Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The hum of the engine was the only sound for a few moments, broken occasionally by the soft crunch of gravel under the tires or the faint beat of music coming from the radio, turned down so low it was barely there.
Madison sat in the passenger seat, still a little flushed from the rink, her muscles loose from skating but her thoughts, tangled.
Garrett had one hand on the wheel. He drove like he did everything else—steady, quiet, and completely in control.
She glanced at him, then back out the window.
“You’re good with them,” she said finally.
He didn’t look over. “With whom?”
“The girls,” she said. “Roman’s kids. Their team. You’re patient. Encouraging. That’s not always easy with a bunch of hyped-up, half-distracted twelve-year-olds.”
Garrett gave a small smile. “They’re tough. Smarter than people think. They want to be taken seriously.”
“You do that well,” she said. Then, after a pause, “You did the same with Sophie.”
His gaze flicked to her, just for a second.
“When she lived with Mason the year before I came home,” Madison continued, “she talked about you a lot. Said you always made time for her. Said you were the only one who didn’t treat her like a fragile glass sculpture after I deployed again.”
Garrett shifted slightly in his seat. “She’s a good kid. Easy to like.”
“She adores you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it settled heavier than before.
After a minute, Garrett cleared his throat. “Can I ask about her dad?”
Madison’s fingers tightened around the hem of her shirt. She didn’t answer right away.
Garrett noticed.
“That was rude of me,” he said quickly, voice lower now. “You don’t have to answer.”
She inhaled slowly. “No, it’s okay. You’re not the first to ask.”
She stared at the road for a long beat before speaking again.
“The short version: His name was Tyler. We dated for six months. He knew I was pregnant. He died before Sophie was born.”
Garrett was quiet, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly.
“Would you two have married?” he asked gently.
Madison shook her head slowly. “He never asked. And honestly . . . I don’t know if I would have said yes.”
She could feel Garrett looking at her again, but she kept her gaze ahead.
“He was a good man,” she said. “Grew up in the system. No family. Never got adopted, bounced around. But he had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room. He was . . . kind. Grounded. But there were things Mason didn’t like. Things I ignored.”
Garrett waited, respectful.
“When he was called up for training,” she continued, “he changed his beneficiary paperwork. Left everything to me and Sophie. I didn’t even know until I got the notification after.”
She swallowed. “Because of him, Sophie’s college is paid for. Her graduate degree too, if she wants it. He gave her more than I ever could have imagined.”
Garrett’s expression revealed a flicker of something—understanding, maybe, or something closer to grief.
“You’re a good mom,” he said.
“Thanks.”
They pulled into the drive as the sun was descending across the still lake.
Garrett shifted the truck into park but didn’t kill the engine right away. After a moment, he looked at her again. “Thanks for telling me.”
She nodded, her voice soft. “Thanks for asking.”
And in the silence that followed, something passed between them, until the moment was interrupted by the sound of Madison’s growling stomach echoing louder than it should have. She winced.
Garrett turned his head slightly, that hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“Come on. I’ve got pasta salad in the fridge.” He turned and started toward his patio door.
She blinked. “You cook?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I just didn’t peg you as a cold-salad-and-fresh-veggies kind of guy.”
He grinned. “I like burgers and fries as much as the next guy, but you can’t live on grease alone. Cold salads are a summer hobby—especially when half the garden ends up on your porch, courtesy of well-meaning neighbors.”
Madison followed him into his condo, and immediately forgot about the salad.
His place was stunning.
Not flashy or overly designed, but warm, grounded, and beautiful in its simplicity. The same style as the brewery’s redesign, now that she thought about it.
Timber beams stretched across the ceiling, contrasting with soft white walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the lake, where the soft gold of sunset was reflecting off the water and filtering in through the black-trimmed panes.
A stone fireplace stood tall to the left, flanked by art that looked thoughtfully placed rather than trendy.
The furniture was masculine but not bulky—natural tones, clean lines, leather, wood, and iron.
And on the far wall hung a large framed photo of Garrett and his family on the beach.
All of them barefoot, sun-drenched, and smiling.
She turned slowly. “Okay, I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, opening the fridge. “I had help.”
“Still,” she said. “You have taste.” She should have known. He was good at this. Garrett Reid had vision, even if he didn’t always flaunt it.
“Alexis Welby remodeled it before she and Zeke started their show,” he said, pulling out a glass bowl of pasta salad. “Maggie, Roman’s sister, did most of the final design work.”
Madison took a seat at the island, resting her elbows lightly on the counter as he retrieved two bowls and started scooping.
“So, do you like living right on the beach?” she asked. “Or does the whole busy-resort thing get old after a while?”
“Summer gets loud. Lots of tourists, but I like being close to town.”
“Would you ever build a house?”
“I have a parcel of land given to me by my grandparents, and I’ve had a house plan drawn up for a while, thinking I might have kids someday.” He shrugged. “But it never happened. Right now, the condo suits me fine.”
He placed utensils on the counter and slid the bowl to her.
“I take it you don’t cook?” he asked.
“I can cook the basics, sure. But no, I’ve never been a cook or baker, for that matter. Sophie had a live-in nanny, and cooking was a requirement.”
“That’s impressive.”
“That’s the only way I could be an agent and a single mom.”
“Nice. So, what do you miss most now that you’ve been shoved into a small town?”
“Chinese food!”
Garrett laughed. “That was a very quick answer and one I didn’t expect.”
“What can I say.” Madison shrugged. “I’ve been deprived. Now, let me ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you always this calm before a big launch?” she asked, studying him.
He gave a quiet chuckle. “Not really. But it’s different this time. It’s my hometown.”
“Which makes it easier?”
“I think? A little.” He grimaced.
She glanced toward the family photo. “Are they all coming to the soft opening?”
“Not Cole,” he said. “He’s still in Hawaii.”
“There are four of you, right?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Nick’s the oldest—you’ve met him. Then me, Cole, and Chloe—she’s the baby. Only thirteen months between her and Cole. Those two were pretty tight growing up.”
“Do you get along with all of them?”
“Yes. Somehow.” Garrett smiled. “Nick enlisted in the Army—”
“I was going to ask if he served,” Madison interrupted, then caught herself. “He has that presence.”
Garrett nodded. “He does. I went the U of M route. Minneapolis. Cole and Chloe both stayed close. Cole is dating a traveling nurse, Tory. She’s working in Hawaii right now. After Chloe finished her degree, she came home and opened Rural Chic Boutique.”
“I like Chloe. She asked me what my intentions were. If I liked the small-town feel.”
Garrett chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like Chloe.”
She glanced at him, catching the way the soft lighting warmed the edge of his jaw, the ease in his stance as he scooped a bite of pasta salad for himself.
They ate in silence for a while, comfortable in each other’s presence. Outside, the lake reflected the dusky sky in soft shades of blue and rose gold. A loon called in the distance, the sound beautiful in the hush.
Garrett leaned against the counter opposite the island. Madison took another forkful, savoring the tang of vinaigrette and ripe peaches dancing on her tongue.
“This is really good,” she said.
He raised a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“I mean, you said you cooked, but I didn’t expect it to be this good.”
Garrett huffed a soft laugh. “You wound me.”
She smiled into her bowl. “You’ll survive.”
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at her for a second longer before reaching for his water.
An easy quiet settled again.
Madison looked toward the windows. “You’ve done something really special here, Garrett. With the brewery. With this place. It feels like home.”
His eyes followed hers to the view outside. “That’s the goal,” he said softly. “To build something that lasts.”
She nodded slowly, her fingers trailing over the rim of her bowl. “Well . . . it shows.”
Another long pause.
“Madison?”
Her stomach flipped. She looked at him, not sure what she expected to find in his expression—but whatever it was, it made her forget how to breathe.
“You want to finish the rest of this?” he asked.
She laughed. “In my family, offering the last mouthful is practically a marriage proposal.”
He grinned. “Good to know.”
Her heart stuttered. He hadn’t said it with any kind of weight, but still. It lingered between them.
She took the last bite, rinsed her bowl at the sink, and set it on the counter.
“I should head back,” she said. “Big day tomorrow.”
Garrett walked her to the door. She stepped out onto the patio, pausing to take in the view of the lake one last time.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, not turning around.
His voice came low behind her. “Anytime.”
She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. “Good night, Garrett.”
“Night, Madison.”
There was a slight pause, and then he added, quieter this time, “Sleep well.”
She walked the few feet to her patio and stepped inside.
Garrett leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Madison head inside.
She didn’t look back. Not that he expected her to.
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, frustration and heat mixing into one knotted mess beneath his skin.
He shouldn’t have said good night like that. Not with that tone. But damn, it just came out.
She didn’t roll her eyes or give him that snarky little smirk she’d perfected when she was pushing his buttons. She just calmly said it back.
Had something shifted between them?
Somewhere between the impromptu dance on the ice, the way she opened up about Sophie’s dad, the way her eyes softened when she talked about Sophie, and when he fed her, he’d forgotten to keep the distance he’d worked so hard to put between them.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze still on the patio next door. The lake glinted under the last edge of sunlight, calm and indifferent. Unlike him.
He thought of that masquerade party—of her lips, the faint taste of champagne, and how everything about her had felt familiar, even when he didn’t know who she was. He remembered the way she leaned into him that night, bold and unguarded.
He’d known who she was when he saw her tattoo.
But then his life changed, and when Mason introduced him to her, he knew she didn’t recognize him.
He’d done everything to keep his distance.
He pretended he hadn’t spent one of the best nights of his life with her, acting like she hadn’t left him completely off-kilter.
And now? Now he wondered if she’d still want to kiss him if she knew.
Would she be mad? Hurt? Embarrassed?
He winced. Madison didn’t seem like the type to embarrass easily, but that didn’t mean she’d forgive him for not saying something sooner.
He exhaled hard, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. The house suddenly felt too quiet. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her.
Except . . . maybe he was; he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it.