Chapter 19
chapter
nineteen
MAREN
All the emotions I’d felt that day at Bready or Knot—the day I found out about Nate getting married—came rushing back to me the morning after I slept with him. Again.
It’s been four days since Nate and I talked.
Four days since I dropped what was left of my heart on his porch and abandoned it there, just like he abandoned me all those years ago.
I’ve been dragging my feet ever since, trudging through every task like I’m wading through quicksand—brew coffee, shower, and repeat.
I’m not sure if I even rinsed the conditioner out of my hair this morning. I was in a complete daze.
I haven’t experimented with new cookie recipes, either, even though that should be at the top of my to-do list.
The more I think about it—and I’ve obsessed over nothing else—the more I think it would be easy to take it all back.
To chalk up everything I said to Nate as words rooted in anger and resentment because of his old betrayal.
I could convince him and myself that we are different now. That we could make it work.
I could lower all my defenses and melt into his arms, and I could finally stop fighting my feelings for him.
And that’s the swift kick to the crotch, because no matter what did or didn’t happen all those years ago, I’ve missed Nate.
Last weekend was beyond my wildest dreams. With Nate, it was natural and comfortable, not to mention hot as fuck. In his arms, I was actually, finally, deliriously happy.
It reminded me of all the good times we shared. After all, the best era of my life was with Nate. And being together showed me just how void of joy I’ve been the last few years.
I could let it all go and surrender my heart to him, but my brain won’t let me. It’s too rational. Too cautious.
I don’t do risks, and Nathan McAllister would be a big one.
I blow out a frustrated breath as I pull into my driveway after another long day at Cream and Sugar. The trees sway in the fall breeze. Leaves have finally started falling, decorating my front yard with splashes of pale yellow and orange.
The slight chill in the air kisses my flushed cheeks as I climb out of my car, and my eager, masochistic gaze scans the house next door.
There’s no sign of Nate.
He hasn’t stopped by my truck.
His bedroom curtains have remained closed.
It’s for the best, anyway. I shouldn’t seek him out anymore. My brain knows this to be the only logical route from here—I just wish my heart was on board.
My muscles ache from being on my feet all day, and knowing I have a lot of baking ahead of me only worsens matters.
But the perfect recipe for the bake-off isn’t going to discover itself. I need to win like my life depends on it—and in many ways, it does.
I’ve just unlocked my front door when I hear the faint staccato of a shrill alarm. The hair at the back of my neck stands, and I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. Is that a smoke detector?
I peer inside my window to check for any sign of trouble, but the sound is coming from farther away. I hop down the steps of my porch, and Nate’s door flies open, hitting the wall of the house with a loud smack.
Teagan runs out, white oven mitts on both of her hands. Scorch marks cover half of one. Her face is red like she’s sunburned, and she’s coughing.
“Teagan!” I rush over to her, and with one look at the panic in her usually bright expression, my lungs seize. I wrap my arms around her, guide her away from the house, and steady her small, trembling frame. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I was just… It was an accident!” She shudders in my arms, which is when I notice smoke billowing from the open door.
“Oh my God.” I pull back to get a better look at the young girl. “Are you okay?” I ask again.
Tears stream down her cheeks as she nods.
Far from satisfied, I give her another once-over, but other than pure terror in her big eyes, she appears fine.
“Teagan, honey, is there anyone else inside?” I dig my phone from my back pocket and dial 911.
She shakes her head, and I’m only mildly relieved.
I stutter as I give dispatch the address. “Please hurry.”
Once I end the call, I lead Teagan farther away from the smoke toward my porch, where I sit her onto one of my worn wicker chairs.
I yank my cardigan off and wrap it around her shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I assure her and smooth her hair down.
Then I slide the oven mitts off, taking it one step at a time.
My heart’s racing and full of fear, as I don’t know what’s going on, but the little girl needs me to be strong.
Flashes of Dixie skitter through my mind. She’d freak out during bad storms. She’d run into the closet and hide under our winter coats with her hands covering her ears. I’d huddle next to her and hum a soft tune to soothe her. Mama would join us too.
I gently rub the little girl’s arms, assuming the same protective mode I once used with my sister. “Help will be here in no time. Why don’t I get you some water?”
With her hand in mine, I start to lead us inside, but she tugs on me. She might as well have tugged on my heart, especially when she begs, “Please, let’s stay here.”
I crouch next to her and squeeze her hands. “Of course. Of course.”
Sirens echo down the street, and they grow louder as a fire truck screeches closer and closer.
The next half hour zips by in a blur of instructions and questions. I spot a few familiar faces among the firefighters littered across Nate’s yard, and my stomach does somersaults as they come in and out of the house.
Chief Hoskins makes his way over to where Teagan and I stand in the driveway, her hand still in mine.
He removes the helmet from his head and smooths his hand over his peppered hair.
“The good news is that no one got hurt, and there’s minimal smoke damage, which is contained in the kitchen.
A few scorch marks across the ceiling as far as we can tell.
My guys are still inside, so I’ll update you when I know more. ”
“Thanks so much, Chief.” I exhale the breath I was holding.
He leans down to meet Teagan at eye level. “Did you know my son went to school with your father? Played football together.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up.
And my heart nose-dives into my stomach.
Nate.
In all the chaos and focusing solely on Teagan, I forgot to call Nate to let him know what’s going on.
“They were good friends, as I’m sure Maren can tell you too.” Chief gives me a wink, but I don’t return the polite gesture. Instead, I frantically rush up to my house and search the porch for my phone.
“What’s wrong?” Teagan calls out from behind me.
“I need to call your father, honey.” The sun glints off the screen on my porch railing, and I throw my hands up in victory. Found it!
Nate answers on the third ring, and I bypass any awkward greeting I’m sure was on the tip of his tongue. “The firefighters are here,” I say in a rush.
“What?”
“There was a lot of smoke. An accident. Your house.” Lord, help me—I’m not making any damn sense.
There’s shuffling on his end as he asks, “What’s going on?”
I swallow over the lump in my throat and place a hand over my racing heart, taking a moment to catch my breath. “Teagan was at your house when the smoke detector went off. I called for help, and she’s at my house with me now. She’s okay, and—”
“I’ll be right there.”
Silence descends when he ends the call. My heart still thumps wildly as I sidle up next to Teagan and Chief again. The pair seems to be playing a clapping game of sorts, and Chief’s off-key singing makes me smile.
“My granddaughter likes this game.” He shrugs. “Nate on his way?”
“Yes.” I place my hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “Teagan can wait in my house for him. He should be here real soon.”
“You’re in good hands, little lady.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and gestures toward the firefighters exiting her house. “I’m going to get an update from my guys, and I’ll be right in.”
“Thanks again.” I nod and lead the girl inside, where the warmth and cinnamon scent of my plug-ins greet us.
She’s still wrapped in my cardigan, which she tugs tighter around herself. It fits her practically like a comforter off a bed. It’s large and cozy, and she seems to find solace in it.
In the kitchen, dirty coffee mugs line the sink, and the pile of cookie sheets next to them resembles a sad DIY version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
The counters are covered with baking ingredients. Flour, sugar, pumpkin spices, and cinnamon galore. I’d pulled it all out last night, but I didn’t actually do any baking. Just unhealthy amounts of sulking.
“Sorry for the mess.” I wave over the disaster zone and make my way toward the dishwasher. “Would you like a lemonade? Or I think I—”
“Is this where you make all your cookies?” She points to my ingredients.
I shove a couple of mugs onto the top rack, then shut the door. I give up on the mess and pull two glasses from the cabinet. “I’m trying to come up with a recipe for the Thanksgiving Bake-Off in a few weeks.”
“What’s that?” She perches onto a chair at the breakfast table and wraps the ends of my cardigan around her legs.
“It’s a baking competition. The person with the best cookies wins a big prize.”
“Like a crown?”
“More like a wad of cash, but a crown would be awesome too.” I smile and pour us two lemonades, my bare arms warming the longer we’re inside. With all the adrenaline coursing through me, I didn’t realize how chilly it was outside until now.
“I’ve never gotten a crown, unless Mommy gives me one for a Halloween costume.”
“I won a few when I was younger.” I bring our drinks to the table and sit across from her, shifting to rest one ankle under my knee. Thankfully, I wore my loose jeans today, which are optimal for comfort—and I freaking need comfort after the last few days.
The little things.
“How did you win them?” Teagan asks and sips the lemonade.
“I was in pageants when I was your age.”
“Really? Can you show me?”
“Of course.”
But she doesn’t jump up like I figured she might. The little girl seems to have a lot of energy, and the similarities between her and Dixie at her age almost choke me up.
She doesn’t insist on seeing my old crowns, which is a relief because I’ve stuffed them into a chest in the back of my closet, along with old pageant gowns.
The items are probably more suited for Mrs. Marilyn’s store of wonders, Conversation Pieces.
They’re old and unique, which is what her store is known for.
I should look into that, considering how badly I need to purge this house of some history.
Over her shoulder, Teagan eyes my ingredients again and fidgets with her hands in her lap. “Can you show me how to bake? Maybe if you show me, I won’t catch the kitchen on fire.”
I glimpse a frown before she dips her head, and my chest deflates. “Is that what happened today?”
She nods, but she still doesn’t look up.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask where her father is. Why was she alone at home? Where were Evie or RJ? I know they spend a lot of time with their granddaughter now that she’s in such close proximity for the first time since she was born.
But right now, it seems like this little girl just needs a friend, not an inquisition.
I grab her small hand in mine and squeeze. “No matter how much practice I’ve had, I still burn a batch or two. It doesn’t help that my oven is usually on the fritz.”
“What’s a fritz?” She scrunches her nose and studies the oven behind her like it’ll answer the question for her.
“Unreliable. Partly broken.”
She hums.
And the soft sound gives me an idea, as it reminds me of what made Dixie smile, whether she was in pain from falling off her bike or because Mama was late picking us up from school too many times to count.
The fun fact game.
“Want to know something interesting?” I pinch my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “It’s impossible to hum while holding your nose. Did you know that?”
She giggles and mimics me, trying her hand at humming.
“See? It can’t be done.”
“That’s so cool!” She tries again until her round cheeks redden, and a laugh bursts free.
With her in better spirits, I nod toward the mess in the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s bake.”
At the counter, Teagan drops a spatula into a bowl, diving right in and making herself at home. The fact that she’s so comfortable here makes my chest stir. “What else do we need?” she asks.
“That depends—what are we making? We can do s’mores cookies, or there’s a pumpkin caramel cookie recipe I’ve been wanting to try. There’s also a chocolate chip cookie option with a twist.”
“What’s the twist?” Intrigue swims in her big eyes.
“That”—I stick my finger inside the bag of flour—“is up to us.” I swipe the flour across her nose, and her sweet giggles fill my otherwise quiet kitchen.
This house is always too quiet. Too still.
Too lonely.
I’m realizing that more and more lately, and I’ve never hated it so much until now.
“Daddy’s heart is on the fritz.”
I snap upright from where I was crouched to retrieve my backup hand mixer since the main one is dirty.
“I heard Mommy telling him to find someone like she did.”
I gulp and carefully set the mixer onto the counter, my limbs suddenly too heavy. “Oh?” I manage, hesitant to seem more eager, even though the urge to pry is astronomical.
But how can I be okay with squeezing information on Nate from his young daughter? I can’t stoop that low.
“Daddy’s never even had a girlfriend. Not since Mommy, and that was a long time ago.”
“Oh.” This time, it’s not a question. It’s just proof of my satisfaction because the simple fact of Nate’s singlehood pleases me.
It shouldn’t, though.
I’ve made my decision to stay away from him, and I have to stick to it, if I know what’s best for me. And I do know.
I think.
“I’ve got it.” Teagan holds her tiny finger up, the small stroke of flour still on her nose like a wintery Rudolph. “Can the twist be sprinkles?”
“What?” I follow her finger to the unopened bag of orange sprinkles next to our ingredients.
“For the twist—can we do chocolate chip cookies with sprinkles?”
Oh, right. We’re supposed to be baking, but I’m doing a lousy job of it. My stupid head is in the freaking clouds, making me question everything.
But I know how to bake. That much I can do right now.
I square my shoulders and grab the sprinkles. “How about pumpkin-shaped cookies?”
Teagan squeals with delight, and we get to work.
All while my body buzzes with awareness that Nate will walk through the door at any moment.