Chapter Thirty-One
Ashen
A short time later, the kitchen, despite being the size of a modest home, was overflowing with people.
Ethan clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the chatter.
“Alright! Gather round. Thane and Jesse said I needed to lighten up now that I’m a grandfather.
” His brows drew together in mock severity.
“Challenge accepted. Let’s get these kids sugared up. ”
He gestured, and staff began ripping open the giant bags of chocolate chips.
The sweet, heavy scent flooded the air—white, dark, milk, and those odd pastel colors that didn’t seem to exist in nature.
My stomach tightened with a memory I didn’t want—burnt cocoa in the Gravestone kitchens, punishments for messes I didn’t make—but Sara’s hand slipped into mine, grounding me.
Ethan continued like he was running a board meeting.
“You each get molds—small houses, candy shops, even a barn if you feel rustic. Melt the chocolate, bang the bubbles out, cool it in the refrigerator, then build. You’ve got three hours.
Breaks allowed for food, bathroom, diaper changes, and fainting spells if the sugar overwhelms you.
At the end, the staff will judge. Blind vote.
Winner gets absolutely nothing—except bragging rights, which I assure you last a lifetime. ”
The room erupted into cheers and groans.
“Sounds messy,” Jesse called out. “Who is this man and what did you do with the father who used to lose his mind if we left fingerprints on the fridge?”
Thane smirked. “Don’t ask too many questions. At his age, he’s lucky if he remembers who he is.”
“Watch it,” Ethan said dryly, but his eyes crinkled.
Sara leaned close and whispered, “I’ve never seen someone so serious about having fun.”
Her voice made me grin, despite myself.
Then chaos truly began. Staff set up long tables covered in parchment paper, bowls, and an obscene amount of candy.
Bags of gummy bears, peppermints, licorice ropes, tiny marshmallows, rainbow sprinkles, and things I didn’t even recognize spilled across the surfaces.
Molds were filled, chilled, and retrieved.
A few children darted for the decorations, little hands sneaking candy before their parents corralled them. Monica, holding Sylvia against her hip, raised her brows at Scott. “I’m assuming we’re making a farm. Make sure there’s a pig.”
Scott grinned. “I’ll make Bella in pink chocolate. I’m not sure about Alphonse’s prosthetic leg, though. Maybe a pretzel?”
Crystal nudged Jesse with her elbow. “I’m counting the lines on your forehead and I’m worried for you. It’s okay if we don’t win. I’ll eat it however it ends up looking.”
Jesse smirked. “Sweetheart, I love you, but Thane cannot win. That’s why I’m figuring out how to put a second floor on this house.”
She wrinkled her nose. “All the molds are for a single floor.”
“Exactly,” he countered and went back to sketching his design on a napkin.
Crystal looked across at Sara and me. “What are you two making?”
Sara looked startled at being addressed directly, but then smiled. “Ashen should probably choose a design because if I do, I’ll probably try to put a third floor on it.”
Jesse stopped and looked up. “Structurally, that wouldn’t even be possible.”
“Not if you use the same mold for all three floors and follow the basic design. I was thinking about shaving off the peaks of the large house and doing a stabilizing floor I could make on a flat pan, then repeat that with maybe the candy store as the top level.” She said all of that with a straight face and it took me a moment to realize she was messing with him.
I laughed and added, “Why stop there? The barn would make the perfect fourth floor.”
She hugged me, her grin wide and mischievous. “So, actually, we’re thinking about making a skyscraper.”
Lanie walked over with a smile. “Jesse, I wish you could see your face right now. Is anyone going to tell him that Sara is joking or are we waiting to see if he has a stroke?”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed, but then his face relaxed. “Your ploy to distract me from this win has failed because actually your idea about shaving off some of the bottom house and adding a floor is genius. Thanks for the idea.”
Thane butted in. “Theft of other people’s designs should be instant disqualification.”
“You wish,” Jesse said. “Go build your one level.”
I bit back a laugh and ducked my head closer to Sara’s to say, “Well played, my love. Well played. Now, which mold calls to you? Because I’m ready to kick some chocolate ass.”
She turned, her lips grazing my cheek. “Being here with them already feels like we won.”
I hugged her, then growled. “Yeah, but how do you feel about a two-story candy store?”
Across the table, Zachary and Dylan had somehow ended up side by side, glaring at their molds like they were negotiating a treaty instead of pouring chocolate. Sage hovered between them, pigtails bouncing.
“Uncle Zach, put a path,” she said, pointing to Zachary’s base plate. “Every house needs a path.”
“I’ll get to it,” Zachary muttered, carefully smoothing melted chocolate into a wall mold.
His wife Charlotte laughed. “Sage, maybe you should make it for him.”
“Sage, make one for me, too,” Thane cut in. “Just make it better.”
“Dad,” Sage said with a laugh. “That’s not nice.”
Ashlee, Thane’s wife, murmured, “Nice doesn’t win in war or chocolate.”
“Mom!” Sage exclaimed. “This is for fun.”
Jesse walked by and took the chimney off Zachary’s plate and ate it.
Zachary threw a candy cane at him.
Sage sighed and asked, “Do boys ever grow up?”
Ethan appeared beside her. “Are my sons misbehaving? Who do you want me to scold, Sage?”
She giggled. “Dad, you might get grounded.”
Mark walked by and did a drive-by chimney-snatching off Jesse’s plate. From across the room, Gene said, “Mark, I raised you better than that.”
To which Mark answered, “Jesse started it.”
Sara laughed in my arms. She turned and nodded for me to look at something. On the far end, Walt Bellerwood and Brenda were hunched over their project with the intensity of nuclear engineers.
“The door has to open,” Walt said firmly, holding a thin piece of molded chocolate like it was a titanium hinge.
“It’s chocolate, Walt,” Brenda replied patiently. “It doesn’t need to move. It needs to stay attached.”
“But what’s the point of a door that doesn’t function?” He frowned, already trying to attach a piece of licorice next.
Sara leaned against me, whispering, “I can’t believe that someone who designs rocket boosters is losing a battle with a candy door.”
Brenda, Walt’s wife, turned and winked. “I’m just glad he’s not trying to design this out of Scott’s bean paste. Ever since Ashen figured out how to make it taste better, we have some of it at every meal in every shape you can imagine. Thanks, Ashen.”
I lowered my head in amused humor. “You’re welcome.”
Sara looked back at me in wonder. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I hugged her closer. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
In a monotone, Walt said, “Only one of the biggest leaps ahead in renewable, nutritious food sources we’ve had in a century. With that issue resolved, and Crystal’s ability to create flavors, the menu for those who choose deep space exploration will be top tier.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bellerwood,” I said.
“Walt,” he murmured, then went back to focusing on how to attach the door.
Pride puffed my chest and I looked around, soaking the moment in. This—this noisy, messy, ridiculous chaos—was family. Not one bound by fear or rules, but by choice and laughter.
The smell of chocolate was everywhere now, rich and heady. Somewhere, someone had left a bowl in the microwave too long, and the sharp, acrid stink of burnt chocolate cut through the sweetness. Groans rose around the room.
“Who killed it?” Jesse demanded, waving his hand in front of his face.
Mark raised his hand sheepishly. “Timing issue.”
“Timing issue?” Dylan echoed, deadpan. “It smells like death.”
“Better than when you cook,” Mark shot back, and Dylan shoved him lightly in the shoulder, both of them grinning.
I dipped a spoon into a bowl of melted dark chocolate, tasted it, and nearly groaned. Sweet, rich, perfect. Sara caught me and shook her head. “You’re supposed to be building with it.”
“I am,” I said innocently. “Building inner strength.”
She rolled her eyes but licked chocolate off her own finger a moment later, and I thought my heart might actually split from the sight.
The next few hours blurred with laughter and mishaps.
Roofs caved in. Walls stuck to the table.
Pretzel fences collapsed only to be rebuilt with double the determination.
Babies fussed and were passed between arms. At one point, Sage leaned too hard against the table and left a perfect handprint in Thane’s chocolate “lawn.” Instead of scolding her, he kissed the top of her head and said, “Now it’s art. ”
I couldn’t stop watching Sara. The women had pulled her into their orbit without hesitation—Charlotte handing her a brush dipped in green chocolate to paint grass, Ashlee teasing her about precision, Monica offering her a marshmallow to “test the glue.” She was laughing, cheeks flushed, sleeves pushed up.
She didn’t look like an agent on guard. She looked like she belonged.
That realization filled me with a bone-deep contentment I hadn’t known was possible.
Near the end of the allotted three hours, Thane came to stand beside me, his arms crossed, gaze on the chaos.
“She fits,” he said quietly.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight behind his words.
Then he turned his head, those sharp eyes pinning me. “But she also knows things. Things better left in this room. You understand that, right? What happens in this family stays in this family.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a test.
I met his gaze steadily. “I know. And she does too.”
For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Then he nodded once, satisfied, and returned to his chocolate battlefield.
When time was called, the tables were a riot of creations. Some houses leaned like they’d survived an earthquake. Others were surprisingly architectural. Scott’s farm was the star, complete with candy pigs and cows. One cow did, admittedly, look like it had a bite missing.
Leo, appointed as judge, walked solemnly down the line, hands clasped behind his back like a tiny professor. Finally, he announced, “Winner: Scott’s farm. Because animals.”
The room cheered, even as Sage raised her hand in guilty confession. “I’m sorry. I ate part of the cow.”
“That’s okay,” Scott said. “If it was perfect, it wouldn’t belong at my farm.”
Laughter exploded, rolling through the room, so loud and bright it felt like sunlight itself. And in the middle of it all, I felt something settle deep in my chest. Belonging. Not the forced belonging of the Gravestones, but the kind you choose, the kind that chooses you back.
I glanced at Sara, her eyes shining as she clapped for Sage’s honesty and Scott’s easy acceptance of it. She looked at me then, and I knew: whatever storm was coming, whatever shadows still lingered, this—this family, this love—was worth fighting for.