Chapter 7 #2
Casey: This is where you woman up. So you saw a hot guy’s ass. Cry me a river, Bennett.
I huffed again, and this time Margaret started over with cookies like she could tell I was on the verge of a mental collapse.
I typed out one last hurried text as she got closer.
Me: This was the energy I needed.
Riley sent a GIF of some guy mooning me, a cartoon one, thank fuck, and I choked on a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. I texted back a skull emoji because I was, in fact, dead.
I took a deep breath and glued what I hoped looked like a composed, friendly smile on my face. Margaret, ever the holiday hostess, swooped in with her bottomless tray of sugar cookies like a well-meaning fairy godmother fueled by butter and flour.
“Here, sweetheart,” she said, wiggling the tray in front of me like she knew I was seconds from imploding.
I took one. And then another.
Because if sugar wasn’t necessary for this situation, then I don’t know what was. Honestly, the only thing that might’ve helped more was wine, and considering it wasn’t even noon yet, cookies would have to do the heavy lifting.
A bell rang as a familiar broad-shouldered figure walked through the front door of the B&B, brushing snow off his jacket, his eyes scanning the room. My stomach unclenched the second I recognized him…and then promptly clenched again in a totally different, relieved way .
His face broke into a smile the moment he saw me.
“Natalie-girl,” my stepdad, Steve, said, already opening his arms. “I barely got to talk to you last night.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I launched myself forward, crashing into his chest and melting into his embrace. His arms wrapped around me, strong and familiar, warm and solid. Just…Dad.
He smelled like cedarwood and the faintest trace of motor oil, which, somehow, still clung to him even though I knew he hadn’t touched an engine in weeks because of all the wedding prep.
It was his signature scent. The smell of home.
Of scraped knees and science fair projects and late-night heart-to-hearts on the porch swing.
My dad had never been the kind of man to hold back affection, not with me, and not with my sister. He hugged like he meant it, like he was trying to protect you from the world, if only for a moment.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face into the soft flannel of his jacket, blinking fast. It didn’t matter that I was a grown woman, I was always going to need my dad.
I didn’t tell many people that Steve wasn’t actually my biological father.
My real father, Terry—my birth dad, I guess—had once been the picture of perfection.
Smiling in Christmas photos, camping with us in the summer.
Until one day, he got stationed in Hawaii for work.
And three months in, he called my mom in tears, drunk and confessing to a hookup in a bar.
As if that wasn’t enough of a gut punch, the woman got pregnant. My mom tried to forgive him, God bless her, but it unraveled everything. He left that Christmas before she could even file for divorce.
My perfect father who’d once been part of my perfect family—he’d never come back. He’d never called. He’d never sent a card. He’d simply disappeared.
Enter Steve.
He married my mom when I was nine, after a year of being the kindest, most patient man in existence. He was there for everything—every scraped knee, every missed bus, every ridiculous school talent show.
He never acted like he was filling someone else’s shoes.
He just built us a whole new pair.
From then on, he became the only man I would ever call Dad. He’d adopted Paige and me, and I carried his name proudly. He’d never once made me feel like I was anything less than his. Not for a second.
But…the lessons from my bio father had stayed.
Like tiny paper cuts I kept reopening without realizing.
I think it’s why I’d pulled the ripcord on Easton the second L.A.
had become a reality. Like I’d seen warning signs that didn’t actually exist. I’d convinced myself it was better to leave than get left.
Better to tear it down myself than wait for someone else to light the match.
I knew for a fact that Steve and my mom had a rule in their marriage about no overnights…and I was pretty sure that one had Mom written all over it. Because if a man was close by, he was less likely to forget who he was coming home to. Or at least that would be her thinking.
“I don’t think you should go back to school,” Dad said with a wink, even though he was as rabid of a Tennessee fan as I was. He’d painted the garage orange and white one summer, and he refused to let anyone park in it until football season ended.
“We miss you too much,” he added, tugging me into another quick squeeze.
“Missed you too, Dad.” My voice came out muffled against his chest, thick with emotion. Honestly, way too much emotion, considering the number of inflatable reindeer staring at me from the window display over there.
He pulled back, his hands firm on my shoulders as he studied me. “You been eating enough? You look too skinny.”
I rolled my eyes, the smile creeping back onto my face. “I’m fine. You’re the one who needs to lay off the protein shakes. You’re starting to look like you’re trying to fight Thor.”
He snorted, pleased with himself. “Hey, old man’s gotta stay in shape. I’ve got to keep your mom interested somehow.”
“Please stop talking,” I begged, pretending to gag as I backed away. “There are Christmas cookies here. I don’t want to associate them with…that.”
His expression sobered a bit, and he gave me the dad look —part concern, part curiosity, and one part the overwhelming urge to fix something he wasn’t sure was broken.
“You sure, sweetheart? School and work going okay? I’ve been picking up extra hours at the shop just in case… you know, if you need anything.”
That familiar ache flared in my chest, the one that always showed up when he tried to do more than he had to. He’d stepped into our lives and hadn’t stopped trying to prove himself since…like loving us wasn’t enough on its own.
“Dad, I promise. I’m good. The grant covers everything.”
Even as I said it, the words tasted like a lie. Not because the grant didn’t cover everything. But because I now knew exactly who was behind it.
For some reason I didn’t tell my dad about that, though. Nor did I tell him about the fact that I was trapped in a bed-and-breakfast with my movie-star ex-boyfriend who I’d just seen naked in our shared suite.
Nope.
That little nugget was getting shoved into a box and duct-taped shut until further notice.
“I’m good,” I repeated, louder this time, like I could force it to be true.
Dad studied me for another beat, and for a second I thought he might push. But then his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he nodded, ruffling my hair with one calloused hand.
From across the lobby, a high-pitched cackle echoed like a warning bell.
My head whipped around just in time to see MeMaw perched on a velvet love seat by the fireplace, sipping cocoa from a mug shaped like Santa’s butt and eyeing me like she knew everything .
Which, honestly, she probably did.
MeMaw had powers. Unspoken, terrifying, possibly telepathic grandmother powers.
I turned back to Dad and forced a laugh. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice wobbling like a busted ornament.
But I wasn’t.
I definitely wasn’t.