Chapter 7
Liam
I wake up with a warm, soft weight pressed against my chest and the faint smell of her shampoo in my hair. It takes my brain a second to register where I am, and when it does, the realization hits somewhere low and tight.
Charlotte.
Her leg is draped over mine. One of her hands is curled against my stomach. She’s half on top of me like she fell asleep mid-claiming and never moved. And God, I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable.
Then reality hits.
Maisie.
I sit up too fast and catch myself before I disturb Charlotte. Carefully, I slide out from under her arm, inch by inch, like defusing a bomb. She settles into the pillow without waking, peaceful and a little wrecked, which does something to me I’m not unpacking right now.
I grab the notepad by the bed and write a quick note.
Coffee later? —L.
I set it on the table and press a soft kiss to her forehead before I force myself out the door.
The morning air hits harder than expected. I feel loose and warm, like I left half my common sense tangled up in Charlotte’s sheets. Driving to my mom’s, the creeping panic finally catches up.
Last night wasn’t casual, it wasn’t a mistake, and it wasn’t something I can file under “festival week decisions.”
It was real, it’s exactly what I’ve spent six years dodging, anything that looks like this.
But I can’t regret it. Not even a little, which is the part that scares the hell out of me.
When I get to my mom’s, the kitchen light is on and I hear Maisie humming a made-up song about waffles. I step inside and toe off my shoes.
Mom looks at me the moment I walk in, her eyebrow raised in that way that says she already knows.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning.”
She flips pancakes like she’s waiting for me to confess something.
Maisie runs in wearing pajamas covered in tiny cats. She spots me and lights up like someone plugged her in.
“Daddy!” She launches at me. I catch her and lift her up.
“Morning, bug.”
She leans back in my arms and squints at me, her nose wrinkling. “Your hair is messy.”
“Thank you for that.”
“And your face looks funny.”
“Funny how?”
She pokes my cheek with her finger. “Like you saw something nice.”
Mom makes a choking sound behind me.
I swallow. “Something nice, huh?”
“Yeah. Like stickers, or donuts, or Charlotte.”
I close my eyes for one defeated second. “I talked to Charlotte yesterday about the festival.”
Maisie gasps. “Did she give you donuts?”
“No.”
“Stickers?”
“No.”
She tilts her head, considering the remaining possibilities. “A hug?”
My mother is shaking silently with laughter now.
“No hug,” I say, and it is the least convincing lie I have ever told.
Maisie accepts it with a smile. “Okay. But if she hugs you later, can I have a donut?”
I sigh. “We’ll see.”
She grins, satisfied, and hops out of my arms. “I’m gonna get waffles.”
When she runs out of the room, Mom turns to me fully.
“So. Charlotte.”
I rub my face. “Please don’t.”
“It’s okay to be happy,” she says gently. “You make it harder than it needs to be.”
I don’t argue because she’s right.
At the bakery, I realize immediately that my staff need new hobbies.
Mark looks up from kneading dough, takes one long look at my face, and grins like he has blackmail material.
“Morning,” he says. “You seem well rested.”
“Don’t.”
Chris pops up from behind the pastry case. “So, hypothetically, if a certain general manager disappeared last night and returned today looking like he survived a pleasant natural disaster, should we assume—”
“No.”
“Interesting,” he says, as if I confirmed something.
Jonah walks by sipping his coffee. “Congrats.”
I glare at him. “On what.”
He sips again. “Stuff.”
“I’m firing all of you.”
“You won’t,” Chris says, grabbing a macaron. “We know too much.”
Charlotte walks in around midmorning. The second I see her, something tightens in my stomach in a way I’m not prepared for. She’s in jeans and a festival staff shirt, hair pulled back, cheeks slightly flushed from running around. She looks incredible.
She spots me and gives me a smile that hits straight in the chest.
I smile back, too small, too controlled.
Charlotte notices immediately. Of course she does.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey.” My voice comes out like I haven’t spoken in days.
Chris makes a muffled squeaking noise behind me. I do not turn around because I want to live.
“Can we go over the tasting order?” she asks. “I want to make sure everything is set.”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Sure.”
We walk to the back, and my nerves spike like I’m a teenager who doesn’t know how to hold eye contact.
She puts a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
Her touch sends heat straight through me and my pulse stutters.
“Yeah,” I say, a little too fast and it comes out clipped.
She watches me for a moment, not hurt, not upset. Just reading me.
“Liam,” she says gently. “We don’t have to talk about anything right now. Festival first and everything else when things slow down.”
Guilt tightens in my chest, I don’t want her thinking she did anything wrong.
“I’m not pulling away,” I say quietly. “I just… this is a lot. Good. But a lot.”
Her expression softens. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Something inside me loosens again. “I know.”
The rest of the day blurs. Every time I see Charlotte, I feel that pull again and every time I try to get closer, someone needs something.
By late afternoon, I’m kneading dough while Maisie colors at the small table behind the counter.
“Daddy,” she says, tapping her crayon. “I made something.”
She holds it up proudly.
And my heart stops.
It’s a drawing of the three of us, me, Charlotte, and Maisie, holding hands in front of the bakery.
Charlotte is wearing what looks like a queen’s crown, I’m wearing a cape, and Maisie is covered in glitter. Literally. She glued glitter to the paper and also to herself.
My chest gets tight.
“This is really good, bug,” I say.
“I know,” she says confidently. “It’s us.”
I stare at it longer than I should.
“Can we give it to Charlotte?” she asks. “Because she should know we like her.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe later.”
She frowns. “But I want her to see it.”
“Soon,” I promise.
She nods and tucks the drawing into my pocket, not wanting anything to happen, it’s like a prized possession.
By the time we close, I’m exhausted and wired at the same time. I walk outside, lock the door, and stand on the sidewalk with Maisie climbing into the truck.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the drawing again.
Me, her, and Charlotte, like we’re a family.
My chest pulls tight.
I think about Charlotte working late at the festival grounds, probably still smiling through chaos. I think about waking up with her in my arms. I think about how much I want this to be real and how badly I don’t want to screw it up.
“Daddy,” Maisie calls, “you coming?”
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door.
“I’m coming.”
I drive us back to my mom’s house, she likes ending busy days there when I’m working late, and honestly, I like having her close right now. I need the grounding.
Mom meets us at the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“You’re back later than usual,” she says lightly as we come inside.
“Festival prep,” I answer, which is true, just not the whole truth.
Maisie kicks off her shoes. “Grandma, look at my picture!” She shrieks as she reaches for her picture from my pocket and runs toward the living room.
I follow them in and watch as she proudly shows the drawing to my mom. Mom’s eyes widen slightly as she takes in the three of us holding hands.
“Oh,” she says softly. “This is beautiful.”
“It’s us,” Maisie explains. “Daddy, me, and Charlotte.”
Mom glances at me, the flicker of a smile playing at her mouth, she doesn’t say anything, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.
Maisie bounces away, humming to herself while she digs through her toy basket.
Mom turns to me. “Walk with me.”
I groan quietly. “Can we not do this today?”
“No,” she says, already heading toward the back deck. “Because you’re making that face again.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re terrified of being happy.”
I shut my eyes for a second before following her outside.
She sits in one of the chairs. I stand because I know that I may need an escape for this conversation.
Mom watches me for a moment, not pushing, just waiting.
“Something happened,” she says.
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah.”
“With Charlotte.”
“Yeah.”
“And it scared you.”
My jaw tightens. “Not in the way you think.”
“Then tell me in the way you think.”
I pace because it’s the only thing keeping my thoughts from running too fast.
“She’s good,” I say quietly. “She’s really… good. And this thing between us is moving fast. Faster than I planned, faster than I could even brace for.”
Mom nods. “And that’s not bad.”
“But what if she leaves?” The words rip out before I can filter them. “What if she decides this was a nice little festival fling and then goes back wherever she came from and Maisie gets attached and then we’re back where we were six years ago?”
My voice cracks right at the end, I hate that it does, but I can’t fix it.
Mom’s expression softens. She reaches out and taps the chair beside her.
I sit.
“You’re afraid of her disappearing,” she says gently.
“I’m afraid of Maisie getting her heart broken,” I admit. “I’m afraid of letting someone into our life and watching it blow up in her face.”
Mom nods again, taking her time with her words. “You’re a good father. You’ve protected her from a lot, but Liam, protecting her doesn’t mean keeping the world out.”
“The world hurts her,” I say quietly.
“Sometimes,” Mom agrees. “But the world also gives her things, like friends and experiences, people who show up when they say they will.”
She gives me a pointed look.
“You’re not giving Charlotte a chance to be one of those people.”
“I barely know her,” I say, frustrated and scared all at once. “We’ve known each other for days. Days. And I already feel like…” I trail off because I can’t finish the sentence.
Mom raises a brow. “Like this might be real?”
I drop my head into my hands. “I don’t want it to be real if she’s not staying.”
“You don’t get to decide that part,” Mom says softly. “You only get to decide whether you show up.”
“I do show up,” I say defensively.
“For Maisie, yes,” she says. “Always. But not for yourself, not since before Maisie’s mom left.”
I go quiet.
It’s not a wound I think about often. It’s just a scar that lives under the surface.
Mom’s voice softens even more. “She left because she couldn’t handle her own life, not because something was wrong with yours. That is her story, not yours. And certainly not Charlotte’s.”
My throat feels tight. “You don’t know she won’t leave.”
“No,” Mom says. “But you also don’t know she will.”
I swallow against the lump forming. “If Maisie loses another person…”
“She’s not losing you,” Mom interrupts. “That’s what matters.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “And maybe it’s time she sees that good things come into your life too. Not just responsibilities.”
I look out into the backyard, quiet for a long moment.
“She makes me happy,” I admit in a low voice. “More than I expected.”
Mom smiles. “Then stop punishing yourself for that.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she says simply. “You’re scared of what the future might look like, so you’re ruining the present. Let her in. Let yourself in. Let Maisie see that her father is allowed to have someone.”
I breathe out slowly. “She fits with us, a little too easily.”
“That’s not a problem,” Mom says. “That’s a blessing.”
We sit there for a while, quiet and thoughtful.
The door slides open and Maisie pokes her head out.
“Grandma, Daddy, I’m hungry again.”
Mom stands. “Then let’s fix that.”
Maisie trots over and grabs my hand. “Daddy, can we see Charlotte tomorrow?”
The question has my heart racing.
I smooth her hair. “We’ll see, bug.”
She seems satisfied and skips back inside, whereas Mom stays on the deck long enough to give me one last look.
“Don’t run from something good,” she says. “Not this time.”
I nod slowly, feeling every bit of the truth in her words.
I don’t know exactly what comes next, but I know I want Charlotte in it, and maybe, finally, that’s enough to take the next step.