Chapter 23
chapter
twenty-three
NATE
I’m greeted first with laughter.
Then comes the smell of fall—cinnamon, mostly.
And lastly, there’s the feeling. The all-consuming, warm, dizzying feeling of a full house.
I hang my leather jacket on the coat rack by the front door, then take slow steps toward the voices. In my kitchen, Maren and Teagan stand side by side at the counter, giggling, their matching aprons dusted with flour and cinnamon like abstract works of art.
“That’s great.” Maren points to a blob of dough that Teagan sets onto the cookie sheet. “You’ve already perfected the ideal size.”
My daughter jumps in place and claps, clearly proud.
And I’m proud too. Whether it was tying her shoe for the first time on her own, getting an A on her reading test, or simply smiling—I’m always proud.
But baking with Maren seems to make her extra happy lately, and witnessing my daughter do something she loves takes my pride to another level. I swell with it like air filling a balloon.
The fact that Maren’s the one helping her just sweetens the deal.
I lean on the fridge, out of view as they slide the pan into the oven and set the timer. Once the countdown begins, Maren holds up her phone and says, “You know the drill. What’ll it be today?”
“Do you have ‘Golden’ from KPOP Demon Hunters?”
“Of course.” Maren taps her screen, and the beginning notes of the upbeat song filter through the kitchen. Teagan’s watched the movie no less than ten times over the last week, so I know the tune well.
As does Maren. She belts the opening lyrics into a large spoon, then hands it to Teagan for the chorus.
My cheeks are already sore from grinning.
Maren hates to sing. It shocked the hell out of me the first time I walked in on this show. But she does it for my daughter.
It’s the third time I’ve arrived at the house to find the pair performing like this while they bake. Is it possible to already feel like this is our norm? Like this is what’s happened in our house for years? I don’t even remember what it was like here before they started baking together.
I love it. The sweet smells, giggles, and music—it all makes this house a real home.
The emotion hits me hard, and suddenly, I struggle for my next breath. I’m nearly choked up when they finally notice they have an audience.
Teagan drops the spoon onto the counter and rushes over for a hug.
“Hey, kiddo,” I whisper in her hair, then glance over her head toward Maren, who turns off the song.
She’s in another pair of ripped jeans, the hem hovering above her ankle boots. The denim curves over her ass and thighs so perfectly. No one’s ever made a pair of pants look so good, but that’s not what garners my attention the most.
I can’t tear my gaze away from the glow in her cheeks.
The lightness in her eyes. The ease with which she glides through my kitchen.
She’s just setting the dirty bowls and measuring cups into the sink, but it’s like she’s doing a special dance with the graceful sway in her hips and the soft smile gracing her pink lips.
She’s stunning.
And it’s very clear that she’s in her element. She might not have grown up dreaming of baking. New dreams present themselves all the time, and I’m a firm believer in taking the leap if it feels right.
This one definitely suits her.
Maren comes alive with a whisk in her hand, much like she does at her coffee truck with a fresh espresso.
“Sorry for the mess,” Maren says from her spot by the sink. “I’ll clean it up.”
“We had to use our kitchen again because Miss Maren’s oven was on the fritz.” Teagan skips to stand next to her. “Do you know what that means, Daddy? It’s partly broken.”
On instinct, my gaze flickers to Maren’s, and she’s watching me too.
“Did you learn that in school?” I ask Teagan.
She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “Miss Maren told me.”
My shoulders tense.
Maren and I are on the fritz, aren’t we? Two partly broken people with the weight of history on our hearts.
“You know what else I learned?” Teagan continues. “Did you know that squirrels are more active in the fall? They need to hunt and hide food before the winter, so they’ll be able to eat when it’s too cold.”
“That’s very interesting, kiddo.”
“You’ve taken pictures of lots of squirrels, Daddy. You should show them to Miss Maren.”
I smile at my daughter. Her enthusiasm knows no bounds, and I admire the hell out of it.
I clear my throat and point to the oven, where the timer shows there’s only a minute left for the cookies. “What are you two working on today?”
“Cinnamon snickerdoodles!” Teagan giggles behind her hand. “That’s a funny word. What’s the other one you said?”
Maren hums in thought, then snaps her finger. “Pumpernickel.”
“When we get a dog, I’m naming him Pumpernickel.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” I hold my hand up. “Since when are we getting a dog?”
“I’m going to ask Santa for one for Christmas.”
Thankfully, the ding of the oven redirects her attention away from the subject of pets. That’s a conversation for another time.
“They’re done!”
Maren slides oven mitts on and pulls out the tray of cookies. They’re golden brown and sprinkled with cinnamon. But as it turns out, they’re not enough to distract Teagan for too long. Instead, she suggests more dog names in case I don’t like Pumpernickel.
“The name’s not the issue, kiddo,” I say, treading lightly.
Maren slides in to rescue me. “Want to do the honors?” She carefully tears a cookie in half, blows on it, and hands it to Teagan. “They need to cool off some more, but what’s your preliminary judgment?”
Her eyes widen as she chews. “Delicious!”
“Do you like them better than yesterday’s maple cookies?”
Teagan mulls it over, swaying from side to side, and she takes another bite of this cookie as if it’ll cement her decision. “These are better.”
Maren picks up a pencil and jots something down on a piece of paper. “Noted.”
“Can we watch KPOP Demon Hunters?” Teagan asks. As happy as she seems to be while baking, her attention to one thing is always limited, and it’s clear that she’s reached that limit.
I chime in, “Do you have homework you need to get done before tomorrow?”
“Nope,” she answers a little too quickly.
“Are you sure?”
She purses her little lips and averts her eyes.
“Remember that Santa’s watching…”
“Actually, I think I might have math. Maybe.” She twists her lips. “I’ll go check.”
Which means she definitely has math homework.
I nod toward the stairs. “Get it done, and if there’s time after dinner, we can watch the movie.”
With a sigh, Teagan grabs a plate and piles four cookies onto it.
“Where are you going with all that sugar?”
“I’m not going to eat them all now. But it’s fall, and I need to stock up for winter like the squirrels.” She shrugs.
I ease the plate from her grasp and set it back onto the counter. “They’ll still be here when you’re done with your homework, and after you’ve eaten. That’ll be long before winter, kiddo.”
With another sigh, she turns her back to Maren, who doesn’t miss a beat in untying her apron. She follows it up with a hug like it’s their own secret handshake of sorts.
“Thanks, Miss Maren!” Teagan calls as she races toward the stairs.
I’m instantly distracted by Maren, who tucks the loose strands of hair behind her ears.
She shifts from one boot to the other.
In fact, she hasn’t stopped moving the entire time we’ve been talking, as if she’s… nervous?
She’s barely said a word since I walked in, very different from the woman singing KPOP into a giant spoon and dancing with an eight-year-old.
“I can—” I start toward the full sink, but the purple backpack at the breakfast table gives me pause. “Just a sec.”
I grab the bag, and Teagan meets me at the bottom of the stairs, as if she just remembered that she left without her homework.
“Oops.” She gives me a shy smile, snatches the bag from me, then scurries away.
“Let me know if you need help,” I call up the stairs.
“Thanks, Daddy!”
Shaking my head, I saunter back into the kitchen, where Maren’s back is to me. The sink is on, and she’s elbow-deep in suds.
My heart beats wildly, nearly drowning out the rush of running water.
Even though she’s been here a few times this week, this is the first time we’ve been alone since the night of the fire incident.
While I didn’t love that she still wants to be only friends, I’m relieved we addressed our talk. That she even apologized, even though it was far from necessary.
But it gave me hope, nonetheless.
Does that mean she’s moving on from what happened with Sabrina? Is she still angry with me for all the shitty things I did back then?
What will it take for her to forgive me?
That question has haunted me since our conversation on my porch—since the day after one of the best nights of my life.
I can’t stop thinking about Maren wrapped around me.
How close we were.
How weightless and free.
For a few stolen moments in the dead of night, Maren and I were completely unburdened by the things that once tore us apart. We were just us.
It’s how I know we can be good together. I know she wants that too, but she’s obviously scared. And I have to respect her wishes, even if I don’t like them.
“I can wash those.” I sidle up next to her.
She shakes her head. “Mama always said, ‘Whoever makes the mess, cleans the mess, or no cookies after supper.’” She laughs and adds, “It wasn’t her most clever saying, but it made a point.”
This makes me chuckle, but there’s also a stabbing pain in my gut at the mention of her mother.
When I’d gotten the news of her passing, I didn’t hesitate to call Maren. It was the first time we’d spoken since our breakup, and while I hated the reason for it, I was so happy to hear her voice again.
Even though I was married at the time.
I couldn’t let myself contact her again, or I wouldn’t have hesitated to blow my life up. I was always on the cusp of doing so—for her.
“At least let me dry.” I reach for the pan Maren’s just rinsed, and our hands brush.