in a flour-dusted apron emerged from the back, smiling warmly. “Well, if it ain’t Miss Ivy! And Daddy Hudson.” She wiped her hands on a towel tucked into her waistband. “I wondered when I would get a visit from my favorite customer.”
“’avorite?” Ivy beamed, her smile brighter than a stadium light.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“I hope we’re not getting in the way, Miss Loreen,” I said.
The baker laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not at all. She’s got good taste.” She leaned over the counter and tapped the glass gently. “I made a whole tray of new designs this morning. Want to come see them up close?”
Ivy’s gasp could’ve cracked glass.
“Weeeeally?”
“Really,” Miss Loreen said. “Actually… would it be all right if she came to the back with me for a bit? I’ve got a cake that needs decorating, and she might enjoy that.”
Ivy spun toward me, clutching my jeans with frosting-filled wonder in her eyes. “Pweaze Daddy? I won’t touch… just see. I pwomise.”
I hesitated.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Miss Loreen. Hell, if there was anyone in this town who gave off true-blue grandma energy, it was her. But the world didn’t hand out name tags for danger. And no matter how kind someone seemed, I couldn’t afford to forget how fast things could go wrong.
“I appreciate the offer,” I said carefully, keeping my voice even, “but I can’t leave her alone.”