Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Hopper
Is it normal to miss someone you barely know?
Because Nysa left yesterday, and today . . . I’m not dealing well. I’m not dealing at all. And it’s not like me to miss people. Fuck, it’s sad to confess that I’ve never let anyone get close enough for that to even be an option. Missing someone—it’s foreign to me. I wouldn’t know how to do it if I tried.
But with her?
It feels inevitable.
It’s everything.
It’s the way she moves through a room, not demanding attention but somehow drawing it anyway. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking, the way her fingers brush over book spines like she’s greeting old friends. It’s the fire in her when she argues, the quiet in her when she listens.
It’s her.
Her presence, the way it lingers even after she’s gone. The way she laughs without hesitation, like she’s never been afraid of happiness. Even when I know she’s scared of it—of a future, which is why she runs. The way she looks at Maddie, like my daughter is a gift, not just a responsibility. It’s the way she makes me feel something I wasn’t looking for, something I don’t know how to name.
It’s her, and God help me, I don’t know what to do with that.
Being with her feels right.
So right that everything in me—all the chaos, the noise, the guilt—falls silent.
And that silence?
It’s not the fear that grips and suffocates, the feeling that clenches around my ribs until I can’t breathe. No, this is different. No, it’s a peace I’ve never known. A quiet that doesn’t demand anything of me, that doesn’t feel like the world’s way of mocking me.
When I’m with her, the inner turmoil in my soul feels strange, like it doesn’t belong anymore. Like it’s been replaced by something else.
Something better.
Like it’s found home.
And maybe that’s what scares me the most—because I’ve spent my whole life believing that I’m not built for this. That I’m too broken, too scarred, to fit into anyone else’s life.
But with her . . .
With Nysa, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I could. I don’t know what that means yet. All I know is that she’s gone, and I feel it. Deep in my chest, in a place I didn’t even realize was hollow until she came and filled it.
And now that she’s not here?
I can’t stop thinking about her.
Is it normal to miss someone you barely know?
Maybe not.
But with Nysa, nothing about this feels normal. It feels like everything.
Today the barn is more quiet than normal. Save for the soft rustle of hay as the Chestnut Thoroughbred gelding shifts in his stall. It’s been two days since they brought him in—burned, battered, barely standing. But now, he’s finally starting to turn a corner.
I lean against the doorframe, watching as he picks at the fresh hay I spread out earlier. His coat is beginning to heal. His eyes, which had been dull and lifeless when he arrived, hold a bit of light now.
“You’re a tough one,” I mutter, stepping into the stall with a gentle pat on his shoulder. He flinches slightly but settles quickly.
The past two days have been a blur of late nights and early mornings, my time split between Maddie, the ranch, and this horse. His injuries were some of the worst I’ve seen, but he’s fighting, and I’m not about to give up on him.
“You’re going to make it,” I say softly, more to myself than to him. “If you continue doing this well, we can bring Maddie to meet you. She loves horses.”
He looks at me like that doesn’t really matter. Maybe what he needs is for me to bring him Nysa. The woman who was helping him the first night. Or . . . maybe I’m just projecting myself.
By the time I head back to the house, the sun is high, and Maddie’s laughter drifts out through the open windows. I can already tell she’s gotten into something she shouldn’t.
I push the door open to find her in the kitchen, her little hands covered in what looks like flour, her curls wild and sticking out in every direction.
“Daddy,” she squeals when she sees me, holding up her messy hands like they’re a prize.
I glance at the counter, where an impressive mess of flour, sugar, and what might be eggshells is spread out. “What are you doing, kiddo?”
“Making cookies,” she announces proudly.
“You mean making a mess,” I say, scooping her up despite the flour and setting her on the counter. “Where’s Eleonor?”
“Ellie bye-bye,” she says.
Ellie is the girl who’s been helping me with Maddie for the past six months. She’s young, fresh out of college, and Maddie adores her. But as I glance around the house, I realize it’s too quiet.
“Maddie, where is Ellie?” I repeat because what the fuck does bye, bye means.
“She gone,” Maddie says matter-of-factly, reaching for a handful of flour.
“Gone where?” I glare, scared. How long did she leave my daughter alone . . . making cookies? For fuck’s sake.
Maddie shrugs, her curls bouncing. “She say bye-bye.”
Frowning, I set her back on the floor and grab my phone. Sure enough, there’s a text from Ellie, sent an hour ago.
Hey, Hopper, I’m so sorry for the short notice, but something came up. Maddie is safe, but obviously come back to the house. See you tomorrow.
I let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over my face. How dare she just leave without making sure I texted her back—or that I was back in the house with Maddie. That’s so fucking irresponsible. I’m seething, but then Maddie tugs at my leg, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Daddy, cookies?”
I crouch down, brushing a bit of flour off her cheek. “This isn’t the time for cookies, Mads. We’ll . . . let me figure out what we’re going to do.”
But the truth is, I have no idea what I’m going to do. By the time I’ve cleaned up the kitchen and gotten Maddie down for her nap, I’m no closer to a solution.
I sit at the kitchen table, staring at my phone, scrolling through my contacts and coming up blank. Ellie was the only one I trusted with Maddie, and I don’t have the time or energy to start vetting someone new right now.
My gaze drifts to the clock on the wall, then to the stack of mail I haven’t had a chance to go through.
And then, like a lightbulb flickering on, I think of Nysa. It’s a bad idea. A terrible idea, but she’s good with Maddie, and Maddie adores her. And right now, I don’t have a lot of options.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up the number for the bookstore and hit call.
The phone rings twice before a familiar voice answers.
“Cozy Corner Books, this is Nysa.”
I sigh with relief. It’s not Mrs. Harper. I don’t have the bandwidth to go through her usual interrogation, more so when I need to speak with her granddaughter.
“Hey, it’s Hopper,” I say, resting my hip on the counter, as I watch Maddie talking to Lala.
There’s a pause. “Hopper. Hi. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say quickly, though I’m not sure if that’s entirely true. “Listen, I, uh, have a bit of a situation.”
“Okay . . .” Her tone is cautious, but there’s a hint of curiosity there too.
“The girl who helps me with Maddie quit,” I explain. “And I, uh, need someone to fill in. Just for a little while, until I can find someone else.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You want me to help?”
I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “If you’re too busy, I get it. It was just a thought?—”
“I didn’t say no,” she interrupts, her voice softening. “I’m just . . . surprised, I guess.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “So, will you?”
She hesitates for a moment before answering. “Yeah. I’ll help.”
When Nysa arrives an hour later, Maddie lights up like it’s Christmas morning.
“Nysa,” she squeals, running to her and wrapping her tiny arms around Nysa’s legs.
“Hey, Mads,” Nysa says, crouching down to give her a proper hug. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Makin’ cookies,” Maddie announces proudly, her face glowing with excitement.
Nysa looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Cookies, huh?”
I shrug. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m here to listen to it,” she says, ready to pay attention.
Actually, the story isn’t that long, it takes me less than a couple of minutes to fill her in. “Obviously she’s fired,” I conclude. “I can’t have someone who’ll leave just like that. She didn’t wait for me to acknowledge the text or for me to be back home. She left my two-year-old alone.”
“It’s okay. We’ll find a reliable person later, and in the meantime I can be here for her. It’s not like I can do much,” she reminds me. “My land is an archeological crime scene and grandma doesn’t need me much.”
I snort. “That’s one way to see how they’re treating our lands.”
“Why are you here? I thought you’d be at your childhood home,” she says, bringing back the obvious.
“Ellie said there weren’t enough toys there, so she brought her here—while I was working,” I say and now I’m wondering if she had already planned to leave me and that’s why she did it.
“It’s okay. Today we stay and tomorrow I’ll head to the other house.” Nysa straightens, brushing a curl out of Maddie’s face, and the way Maddie looks at her—like she hung the moon—reminds me exactly why this is dangerous.
“Why don’t we go upstairs to find some crayons and coloring books, Maddie?” Nysa suggests. “Your dad can keep working while we have all the fun.”
“Fun,” Maddie says, wobbling toward the stairs.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of activity. Nysa jumps in like she’s been here for weeks, helping Maddie with her puzzles, reading her books, and even joining her in the other barn to feed the chickens.
Meanwhile, I spend most of my time in the barn with my patients. By the time I finally head back to the house, the sun is dipping low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the porch. The moment I open the door, the smell of something delicious hits me—roasted garlic, herbs, maybe chicken—and my stomach growls in appreciation.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Nysa calls from the kitchen, her voice light and cheerful.
I follow the sound, leaning against the doorway as I take her in.
She’s standing at the stove, one hand stirring something in a pan while Maddie sits perched on her hip, her chubby little hands reaching for the wooden spoon. They’re both laughing about something I can’t hear, their heads close, Maddie’s curls brushing against Nysa’s cheek.
It stops me in my tracks. The way she fits so perfectly with Maddie, like she’s always been here, like she’s part of her life . . . our life.
And God help me, the thought doesn’t scare me like it should.
I should be terrified of this—of how easily she’s slipped into our world, how Maddie’s eyes light up when she sees her, how my chest feels lighter just hearing her laugh.
But I’m not.
I’m rooted to the spot, watching her move with Maddie, the two of them so effortlessly in sync, like they’ve been doing this forever.
Nysa glances over her shoulder, catching me staring, and flashes me a quick smile. “You’re just in time. Maddie’s trying to convince me she’s the head chef.”
“Am chef,” Maddie declares, her little voice high and full of determination.
“I am the chef,” Nysa corrects her, but she laughs. The sound filling the kitchen like sunlight, and I swear my heart stumbles in my chest.
This woman—this incredible woman—has no idea what she does to me. How perfect she is . . . so fucking amazing.
She’s like a piece of broken pottery, put back together by her own hands. Every crack and flaw tells a story, and she carries them all with a strength that humbles me.
She’s so afraid of living, of letting herself want something more, but I hope she sees it. I hope she sees how brave she is, how amazing.
How she’s already changed everything for me and Maddie.
I don’t know what this is between us, or if it even is anything, but as I stand there watching her, one thought settles deep in my chest:
I want her to stay.
Not just for Maddie.
For me.