Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
R achel knelt beside the bathtub watching her daughter splash in the water, creating stories with her rubber ducks and toy boats. The simple joy on her face made Rachel's heart squeeze with love so intense it almost hurt. Everly was humming to herself, some made-up tune that mixed "Twinkle, Twinkle" with what sounded like the theme from Paw Patrol.
"Time to wash your hair, sweet girl," Rachel said, grabbing the shampoo.
Everly tilted her head back trustingly, her long lashes fluttering closed as Rachel poured warm water over her curls. "Tell me story, Mama."
Rachel smiled, working the shampoo into Everly's hair. It was their favorite bedtime story, though tonight it held extra meaning with all her thoughts about Jack and their future. "Well, you were my miracle baby. You were so special when you were born, you were like a princess."
As she rinsed Everly's hair, Rachel marveled again at the pure magic of her daughter's existence. A baby that shouldn't have been possible with Brian's vasectomy, yet here she was—perfect and real and absolutely meant to be. Even through the pain of Brian's rejection, Rachel had never once doubted that Everly was a gift meant specifically for her.
After the bath, Rachel helped Everly into her favorite unicorn pajamas and settled into the rocking chair that had been her own mother's. Everly curled into her lap, smelling of baby shampoo and childhood, clutching her worn stuffed bunny. As they rocked, Rachel breathed in the moment, storing it away in her heart.
"Love you to moon and back, Mama," Everly murmured sleepily.
"I love you to the moon and back and all around the stars," Rachel whispered back, their nightly ritual.
As Everly's breathing deepened into sleep, Rachel continued rocking, lost in thought. Before Everly, she'd thought she understood love. She'd believed in romance, in partnership, in the kind of love she'd had with Brian—love that came with conditions and expectations, love that could be withdrawn when things got difficult. But Everly had taught her something profound about love's true nature.
Her daughter had shown her that real love wasn't about what you could get, but what you could give. It wasn't about keeping score or holding back to protect yourself. It was about opening your heart completely, about choosing to love freely and fully, even knowing that love made you vulnerable. Everly loved with her whole being—unafraid, unlimited, unconcerned about whether she was getting as much as she gave.
And now, with Jack…Rachel realized she was finally ready to love that way again. Not the careful, measured love she'd known before, but the kind of love Everly had taught her—generous, unguarded, focused on giving rather than receiving. Jack had shown them both such patient, steady love. He'd never tried to replace Brian or push his way into their lives. Instead, he'd simply been there, offering his love freely, expecting nothing in return.
Rachel pressed a kiss to Everly's forehead and carefully carried her to bed, tucking her in with the tenderness that still caught her by surprise sometimes. Her daughter had taught her the most important lesson about love—that it multiplied rather than divided, that opening your heart to more love didn't diminish what was already there, it only made it grow.
"Thank you, my sweet girl," Rachel whispered, smoothing back Everly's curls. "For teaching mama how to love."
Rachel looked out the window and watched the gray clouds form, their dark masses roiling against the darkening sky. With more rain coming, the vineyard would suffer and it would mean more work for her and Jack. She imagined the rows of vines swaying in the strengthening wind, their leaves shimmering silver-green in the strange pre-storm light. She watched the flames dance in the fireplace, grateful for their warmth against the growing chill.
Everly was finally asleep, her soft snores through the baby monitor a comforting reminder of the little girl who made every exhausting moment worthwhile. The house was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant rumble of thunder.
A loud crack made Rachel jump, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. The storm was getting closer now, the wind picking up speed as it whipped through the front yard. She could hear the wind chimes on the back porch creating a frantic melody, so different from their usual peaceful tinkling. The sound reminded her of the wind chimes that used to hang outside Lucy's bedroom window when they were teenagers—the ones that had chimed through so many late-night sister conversations, through tears and laughter and everything in between.
Her thoughts drifted to Lucy and Romy, to the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Rachel knew her sister well enough to recognize the signs—the way Lucy had been distracted, her gaze distant, her tone clipped whenever Romy's name came up. The return of their former friend was stirring up memories that none of them were ready to face.
Rachel sighed, her fingers brushing against the cool glass of the window. She and Hannah had always known how much Jenna’s death affected Lucy even if she never talked about it. They had seen the change in her, the way she carried the weight of something unspoken. And now, with Romy back in town, that weight seemed heavier than ever.
She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked back to the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, as she sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her lap as she stared into the flames. The old grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine, its deep resonance echoing through the house. She smiled, remembering when Jack had fixed it—one of the first things he'd done after coming into their lives. He'd spent an entire Saturday afternoon tinkering with its mechanism, Everly "helping" by handing him tools and asking endless questions. That was when Rachel had first realized how seamlessly he fit into their world, how natural it felt to have him there.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Jack's voice as he stepped into the living room, carrying two glasses of wine. "Lost in thought?" he asked with a gentle smile, handing one of the glasses to her.
Rachel nodded, shaking off the heaviness of her reflections. "Just thinking about my sisters," she admitted, taking a small sip of wine.
Jack settled onto the couch beside her, his presence as steadying as the weight of the glass in her hand. His clothes still carried the earthy scent of the vineyard, mixing with the warmth of the fire. "How's Lucy holding up?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious.
"She's…coping, I think," Rachel said slowly. "Romy's return has stirred up a lot for her, things she hasn't wanted to deal with in a long time. I just wish she'd let us in more. Hannah and I can only do so much from the outside."
Jack listened thoughtfully, his expression soft with understanding. "Family can be complicated," he said after a moment. "But it's clear you and your sisters are close. That's what matters most. She'll come around when she's ready."
Rachel reached out and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Thanks for saying that. I just hope you're right."
They sat in silence for a while, the fire's warmth wrapping around them like an embrace. Rachel loved the way Jack always seemed to know exactly what to say, how to make her feel less alone. He had been her rock in so many ways, and she found herself imagining a future where he was a permanent part of their lives.
"You look tired," Jack said finally, his voice gentle as he reached for her hand.
Rachel smiled faintly, leaning back against the cushions. "It's been a long week. Everly's been testing boundaries, and I think she's going through a phase where she hates wearing clothes, unless it’s her princess dress."
Jack chuckled, his warm, easy laugh filling the room. "Sounds like she's keeping you on your toes."
"She always does," Rachel said, her smile softening. She took another sip of her wine, then glanced at Jack. "Thank you for being so patient. I know this isn't exactly the easiest situation."
Jack set his glass on the coffee table, turning to face her more fully. "Rach, I'm not here because it's easy. I'm here because I care about you. About both of you."
Rachel looked away, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. "I know. But sometimes it feels like…like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that’s not fair to you."
Jack reached out, gently turning her face toward him. "You don't have to wait for that. I'm not going anywhere."
Rachel's eyes glistened, but she quickly blinked away the tears. "It's hard to believe that sometimes. After everything with Brian…"
Jack nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get it. But I'm not Brian. And I'm not going to let you down."
Rachel sighed, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside her. She wanted to believe him—wanted to let herself trust again. But there were still moments when the scars of her past were hard to ignore.
Like most nights, they enjoyed dinner and a movie before Jack returned home to his place. Tonight they'd watched an old romantic comedy, sharing a bowl of popcorn and laughing at the predictable plot. But there was something comforting about the predictability, about knowing exactly how things would end. They were a family, and it was clear what their lives would look like as husband and wife. Nonetheless, a proposal didn't seem imminent, much to Rachel's dismay.
Jack stayed for another hour, before heading back home. Rachel checked on Everly before going to bed. The soft glow of the nightlight illuminated Everly's cherubic face, her curls splayed across the pillow. The stuffed bunny she clutched had fallen half out of her grip, and Rachel gently tucked it back into her daughter's arms. On the bedside table sat the framed photo of Everly and Jack at the vineyard's harvest festival, both of their faces painted like cats, matching grins beaming at the camera.
Rachel leaned against the doorway, her heart aching with a fierce, protective love. She thought about Jack's words, about the way he'd looked at her as if he could see all the broken pieces she tried to hide. Maybe she could let herself believe in something more. Not just for herself, but for Everly—for the chance to show her daughter that love didn't always have to end in heartbreak.
Rachel walked to the window and looked up at the clearing sky.
Maybe if I wish on a star.