Chapter 12 #2
Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “I don’t need you to be perfect. Perfect’s dull. And what happened at the house? It was an accident. That’s all.”
My chest loosens. I'm about to kiss her when my phone buzzes. Text from Lily.
Lily: Heard about the excitement at Tara’s. My staff told me you’re at the loft now. Levi and I are five minutes away… with pizza.
I groan. Of course. Nothing kills the mood faster than my goalie and his candy-queen wife crashing date night with carbs.
The door rattles with enthusiasm rather than courtesy.
"Open up, you domestic disaster," Levi bellows, somehow loud even through solid wood. "We brought provisions."
I swing the door open to find not just Lily and Levi with pizza boxes, but Scott still in his turnout pants and CFFD t-shirt, Vicky Kennedy carrying what looks like homemade pie, and Mrs. Henderson leaning on her cane with a thermos clutched like contraband.
"Well," I announce to Tara, "apparently we're hosting."
“I heard there was an incident," Mrs. Henderson declares, pushing past me with the authority of a four-star general. "Brought my calming tea."
"It's mostly bourbon," Scott whispers to Tara, earning a sharp look from Mrs. Henderson.
"It's medicinal bourbon," she corrects with dignity.
"There's a difference?" Vicky asks, setting her pie on the kitchen counter.
"One's for health, one's for fun. This is for health."
Lily appears at my elbow, balancing pizza boxes. "We figured you'd need feeding after your adventure in arson."
"It wasn't arson," I protest. "It was—"
“Guys,” Tara cuts in smoothly, eyes twinkling. “Save the semantic banter for another day. What I really want to hear about is Scott’s mysterious neighbor.”
Scott freezes in the act of opening a pizza box. "What neighbor?"
"Jamie," Tara says innocently. "Pretty blonde, yoga pants, called the fire department like a responsible citizen?"
“Jamie whom you tried to give your number three different times?” I add, helpfully fanning the flames.
"Oh." Scott clears his throat. "Right. Jamie. It was just professional courtesy."
"Professional courtesy doesn't usually involve writing your personal cell number on the back of a grocery receipt," Tara deadpans.
Scott's ears turn red. "How do you people notice everything?"
"Small town," Mrs. Henderson says pragmatically. "We notice everything because there's not that much to notice. Makes Jamie interesting."
"She's not—I mean, it's not—we just—"
"Oh, honey," Vicky says gently, "you've got it bad."
"I don't ‘got’ anything," Scott mutters, but he's smiling despite himself.
Levi hands out pizza slices like he's distributing communion wafers. "So what's the story? Childhood sweethearts? Secret romance? Tragic misunderstanding?"
"There's no story," Scott insists.
Mrs. Henderson snorts. "Son, I've been watching Cedar Falls love stories unfold for seventy-three years. Trust me, there's always a story."
I catch Tara's eye across the room. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching this chaos with the kind of soft expression she gets when Cedar Falls shows its heart. Like she can't quite believe she gets to be part of it.
"Fine," Scott says, throwing his hands up in defeat. "We dated in high school. She left for college. I thought she was gone for good. I guess, she's back."
"And?" Lily prompts.
"And nothing. She moved in next door to Tara's place two days ago. Today was the first time I've seen her in years."
"That's a long time to carry a torch." Vicky muses.
"I'm not carrying anything," Scott protests, but his voice lacks conviction.
"Right," I say. "And I don't have a concussion."
The room goes quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that happens when someone accidentally steps on something tender.
"Sorry," I add quickly. "That was—"
"True," Tara interrupts firmly. "And something we're dealing with together. Which is why we ended up here tonight instead of at my house."
She moves to stand beside me, her hand finding mine. It's a simple gesture, but it says everything: we're a team, we're handling this, we're okay.
The others take that in quietly. I can see the questions sitting on their tongues, the way Cedar Falls always circles the wagons—and sometimes even waits for permission before prying. Probably wondering if Tara and I are actually together.
But Mrs. Henderson doesn’t bother with permission. She never has. She settles into an armchair like she’s claiming a throne. “Speaking of which… what’s this I hear about mysterious packages and threatening letters?”
Trust Mrs. Henderson to skip right past the bait of our proximity and cut straight to the heart of things.
I glance at Tara, letting her decide how much to share. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but she nods.
“Someone from my past is trying to get my attention,” Tara says carefully. “Sent me something I didn’t ask for, with a note saying I should ‘come home.’”
“Someone from your past,” Vicky repeats, maternal instincts catching the careful wording. Her eyes are warm but sharp—everything a mother’s built to read.
"My father," Tara clarifies. "We're... estranged."
“And there’s a cousin,” I add quietly, because she shouldn’t have to carry the weight alone. “The kind of trouble that shadows a family.”
Scott’s easy grin fades, replaced by the firefighter who’s seen real danger. “Trouble how?”
Tara’s hand tightens in mine. “Lucien likes to think he’s intimidating. He puts on a show, but he’s tied to people who actually are.”
"What kind of people?" Mrs. Henderson asks sharply.
"The kind that make good people nervous," Tara answers evenly.
I can tell she's downplaying it for everyone's benefit, and perhaps for her own privacy, but the tension in her shoulders tells the real story.
Levi’s eyes find mine. He already knows the truth; Tara and I had told him and Lily. But he doesn’t press in front of the rest, doesn’t expose her.
He just tilts his head, tone steady, respectful. “So… real trouble.”
The word lands heavy.
"Well," Vicky says practically, "if he shows up here, he'll find out what Cedar Falls does to people who threaten our own."
"That's sweet," Tara says, "but—"
"No buts," Lily interrupts. "Vicky's right. You're one of us now. That means something."
"It means Scott will probably arrest him for disturbing the peace," Mrs. Henderson adds.
"I'm a firefighter, not a cop," Scott points out.
"Details," Mrs. Henderson waves dismissively. "You're official enough.”
The laughter that follows feels like medicine—warm and healing and exactly what both Tara and I needed after the stress of the day.
And just like that, the conversation shifts — not prying deeper, but circling Tara in the only way this town knows how.
"You know what?" Tara says, looking around the room at these people who showed up without being asked, who brought food and comfort and unwavering support. "This is exactly what I needed tonight."
"Good," Mrs. Henderson says, unscrewing the cap on her thermos. "Because now you're stuck with us."
"The terrible fate of all Cedar Falls residents," Levi says solemnly. "Forced belonging."
"Could be worse," Tara murmurs, but she's smiling.
"How?" Vicky asks.
"I could be facing this alone."
The words hang in the air, simple but profound. Because that's what this is really about—not the scarf or the threats or even the complicated family drama. It's about the fact that for the first time in her life, Tara doesn't have to handle everything by herself.
I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back.
"Never alone," I say quietly, meant just for her but loud enough that everyone hears.
"Never," Mrs. Henderson agrees firmly. "Cedar Falls takes care of its own."
And looking around this room—at Lily and Levi with their unshakeable partnership, at Scott trying to pretend he's not thinking about Jamie, at Vicky and Mrs. Henderson treating Tara like family they've known for years—I realize something.
This isn't just about protection or loyalty or small-town values. This is about love. Messy, complicated, unconditional love that doesn't require blood or legal documents or perfect understanding.
This is what family actually looks like.
After everyone leaves—pizza boxes emptied, Mrs. Henderson's "medicinal" tea significantly depleted, promises extracted that Tara will call if anything else happens—we're finally alone.
Tara kicks off her shoes and curls up on the couch, looking more relaxed than she has all day.
"That was nice," she says.
"Nice?" I settle beside her, pulling her feet into my lap for an impromptu massage. "That was a full-scale invasion of privacy disguised as emotional support."
"Exactly," she sighs contentedly as my thumbs work at a pressure point. "I've never had people just... show up like that. With food and terrible advice and genuine caring."
"I’m starting to realize that," I murmur, working at a particularly tense spot that makes her melt deeper into the cushions. "Population: however many busybodies it takes to fix your problems."
"Is that what they were doing? Fixing my problems?"
I pause in my massage, considering. "No. They were letting you know you don't have to fix them alone."
Her eyes go soft, that expression I'm learning to love—the one that means I've managed to say exactly the right thing without trying.
"This is what you're protecting," I say quietly, gesturing around the room that still smells like pizza and friendship. "This life you've built. These people who chose you."
She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. "And now they could get hurt because of me."
"Hey." I abandon her feet to cup her face, making her look at me. "Nobody's getting hurt on my watch. And if your father or your cousin want to come for you, they'll have to go through all of us."
"Cam—"
"I'm serious." I lean closer, letting her see the promise in my eyes. "I may not remember everything perfectly, but I remember this: you're mine to protect. Cedar Falls is ours to defend. And I've never backed down from a fight in my life."