Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
E lla sat quietly at the back of the community center as Tom addressed the veterans’ support group. She’d offered to wait elsewhere, but he’d wanted her there, and watching him now, she understood why. This was a part of him she hadn’t seen before—vulnerable but strong, a leader who carried his own scars openly.
“The thing about coming home,” Tom was saying, “is that nobody tells you how to do it. How to be normal again when everything’s changed—including you.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Ella noticed how the other veterans leaned toward Tom, drawn by his quiet authenticity.
“But what I’ve learned,” he continued, “what all of you have taught me, is that maybe we’re not supposed to go back to normal. Maybe we’re supposed to build something new.”
An older veteran—Mike, she’d learned during introductions—spoke up. “You showed us that, Tom. The way you built your security business, how you’re always the first to step up when any of us need help. Remember when you drove four hours just to help James fix his roof?”
“That’s just practical security,” Tom deflected, but Ella could see the tips of his ears reddening.
“It’s more than that,” another veteran, Vivian, interjected. “You show up. Not just for emergencies, but for the quiet battles too. The nights when the memories are too loud, the days when civilian life feels impossible.”
Others nodded, and Ella felt her throat tighten at their obvious respect for Tom. This wasn’t just a support group—it was a brotherhood, a sisterhood, forged in shared experience and mutual understanding.
“I’m just passing on what others did for me,” Tom said quietly. “What this group did for me when I first came home. When I thought I had to handle everything alone.”
His eyes found Ella’s across the room, and something passed between them—acknowledgment of how far he’d come, how far he still wanted to go.
After the formal meeting ended, members lingered, sharing coffee and conversation. Ella watched Tom move among them, offering quiet words of support here, a steadying hand there. The protector in him never really off duty, but softer here, among people who understood.
“He’s different since you came along,” Vivian said, appearing at Ella’s elbow. “More at peace with himself.”
“He does that for me too,” Ella admitted. “Makes me feel safe enough to be myself.”
“That’s Tom. Always taking care of others.” Vivian smiled. “It’s nice to see someone taking care of him for a change.”
When they finally headed out, Tom was quieter than usual. Ella slipped her hand into his as they walked to the truck.
“Thank you,” he said suddenly. “For being here. For seeing this part of me.”
“Thank you for sharing it.” She squeezed his hand. “You know you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”
He stopped walking, turning to face her. The Seattle drizzle dampened his hair, but his eyes were warm. “I’m starting to believe that.”
Ella reached up, touching his cheek. “Good. Because you’ve spent so long being strong for others. Let me be strong for you sometimes too.”
The kiss he pressed to her palm felt like a promise. Like another piece of his wall coming down, stone by quiet stone.
The drive back to the hotel was peaceful, comfortable silence wrapping around them like a blanket. Ella thought about how Tom’s need to protect, to make others feel safe, wasn’t just about his military service. It was fundamental to who he was—the steady presence who showed up not just for emergencies, but for all the small moments in between.
Just as he’d shown up for her, with garden books and coffee and a constant stream of quiet support that had somehow become as necessary as breathing.
“You’re thinking pretty loud over there,” he said, glancing at her.
“Just thinking about how amazing you are.”
“Ella...”
“No, I mean it.” She turned in her seat to face him. “I saw you today, really saw you. How you lift others up, how you make space for their struggles while carrying your own. It’s beautiful.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but she saw the small smile he couldn’t quite suppress.
“You make me want to be worthy of that,” he said finally. “Of how you see me.”
“You already are.” She took his hand, twining their fingers together. “You always have been.”
The Seattle rain painted the windows with silver, but inside the truck, everything was warm and gold and full of possibility.
The morning sun glinted off Elliott Bay as Tom and Ella wandered through Pike Place Market. After the emotional intensity of yesterday’s veterans’ meeting, the market’s cheerful chaos felt like exactly what they needed.
“You’re not actually going to try to catch one, are you?” Ella asked as they watched the fishmongers’ famous salmon-tossing show.
“What, you don’t trust my reflexes?” Tom’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“I trust your reflexes fine. It’s the hundred-dollar suit-ruining fish projectile I’m worried about.”
“Such little faith.” But he was grinning as he tugged her away from the fish counter and toward the flower stalls. “Though maybe we should stick to safer Market traditions.”
The flower vendor was arranging massive bouquets of dahlias, their colors almost impossibly bright against the grey Seattle morning. As Tom paid for a small bunch for Ella, she noticed him quietly asking the vendor something else, slipping whatever it was into his pocket when he thought she wasn’t looking.
They meandered through the market, sharing tastes of local honey and artisanal cheese, playfully debating which food stand to try for lunch. Tom insisted on the Russian piroshki place while Ella argued for Vietnamese spring rolls.
“We could split both,” she suggested.
“Compromise already? The MacGregors will be so proud.”
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Don’t you dare tell them.”
They ended up at a table overlooking the water, sharing both piroshki and spring rolls while watching ferries cross the sound. Tom’s leg pressed against hers under the small table, and Ella found herself thinking how natural this felt—sharing food, sharing space, sharing life.
“Close your eyes,” Tom said suddenly.
“Should I be worried?”
“Always. But close them anyway.”
She did, feeling him shift beside her. Something cool settled against her throat, right next to her pendant.
“Okay, look.”
She opened her eyes to find a small silver star hanging beside her family pendant. Simple, elegant, and somehow perfect.
“The vendor said it was traditional,” Tom explained, suddenly looking uncertain. “For marking new beginnings. But if it’s too much?—”
“It’s perfect.” Her fingers traced the star’s delicate points. “But what beginning are we marking?”
“Whatever you want it to be.” His voice was soft. “I just... I wanted you to have something that was just ours. Not tied to the past or family obligations. Just us.”
The way he said ‘us’ made her heart skip. She found herself imagining more moments like this—quiet Sunday mornings, shared meals, him fixing things around her cottage while she planted the garden he’d helped her plan. The future unfolding in small, perfect moments.
“Getting pretty quiet over there,” he said.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how right this feels.” She met his eyes. “Being here with you. Being anywhere with you, really.”
His smile was the soft one she was starting to think of as hers alone. He reached over, adjusting the star charm so it nestled perfectly next to her pendant.
“They look good together,” he said. “Like they belong.”
“Like some things were meant to find each other?”
“Now you sound like Gareth.”
“Terrifying.”
Their laughter mingled with the sound of seagulls and ferry horns, the Market’s energy swirling around them. Ella watched a young couple walking past, the woman wearing a Pike Place Market sweatshirt, her partner carrying their shopping bags. She could picture herself and Tom that comfortable together, that sure of each other.
“We should probably head back soon,” Tom said reluctantly. “Beat the traffic.”
“Five more minutes?” She wasn’t ready to break this spell just yet.
“For you? Always.”
As they lingered over the last of their lunch, Ella touched the star charm again. It caught the light differently than her pendant—brighter, newer, full of promise rather than history. But somehow they worked together, these symbols of who she was and who she was becoming.
Just like the woman who’d come to Harmony Falls looking for a fresh start was becoming someone new too—someone who could hold both past and future, someone who wasn’t afraid to let love in again.
Even if that love came with meddling Scotsmen and star-shaped charms and a man who checked security systems like other people checked the weather.
Maybe especially then.