CHAPTER 23
Summer
It’s Saturday evening, and Ethan is taking me out to dinner at an Italian restaurant before we go dancing at Midnight Rodeo.
I look at myself once more in the mirror, hands smoothing down my beige jumpsuit, long sheer sleeves, a soft golden belt at my waist, and my brown cowgirl boots that shouldn’t work with the outfit but somehow do.
My hair hangs in loose curls, pinned on one side with a gold comb.
I slip on my brown wool trench coat and wrap my golden scarf around my neck, the fabric warm against my collarbone.
“Mommy, you look beautiful.”
Mia toddles over and throws her arms around my legs.
“Thank you, pumpkin.” I crouch down, brushing a curl from her forehead.
“You going out with Efan?”
I nod, though my heart squeezes. How do you explain dating to a four-year-old without confusing or scaring her?
“I like Efan,” she says brightly. “He has superpowers.”
A tiny laugh escapes me. “He does,” I whisper, because honestly… he kind of does.
She tilts her head, blue eyes full of pure innocence. “Is Efan my new daddy now, Mommy?”
My stomach drops to the floor. I inhale slowly, praying for the right words.
“Right now,” I say gently, “Mommy and Ethan are just dating.” Even as I say it, I know it won’t fully make sense to her, but it’s the closest thing to truth she can understand. “I’m getting to know him, spending time with him… and I really like him.”
“Oh.” She looks down at her socks, picking at a loose thread. Her voice softens. “I really like Efan.”
“I really like him too,” I say, tapping her tiny nose. “And I’m pretty sure he loves you very much.”
She nods, but something in her shoulders shifts, small, quiet longing.
A thought presses into me, heavy and unwelcome. “Do you miss your daddy, pumpkin?” My voice wavers; I don’t want the answer, but she deserves the space to say it.
She shrugs. “Ava has a daddy. And Landon has a daddy too…” She lists her little friends from kindergarten. “They asked me if Efan is my daddy because he comes take me from school sometimes.”
Guilt stabs me clean through. This little girl, my little girl, deserved a good father who showed up. And even though I know it’s not my fault… somehow it still feels like I’ve failed her.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper, forcing a smile. “I bet your daddy misses you and thinks about you all the time.”
I hate lying. But I will never let her feel unwanted.
“You think so?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“I know so.” I nod firmly. “And you know what? Why don’t we call him tomorrow?”
Her whole face lights up like Christmas morning. “We can?”
“Of course, pumpkin.” I kiss her cheek and silently promise myself I’ll text Kevin, again, the moment I get downstairs.
I’ve sent him a message every week for six months. I gave him our address and told him he could come see Mia whenever he wanted to. Because I might not like him as a person, but he’s her father, and Mia deserves to have a father.
I give her a tight hug and head toward the stairs. My heart lifts when I hear her little feet trailing behind me.
Ethan is in the entry talking to his father. As soon as Mia sees him, she launches herself at him with complete trust.
“Efan!”
He catches her easily, one arm, careful of his shoulder, and spins her until she erupts in giggles.
“My favorite princess.” He kisses her cheek before settling her on his hip.
And then he looks at me.
God.
He’s in a white fitted shirt tucked into dark blue jeans, brown cowboy boots, his dark brown Stetson angled just so, and his sling is gone. But it’s the smile, the slow, devastating one, that steals my breath.
“How do you do that?” he asks, setting Mia down and walking toward me with a look that makes my pulse skip.
“What do you mean?” I ask, smoothing the front of my coat.
He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing my knuckles, sending a warm shiver all the way up my spine. “Look more beautiful every day.”
My cheeks heat. “You look handsome too, Captain.” I wink, and that earns me his signature smirk, the one that starts in his eyes before touching his mouth.
A year ago, this jumpsuit would’ve made me self-conscious, tugging at fabric and wishing I could hide. But now? Now I feel… free. Maybe I’m not everyone’s type, but the way Ethan’s gaze slowly trails down my body tells me I am exactly his. And even more important, I like how I feel in it.
“Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm.
“Oh…just a second.” I pull out my phone and type quickly.
Hi, this is Summer. Can Mia call you tomorrow? She wants to talk to her daddy. Tell me when you can? Thank you.
My stomach twists as I hit send, but I swallow the unease. This is for Mia.
“Everything okay?” Ethan asks quietly, because of course he noticed. He always notices. After a lifetime of being unseen, unheard, unimportant… this man reads me like it’s second nature.
“I’m okay,” I say softly. “I’ll tell you in the car, okay?” I glance at Mia.
He nods without hesitation, letting it be.
“Alright, pumpkin,” I say, crouching to her level. “Be a good girl for Josh and Lily, alright?”
“Oma and Opa, Mommy,” Mia corrects, proud.
I blink. “What?”
Lily walks over, cheeks flushed. She lifts Mia into her arms. “I’m sorry, Summer… she asked us if we were her grandparents, and I told her she could call us Oma and Opa. That’s what I called my own grandparents…they were Dutch. I hope you don’t mind?”
Mind? My throat tightens.
“Oh no, it’s no problem at all.” My voice shakes. “Actually… I think you’re the best Oma and Opa Mia could ever ask for.”
I pull Lily into a hug. “Thank you.”
Then Josh steps in, wrapping an arm around me too. “No need to thank us,” he says warmly. “That little girl has been our granddaughter since the first day she walked into this house. The honor is all ours.”
Emotion burns behind my eyes, but I swallow it down before it escapes.
“Ready to go?” Ethan asks gently.
I nod. He helps me into my coat and scarf, his fingers brushing the back of my neck with quiet tenderness, and we both kneel to hug Mia goodbye.
◆◆◆
The restaurant sits tucked between two old brick buildings, its windows glowing gold against the winter dark. Inside, warmth wraps around us immediately, garlands of pine draped along the rafters, soft Italian music drifting from hidden speakers, candles flickering on every table like tiny stars.
Ethan opens the door for me, his hand gentle on my lower back as he guides me in.
The place is small, maybe ten tables at most, each one made of dark, knotty wood. The air smells like garlic, simmering tomatoes, and something sweet, caramel maybe. Or maybe it’s just Christmas.
I’m halfway to our table when a painting on the wall pulls me up short.
Sleeping Venus.
Even the replica looks luminous, her pale skin contrasted with the deep reds and greens around her. I haven’t seen it in years, but my body remembers before my mind does.
“Ahhh, you know dis one.”
The voice comes from my left, warm, rolling, unmistakably Italian.
The owner stands beside me, tall and round, with a salt-and-pepper mustache and the kind of smile only people who cook for a living wear naturally.
“Sleeeeping Venus, Giorgione,” he says, drawing out the vowels like he’s savoring them. “Dey don’t paint women like dis anymore. Soft. Real. Beautiful.” His eyes shift to me as Ethan helps me slide out of my coat. “But, mamma mia, I see we have a masterpiece right here, sì?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I have no idea what to say.
Ethan doesn’t give me the chance, his arms slip around me from behind, solid and warm despite the cold outside.
“I found the most beautiful woman in the world and convinced her to date me, Massimo.”
Massimo’s laugh booms through the restaurant. “Ahh, Ethan, ragazzo, you have good taste.”
He gestures for us to follow, weaving through tables decorated with tiny red Christmas bows and flickering candles.
Ethan pulls out my chair and I sit, the soft scrape of wood on old tile echoing under the Christmas music. He leans down, lips brushing my neck so lightly I almost think I imagined it, until the warmth of his breath grazes my skin.
My whole body tightens. Goosebumps. Heat. Nerves.
By the time he sits across from me, my pulse is doing acrobatics.
Massimo returns with two menus, placing them with a flourish.
We order a carafe of his homemade wine. Ethan chooses amatriciana; I go with lasagna because Ethan swears it’s life-changing.
Massimo brings olives and still-warm breadsticks, steam curling up from the basket like a promise.
“So,” I say, breaking an olive open between my fingers, “did you always want to be a firefighter?”
Ethan takes a slow sip of wine before answering. The candle between us catches his eyes, turning the green deeper, warmer.
“I did,” he says. “I was seven when we visited the fire station in Fremont County. The firefighters showed us everything, hoses, ladders, rescue gear. Told us stories that made them sound like superheroes.” His mouth lifts into a small, fond smile.
“I was hooked. Went home and told my family I was going to save the world one fire at a time.”
“Your parents wanted you to go to college?” I ask softly.
He spins his wineglass with his fingertips, an absent, thoughtful motion.
“My mama always said I could be whatever I wanted, as long as it made me happy.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “Firefighting makes me feel like I’m doing something that matters.”
The words settle warm in my chest.
“What about you?” he asks. “How’d you know baking and coffee were your thing?”
I tell him about college, anxiety, how the rhythm of baking soothed me when nothing else could. How mixing ingredients felt like creating small pieces of certainty in a world that never stayed still.
“I see it,” he says.
“You see what?”
His eyebrows lift a little, expression open and earnest.
“The way your eyes light up when you talk about it. It’s the same way they light up when you look at Mia.” A pause. His thumb brushes the back of my hand. “Or… after I kiss you.”