Chapter Twenty-Four
Bella
Firebrook Valley
“Oh.”
The word slipped out the second Drew slid into the chair across from me.
My mouth had formed it before my brain could even begin to catch up.
He sat down as if he belonged there—as if he’d done it a hundred times before—even though I knew he hadn’t.
His presence filled the space with a quiet intensity that made the wooden chair creak faintly under his weight; it was a sound so small it felt impossibly intimate amid the general hum of the room.
Mabel’s wasn’t Drew Burke’s kind of place. It wasn’t mine either, not really.
My surprise must have been written clearly across my face because my mouth remained slightly rounded.
It was humiliating. I blinked once, then twice, trying to make myself look less like someone who’d just seen a ghost walk in and ask to share dessert.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Drew was in town, drawn by the same familial storm that had pulled me here.
His father had just punched mine. Naturally, Drew had been called in to clean up the mess, just like I had.
There was a time when I would’ve met him with aggression, assuming he’d come to wave the Burke flag in my face.
But I’d seen past that now. I knew Drew didn’t want to be in this situation any more than I did.
He wasn’t here because he wanted a fight; he was here because he was trapped, just like I was.
He glanced at the pie case behind the counter, then back at me. His eyes traced the lines of my face with an intensity that sent a subtle warmth through me—not the wildfire of Vermont, but something slower and steadier, like embers settling after the blaze.
“So . . .” he said, his voice low and careful, “want to split a piece of pie?”
I was still catching up to the reality of his presence and the fact that he’d walked in and sat down as if this moment were normal.
He acted as though I wasn’t still vibrating with rage from my father’s library, as if I hadn’t driven myself to Mabel’s the way a person retreats to a sanctuary when their own family feels like a threat.
I swallowed, the motion tight in my throat, then I nodded once. “Okay.”
Drew’s mouth curved into a small smile. He looked relieved.
“Apple?” I asked automatically. My brain needed something safe to hold on to.
His smile deepened. “Whatever flavor you want.”
The answer did something to me that I didn’t want to name—something small and dangerously intimate.
He was reminding me he wasn’t here to take.
He was here to give. He stood, mug in hand, and went to the counter, putting in an order like we were two normal people meeting for coffee, not the children of two men who were actively trying to destroy each other.
When he returned, he set two coffees down and slid back into his chair.
I accepted mine with a smile, the heat of the mug warming my palms. The world moved on around us: teenagers huddled over textbooks, a couple in their sixties shared a plate of cookies, and the counter bell chimed as Mabel’s voice boomed with familiar warmth.
And Drew and I simply stared at each other.
Beyond the mess with our parents, there was so much I needed to say. There was Vermont. There was the last message he’d sent me—You should be with me—and the fact that I hadn’t responded. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared far too much.
“Drew.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “And you don’t have to explain. We’re good.”
I didn’t know what to do with that kind of kindness. It felt like being offered a blanket when you were already freezing—relief mixed with shame. Underneath it all was a quiet ache that whispered he saw me, really saw me, even when I was trying to disappear.
“I just—” I started, then tried again. “It’s not that I didn’t . . .”
Drew watched me, patient and steady. Finally, he reached across the table and put his hand on mine. His palm was rough yet gentle against my fingers. It was grounding.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Bella. Really.”
The way he held my hand made something in my chest loosen. It wasn’t only about the text; it was about everything. Somehow, it would be okay.
The pie arrived a moment later, smelling like cinnamon and comfort. I gently pulled my hand away, not because I didn’t want it there, but because I didn’t trust how much I did. I picked up my fork instead.
Drew leaned back slightly, choosing not to push. “I wish I were here with good news. But I just had the least productive conversation I’ve ever had with my father.”
My lips pressed together. “Me too.”
Drew’s mouth tightened. “Mine is acting irrational. Like a child.”
I let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so tired. I wanted to say mine was as well, but the sting of disappointment in my father was still fresh.
“I’ve heard that eventually children begin to parent their parents,” he went on, “but I didn’t think this would happen so soon. Or this dramatically. I handled it, though, for now.”
I looked at him over the edge of my fork. “What did you do?”
His tone turned dry. “I grounded him. To the house. Forty-eight hours. The sheriff’s calling it ‘home confinement’ like that makes it sound less humiliating.”
I coughed out a laugh. It startled me how quickly he could pull humor out of a situation like this. “I yelled at mine and stormed out,” I said. “So I don’t think I’m parenting as well as you are.”
Drew’s eyes softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The question was so gentle it made my throat tighten again. I could have told him everything: the library, the words my father had said, and the way it had cut straight through me to the place where my mother’s pain lived. Instead, what came out was simpler.
“I used to be invested in what had happened between our dads,” I said quietly. “But I’m so over it.”
Drew nodded once, slow and grim. “They don’t want to move past it.”
“I agree.”
Drew’s expression tensed. “It’s gotten worse since my mother died. I know my father is grieving. We all are. I worked at being more patient with him, but it hasn’t helped. If anything, he’s getting worse.”
“It’s been the same with my father. I don’t know how to help him anymore.”
The pie sat between us like a truce offering.
“Brady and Nora are good kids,” I said. “They don’t deserve to have our fathers’ problems placed on them. It’s wrong.”
Drew leaned forward, his protective mode clearly activated. “I agree. And I want to thank you.”
I blinked. “For what?”
“For helping Nora.”
Something in me stilled. He held my gaze, and it wasn’t flirtation or charm; it was direct. “You stepped in,” he said. “You handled it. You protected her when she . . . when she didn’t protect herself.”
My stomach dipped. His wording was too careful, too deliberate. For a second, it felt as if he knew. Not everything, but more than he should. I forced my voice to stay steady. “How did you . . . what did you hear?”
Drew’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if deciding how much to give me. “That it was college hazing stuff.”
I stared at him. “Brady isn’t in a frat.”
His expression didn’t change, but something sharpened in his eyes. “Yeah. It wasn’t good.”
My fingers tightened around my fork. “Drew—”
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You helped Nora. Trust me to handle this one.” The tone wasn’t dismissive; it was certain, as if he’d already made a plan and didn’t want me carrying the weight of it too.
I went still. He reached for his coffee, took a sip, and set it back down. “Let me do this for you,” he said. “For him. For them.”
Something warm slid through me—inconvenient and aching. I wasn’t used to anyone asking for trust without also asking for a trade. Drew was offering strength and I wanted to accept it.
“You have a plan?” I whispered.
His jaw worked. “I do.” Then he looked at me, his gaze steady. “And an idea. This is too much for them.”
I frowned. “Our fathers?”
“No, Brady and Nora. They shouldn’t have to deal with two stubborn old men.”
I stared at him. “What are you suggesting?”
His mouth twitched. “That we give our fathers something else to focus on.”
My pulse jumped. “What?”
His gaze held mine. “Us.”
I blinked. “Us?”
Drew’s expression stayed serious. “If you and I are a couple, our fathers will see it as a bigger issue than Nora and Brady ever could be. We’ll take the heat because we can handle it.”
My heart thudded once, hard. My first instinct was to laugh, but it wasn’t funny, not with the way he was looking at me. I stared at him for a long beat. “You’re suggesting we pretend to be a couple?”
Drew blinked just once, as if my choice of words startled him. There was a pause—a fraction of a second where I felt something shift behind his eyes. Then his mouth curved, just barely, into a smile that was all dry humor and restrained disbelief.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what I was suggesting.”
I nodded immediately. It was logical. It was the first solution all day that didn’t involve lawsuits or fists. “Okay,” I said.
Drew went still. For a second, he just stared at me as if he couldn’t believe I’d agreed that quickly. “Okay,” he repeated. His voice sounded tight.
I reached for my fork again because suddenly my hands didn’t know what to do. “We’ll need rules,” I said, already slipping into problem-solving mode. It was safer than feeling.
Drew let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Sure. Rules.”
I looked up at him. His eyes were on mine, steady and intent, and for a second the whole coffee shop seemed to fade. The teenagers, the clinking plates, the warmth—the world narrowed until it was only us.