Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
RIDGE
Morning light filters through the curtains as I open my eyes, immediately aware of the empty space beside me. The blankets are cold, no lingering warmth from Stella's body. Last night comes rushing back, the argument, the hurt in her eyes, the soft click of the guest room door closing between us.
Fuck. This isn't how it was supposed to go.
I drag myself out of bed, muscles stiff from a night of restless sleep.
The cabin feels different this morning, tension hanging in the air like the remnants of the storm.
Through the window, I see the snow beginning to melt, revealing patches of earth beneath.
The world thawing while things between Stella and me have frozen over.
In the kitchen, I find her already awake, coffee mug clutched in both hands as she stares out at the melting landscape. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she slept as poorly as I did.
"Morning," I offer, voice rough with sleep and regret.
She turns, eyes guarded. "Morning."
"Where's Chellie?"
"Still sleeping." She takes a sip of coffee, gaze drifting back to the window. "She was up a few times last night. Bad dreams."
The knowledge that Chellie had nightmares, and I wasn't there to help settles like a stone in my gut. "I'm sorry about last night."
Stella's shoulders tighten. "Which part? The part where you tried to dictate how I handle my ex? Or the part where you assumed I needed saving like a damsel?"
"All of it." I move closer, not quite touching her. "I was an ass."
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, you were."
"I just want to protect you both." I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up again. "The thought of that bastard showing up here, threatening you—"
"I know." Her voice softens slightly. "But I need you to understand something, Ridge. I spent two years having my decisions questioned, my judgment undermined. I won't go back to that."
"I'm not him." The words come out harsher than intended.
"No, you're not." She finally meets my eyes fully. "Which is why it hurt so much when you didn't trust me to know what works with Rick."
The simple truth of her words hits home. I didn't trust her judgment. After everything she's been through, I steamrolled right over her expertise on her own situation.
"You're right." I take a deep breath. "I should have listened. You know him better than anyone."
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "So what now? He's still coming today."
"Now, we do this your way." I step closer, relieved when she doesn't back away. "But I have a compromise to offer."
Her eyebrow raises. "I'm listening."
"You meet him at Darlene's like you planned. I'll be there, but at a different table like I suggested." I hold up a hand when she starts to protest. "Not to interfere. Not to confront him. Just to be nearby if you need me."
She considers this, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "And you'll stay back unless I signal you?"
"Promise." I hold her gaze, willing her to see my sincerity. "I trust you to handle this. I just want to be your backup."
After what feels like an eternity, she nods. "Okay. But you can't look like you're about to murder someone the entire time."
"I'll work on my resting face." The joke falls flat, but she offers a small smile anyway.
A soft pattering of feet announces Chellie's arrival. She appears in the doorway, Mr. Bunny dragging behind her, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Pancakes?" she asks hopefully, looking between us.
"Coming right up, princess." I move to the stove, grateful for the distraction. "Chocolate chip or blueberry?"
"Chips!" she declares, climbing onto her chair at the table.
As I prepare breakfast, I watch Stella help Chellie with her water cup, tuck a napkin into her shirt collar, smooth her wild curls with gentle fingers. These small, maternal gestures twist something in my chest. This is what I want. Every morning. For the rest of my life.
"The roads should be clear enough by noon," I say, flipping pancakes onto plates. "Plow's already been through the main road, according to Colt's text."
Stella nods, tension returning to her frame. "I told Rick to meet me at one."
"Then we have time to prepare." I set plates before them both, rewarded with Chellie's delighted grin at the chocolate chips melting into pools on her pancakes.
"Thank, Widge!" She digs in immediately, chocolate smearing across her cheeks.
Over her head, my eyes meet Stella's. The wall between us isn't completely gone, but there's a door in it now, slightly ajar. It's a start.
After breakfast, we work together preparing for the trip into town.
Stella packs a small bag for Chellie with snacks and a change of clothes.
I check the truck, making sure the melting snow hasn't caused any issues.
By eleven, we're ready to leave, the tension between us shifting into something more purposeful.
"Remember what we practiced, baby," Stella kneels before Chellie by the front door. "If a man you don't know tries to talk to you or pick you up, what do you say?"
"NO!" Chellie shouts, face screwed up in fierce determination. "Not my daddy!"
My heart clenches at the rehearsed words, at the necessity of teaching a two-year-old to reject a stranger claiming to be her father.
"That's right." Stella zips Chellie's pink coat, tugging the hood up. "And you stay with me or Ridge the whole time, okay?"
Chellie nods solemnly. "Okay, Mama."
The drive into town is quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Main Street is bustling with activity as residents emerge from their storm-imposed isolation. The snow is piled high along the sidewalks, but the roads are relatively clear, slush rather than ice.
I park in front of Darlene's Diner, cutting the engine. "We're early."
Stella checks her watch, nodding. "Good. I want to get settled before he arrives."
Inside, the diner is warm and noisy, half the town apparently having the same idea about lunch. Darlene herself, a sixty-something woman with bottle-red hair and a no-nonsense attitude, greets us at the door.
"Well look who survived the storm!" Her gaze travels from me to Stella to Chellie, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Got a booth in the back for you. More private."
As she leads us through the crowded diner, I notice several familiar faces turning to watch our progress. Whispers follow in our wake, no doubt the town gossip mill already churning with speculation about Stella's return and her daughter.
Darlene seats us in a corner booth, dropping menus on the table. "Coffee?"
"Please," Stella and I answer simultaneously.
"Milk for the little one?" Darlene winks at Chellie, who nods enthusiastically.
When she bustles away, Stella leans closer. "Everyone's staring."
"Town’s gossip mill doesn’t shut down in a storm," I remind her. "You've been gone eight years and return with a kid during the blizzard of the decade. You're headline news."
She sighs, glancing at her watch again. "Forty minutes."
"I'll move to that table by the window once he's due." I reach across, covering her hand with mine. "You've got this."
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerability shining through. "What if he makes a scene? What if he tries to take her?"
"Then he'll have to go through me, half the sheriff's department having lunch by the counter, and Darlene wielding her cast iron skillet." I squeeze her hand. "He won't get near her."
Some of the tension eases from her shoulders. "Thank you. For being here. Even after last night."
"Where else would I be?" The question isn't rhetorical. For eight years, I've been exactly where she could find me when she needed me. That isn't changing now.
We order lunch, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for Chellie's sake. She chatters happily about the melting snow, about Sparkle the fish, about the "snow angel army" she wants to build when we get back home. Home. The word slips so naturally from her lips.
At twelve-forty, I move to the window table as planned, positioning myself where I can see both the entrance and Stella's booth. She straightens her shoulders, pulling Chellie closer to her side of the booth.
At precisely one o'clock, the diner door swings open.
Rick Carlisle is nothing like I imagined.
I'd pictured someone physically intimidating, but the man who enters is of average height and build, wearing a button-down shirt under a designer jacket.
His dark hair is carefully styled, face clean-shaven.
He looks like he stepped out of a catalog for overpriced weekend wear.
His gaze sweeps the diner, landing on Stella almost immediately. A smile spreads across his face that doesn't reach his eyes. As he approaches their booth, every muscle in my body tenses, ready to intervene at the slightest signal from Stella.
"Stella." His voice carries across the now-quieter diner. "And little Emma. It's been too long."
I catch the mistake immediately. Chellie, not Emma. He doesn't even know his daughter's name.
Stella's spine straightens. "Her name is Michelle. We call her Chellie."
He waves this off, sliding into the booth across from them. "Semantics. She's still my daughter."
"A daughter you abandoned before she was born." Stella's voice remains even, controlled.
"Water under the bridge." He reaches across the table for Chellie, who shrinks back against Stella. "Come to Daddy, sweetheart."
"No!" Chellie's voice rings out clearly. "Not my daddy!"
Rick's face darkens momentarily before the smile returns, more forced this time. "Someone's been coaching her, I see."
"Someone's been parenting her for two years." Stella pulls Chellie closer. "While you were nowhere to be found."
He leans back, studying them both. "I made mistakes. I've admitted that. But I'm here now, ready to be part of her life."
"Why?" Stella's question is simple but pointed. "Why now, after two years?"