Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
TIMBER
My alarm tears me from my dreams at four in the morning. I am kissing Kane, and it is glorious. But as I shake off the fog of sleep, a thought arises—the real thing would be even better. Dreams set the stage, but it's real life where it all counts.
I shake off all the tingles rushing through my body. With a Herculean effort, I fling myself out of bed, a feat akin to a fish flopping around on dry land.
Rushing to the bathroom, I squint at my reflection, half expecting to see swollen lips and a blush staring back at me. Yet, to my surprise, I'm normal morning me with pillow creases and a wild mane. I splash water on my face to wake up. Once my teeth are brushed and my hair is in order, I face the day.
Back in my room, I tackle the wardrobe battle. With a grunt of determination, I wrestle my way into a pair of Eliza's jeans, which are one size too small. The struggle is like trying to zip up a tent while wrestling with a bear. But finally, after much huffing and puffing, victory is mine.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, I leave the bedroom, ready to tackle whatever challenges the day throws at me. After all, I can conquer anything after a morning battle with a pair of jeans.
I tiptoe into the kitchen. It's tranquil. The only sound is the gentle hum of the refrigerator. With a sense of purpose, I set about whipping up a delicious breakfast for Kane and Hailey.
I rummage around the cupboards until I find the necessary ingredients for pancakes. Flour, check. Eggs, check. Milk, check. As I gather the supplies, I reflect on last night, how Kane and I opened up to each other. Does that count for something more? We shared laughs and stories, not just thoughts in my head. Sure, it wasn't a date, but it was real. And real conversations have to count for something, don't they? What if what we're building isn't just in dreams? It could be the start of something.
With practiced ease, I mix the batter, the rhythmic whisking soothing my nerves. The aroma of vanilla fills the air as I pour the batter onto the hot griddle.
As the pancakes sizzle, my mind replays the dream, the vivid memory of Kane's lips pressed against mine. There is a rightness to it, a sense of belonging, and in that dream, everything else fades away. It is only us, and it is perfect. The shock of reality, the sound of the alarm—it was like cold water dousing a flame. Now, standing here, flipping pancakes, that dream is like a cruel tease, a reminder of what isn't.
Sure, Kane may be intriguing, but what future could there possibly be when I'm set to leave in August? The job back home in Phoenix is the role I thought I wanted and it’s more money. I need the money to fix up my mom’s house because that’s where I have my memories of her. But now, there's Kane. His presence has cast a new light on everything, making me question what I really want. Phoenix is familiar, safe, but it's also a return to the old me. Kane represents something new, a change I hadn't planned for. The thought of leaving makes me feel both excited and pained. It’s a tug-of-war between the comfort of the past and the pull of a new possibility.
I sigh, leaning against the countertop and closing my eyes. It's tempting to get lost in the moment's allure, ignore the practicalities, and surrender to the pull of attraction. But deep down, I know better. If we get involved, it will turn into heartache when my time here ends, and I've had enough heartache.
Yet, despite my rationalizations, a small part of me still holds hope. Hope that there's more to this attraction than meets the eye.
For me, that sliver of hope looks like a question mark drawn in the sand, likely to be washed away by the tide of reality. What would it mean to give this a chance? Could I entertain a fleeting romance, knowing the expiration date is as searing as the desert sun back in Phoenix? Could we try to stretch this connection across the miles, a long-distance bid to keep the flame alive? I can almost envision the late-night calls, the flights to see each other, the constant texts.
Could that work? The practical part of me lists the cons. The emotional side counters with “what if.” The list is long on both sides, but “what if” weighs more heavily. It’s a dance of possibilities in my head, each step choreographed by a heart that's learned to be cautious yet yearns to tango.
But for now, I push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on flipping the pancakes, determined to savor this moment of domestic bliss before the realities of the day come crashing back in.
Moments later, Kane and Hailey come downstairs together. Hailey beams as she takes in the spread before her—pancakes, orange juice, and me. Kane's gaze flickers with an intensity that leaves me slightly unsettled. A whisper of doubt tiptoes through my mind. Did I overstep my boundaries? Was surprising them with breakfast too much, too soon?
“Wow, you made us breakfast?” The look on his face is pure joy.
I lift my shoulders in response, trying to play it cool. “I was up first.” But deep down, a spark of happiness ignites within me. With a grin, I join them at the table, handing two pancakes to Hailey before serving up a hearty stack of four for Kane and keeping the final two for myself. As I settle into my seat, their gratitude washes away any lingering doubts, and I bask in the simple pleasure of sharing this moment with them.
“How did you sleep?” His voice is gentle, but there's a turbulent undertone that matches the stormy look in his eyes. His tapping fingers betray a hint of nervousness, mirroring my own. Are we both experiencing this tension, or am I alone in this?
Caught in the moment, I struggle to find the right words. I'm not about to tell him that I had a hot, steamy dream about him kissing me and how his hands roamed over my body.
“Good, what about you?”
He stares at my lips for a moment, as if he, too, had a dream about them, and is looking for evidence. Heat climbs up my cheeks, a sign of the havoc he stirs within me. Every glance he offers is a riddle, his eyes holding back unsaid words. It's in these quiet exchanges, these fractions of seconds where our worlds collide and retreat, that I find myself lost in the what-ifs.
“Slept like a baby,” he says, his voice steady. But his brief glance leaves a hint of hope, or maybe it’s just my wishful thinking.
“That's excellent.” I turn to Hailey, who is halfway through a pancake. It makes me happy to see her enjoying what I made. If I had been able to have a child when I was trying, he or she would be about Hailey's age. For a minute, I let myself pretend everything around me is mine. I never asked for riches, jewels, or fancy cars. All I ever wanted was a place to call home and a family to call mine.
“Big day of fishing today?” I raise an eyebrow, hoping he’ll share his plans with me.
“Same old, same old, but I’ll try a new location farther out. I don't normally push the boundaries, but knowing you'll be here for Hailey, I might do that.” His voice is a blend of casual conversation and subtle sincerity. The subtext isn't lost on me. This isn't about changing his routine, it's about trust. There’s a delicate thread extending between us, tethering him to me in ways that surpass our day-to-day interactions. “It means I'll be late, but I'll leave the Polaris for you, and you can come home when you like.”
The way he says “home”—a word so simple yet weighted with unrealized dreams—feeds into my fantasy. Being trusted with Hailey is a sacred responsibility that I cherish. As he discusses his plans, my mind wanders to the evening ahead. The house will be quieter, filled with the lingering essence of his presence. Hailey will be there, a sweet girl with his eyes, and in caring for her, I'm caring for him. It's a responsibility I take on willingly and happily.
“How will you get home?”
“I'll ask Rhys to drive me, but don't think you have to keep Hailey. I can get one of my brothers to step up. I don't want to take advantage of your kindness. It’s just that I'm trying to get this new boat as soon as possible.”
His words tumble out in a quick succession, an abrupt detour from the ease of our earlier conversation. The mention of his brothers stepping in implies a retreat, a polite but clear boundary being drawn. The change is stark, leaving me to grapple with a whirlwind of questions. Does he regret extending the offer, or is he trying to shield me from an imposition?
But seeing how badly he needs the new boat, I'm happy to help. I know what it's like to want things that are out of reach, and if I can help him get to his goal faster, that would be a good thing.
“Sure, I can do that.” It’s good to help, to be part of his journey toward a dream.
His eyes meet mine. “Thank you,” he says. That simple exchange, the smiles we share, says everything about the trust and friendship growing between us. “I don't think Aurora has that many trips left in her.”
“Aurora? How did your boat get that name?”
“She used to be my grandfather's, and he named her after the Borealis.”
“And you kept the name?”
“It's bad luck to rename a boat. Mine is bad enough already that I don't need to borrow any more trouble,” he says with a hint of a smirk, yet his tone is playful and edged with a touch of mock seriousness.
I let out a small laugh, understanding the jest behind his words. “So, superstitions are the sea captain's gospel now?” I tease back, playing along. It's clear he's not wholly serious, using humor as a way to lighten the conversation about what seems to be a run of tough luck.
I think about the vessels lined up at the docks, each with a woman's name proudly displayed on their sterns. It's a longstanding nautical tradition, but I wonder about the emotional toll of such a choice. What happens when the person for whom the boat is named departs or passes away? To me, it seems such a name might transform the boat into a floating memorial, a constant echo of someone absent, more a shadow than a tribute.
“What will you name the new boat. As its first captain, you get that honor, correct?”
“I do and it will be Seas the Day”
“I like that,” I say, and it's the truth. It speaks of living in the present, of adventure and capturing opportunities. Perhaps, in this small act of naming, he's also setting a course for the future, one that isn't overshadowed by what or who is no longer with us. I appreciate the name, not for its playfulness but for the freedom it signifies.
“Me too. It embodies everything I feel when I climb aboard my troller.”
“Then seize the day so you can get your new boat. Don't worry about being late. I'll feed Hailey and give her a bath.”
Hailey's head pops up, eyes filled with hopeful anticipation. “Can we have a bubble bath?” she asks, her voice pitching high with excitement.
I nod, “Of course, bubbles it is.”
Kane observes the exchange. He knows Hailey’s in good hands, and there's a mutual understanding between us. I’d care for Hailey like she is mine.
“That would be wonderful, but I don't want to take advantage.”
“Neither do I, so it would bring me great pleasure to help. I know having me staying in your home wasn't part of the deal. ”
“True, but if I'm being honest, I like having you here.”
That smile of his, it’s more than polite. It’s as if he’s happy not for the help, but for the company—my company. And that thought alone fills me with joy.
“You do?”
“Yes, it's a big house, and while I love being with Noodle,” he reaches over and bops Hailey's nose, drawing a giggle of delight from her, “sharing conversation and enjoying a good glass of wine with another grown-up? That's the thing that hits the spot after a day out at sea.”
His words resonate with me, and the cold uncertainty of being an unwelcome guest is replaced by a sense of belonging. I realize now that my presence is not merely tolerated but appreciated—perhaps even needed.
Kane drizzles the warm syrup over his pancakes. “This was very nice of you. I thought it would be a cereal kind of day, but this is so much better.” Kane takes a bite of the pancakes and closes his eyes. A moment of quiet fills the room, and I hold my breath, waiting. When he speaks, his voice has a soft edge to it. “They taste like my mom's. Did you use the mix in the cupboard?”
The question takes me by surprise, and it takes a moment for me to respond. His compliment, filled with nostalgic kindness, washes over me, and a swell of unexpected happiness rises within me.
“No.” I shake my head. “My mother would have reached out from wherever she was and given me a good pop on the head if I did. She was a true believer in making things from scratch. She always told me that boxed food lacks the love it takes to make it good.”
He takes a bite. “It definitely tastes good.”
We sit in silence and eat. Every time I glance at Kane, he's looking at me. Caught in his gaze, I feel like a mystery he’s intent on figuring out. It’s a little unsettling, but also thrilling to be seen so closely.
He finishes his last bite and says, “Hailey, sweetheart, when you're finished, get your brush so I can comb your hair. We still need to clean up and feed the chickens before we leave.”
“Why don’t you feed the chickens while Hailey and I clean up and get ready, unless the chickens are one of her chores.”
“No, this will actually save time. Hailey’s more likely to pick each one up and say good morning, which takes a lot of time. If you’re willing to do the dishes, and her hair, it will be like killing two birds with one stone.”
I laugh. “No need to kill the birds. I'm happy to divide the chores.”
He rises and places his plate in the sink. When he returns, he kisses me on the cheek. The soft press of his lips throws me completely off guard. For a heartbeat, everything stands still.
When he steps back, his eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. “I'm so sorry. I just … it's a habit.” His apology is rushed.
“It's okay,” I say, the corners of my mouth lifting in a genuine smile. Despite the surprise, the kiss leaves a lingering sweetness, not only on my skin but somewhere deeper. It’s a small, intimate connection that seems as natural as it is unexpected, and I can’t shake the feeling it stirs inside me.
“Are you in the habit of kissing all girls on the cheek?”
He shakes his head so hard I fear he'll scramble his brain. “No, I never kiss anyone.” His denial is so serious it only stokes my fearlessness.
Despite knowing it isn't wise, I tease him anyway. “Too bad. I bet you're a great kisser.” There’s a thrill in this light-hearted banter, a flirtation with what-ifs that I know I should probably avoid—but don’t want to.
He’s caught off guard, words faltering for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking with mine. There's a question there, but any further response is cut short by Hailey’s voice piercing our little bubble.
“I kissed Tommy once on the lips, and he said he didn't like it.”
Hailey's innocent interjection changes the dynamic. His previous look of curiosity at my teasing comment about being a great kisser shifts abruptly. When Hailey mentions her own experience with kissing, it's a jolt back to reality for Kane. His brows furrow, signaling a shift from the playful tension between the two adults to his protective parental mode. “No kissing boys until you're thirty-five.”
I bite back a laugh. Thirty-five, he says. By that benchmark, I'd have missed out on a lot—the sweet taste of a first kiss, the bitter end of a marriage, and the rich lessons each heartbreak brought. Sure, I could have dodged the pain, but then, I wouldn't have grown. The kiss on the cheek, light as it is, is another piece of the universe's puzzle laid before me. I don't have the full picture yet—why that kiss, why now—but I trust that it's all part of a larger design. Every experience, every connection, has its moment, even if its purpose isn't immediately clear. This kiss, casual as it is, might just be the universe’s way of telling me there’s more in store for me.
Once Hailey is finished, we clean up. I wash while she rinses, and when we're done, I pull her hair into a ponytail.
“There you go, princess. Grab your jacket. It looks like it might rain later.” Hailey bustles around, looking for her things, while I open the refrigerator to make lunches. I gather sliced turkey, cheese, and bread. I'm not sure how much food Kane needs, but I imagine with his hard work, he'll need a few sandwiches. If he plans on staying out late, he'll need more. I whip up several meals and fill his cooler with water bottles I find in the kitchen corner, bagged chips in the pantry, and cookies he has hidden on a top shelf—probably to keep out of Hailey's reach. On the counter is a notepad and a pen. It’s likely the one Kane used to write my note. It was such a sweet thing to do. It reminded me of the notes my mom used to tuck into my lunch bag. Each little message was like a hug, a reminder in the middle of a school day that I was loved. I want Kane and Hailey to feel as wanted and appreciated as I did as a child.
So, I scribble a quick note for each of them. Nothing too heavy, just a nudge to make them smile. For Hailey, it's a smiley face to brighten her day, and for Kane... Well, it's a whisper of something more, something that says I'm here, thinking of you even when you're miles out at sea.
When Kane comes in, he sees everything ready to go. “You made our lunches too?”
“It isn't a big deal. It's best when people work together as a team.”
“I agree, but I'm not used to that. If you keep being this nice to us, we may never let you go.” His words hang in the air for a heartbeat, and I can tell they’ve caught him off guard just as much as they have me. There’s a brief look of surprise in his eyes—the kind that says he hadn't planned on being so candid. Then, a half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he holds my gaze, steady and unwavering.
“I'm sure you'll welcome it when it's time for me to go,” I say, my voice light, but inside, my stomach does a slow somersault. The idea of being wanted, of someone hoping I'd stay, sends a ripple of something sweet and terrifying through me. I catch a glint in his eye that makes me wonder—does he sense it too? This pull, this back-and-forth we're doing around each other's lives. He's so different from my ex-husband, who never seemed to grasp the concept of us, of teamwork. And here is Kane, valuing my presence, almost as if he's reluctant to think about a time when I'm not here. “Shall we?”
We walk outside to the ATV. Kane buckles Hailey into her seat, and I take the passenger side. As we drive along the path, I'm awestruck again by his land's beauty. I can't understand why more people don't stay in this place, and then I remember the plans May and I made yesterday.
“Did I mention that we're going to do a community potluck a week from Sunday?”
Kane's brows furrow slightly. “It's a great idea, but I'm not sure how many will come.”
“I don't know either, but it might be fun,” I say optimistically. “Isn't being a part of a community what this town was founded on?”
His expression shifts as he considers my words. “That was then, but things changed.”
“They're going to change again,” I say, meeting his gaze with determination. “And who knows, maybe this potluck will be the start of something new.”
“Maybe.”
We drive for another twenty minutes. Each time the ATV hits a bump, he instinctively reaches out to steady me. His hand is quick to ensure I'm safe, an action that makes my pulse quicken. I'm so aware of his closeness, and it seems like more than just a reflex. When we arrive, his hand falls away, leaving a ghost of his touch. I step down, my skin still tingling from the contact.
He helps Hailey out and then walks us to the door, where he kisses her on the cheek. As he steps away, a swirl of anticipation stirs within me. There’s a fleeting moment where our eyes meet, and in that instant, I'm filled again with boldness that only comes from not wanting to let a moment slip away. Before I can second-guess the impulse, I close the distance, reach up, and plant a kiss on his cheek .
“Have a great day,” I say.
I watch him walk away, and there's a sudden drop in my stomach, a mix of gladness for the connection we just shared and the disappointment of him leaving. I’m left standing there, slightly breathless, wondering what the rest of the day will bring and how long it will be until he comes back.