TWO TARAN
TWO
TARAN
The December wind howled against the windows, swirling snowflakes in erratic patterns that blurred the world outside.
It was the kind of weather that made me question whether the bank would be open today.
Still, with the meeting so critical, I didn’t have much choice.
I’d already rescheduled once—the day Rory got in trouble in school.
Another delay and they might stop taking me seriously.
I sighed, frosting another cupcake while my mind wandered back to Wynter’s sudden appearance earlier that afternoon. His visit had knocked me off balance in more ways than one. I hadn’t seen him in years, and now, after all that time, he just showed up on my doorstep like nothing had changed.
The clinking of Rory’s fork against his plate broke the silence, his watchful eyes fixed on me like he could see straight through the storm swirling in my head.
I could tell he was holding something back, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Wynter.
Not yet. I needed to gather my thoughts first, but Rory, being the curious kid he was, wouldn’t let me.
“Why did he come here?” I could feel his eyes on me, watching closely like he could read my thoughts.
I hesitated, squeezing the frosting bag a little too hard as I finished the cupcake. What could I even say? I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around it myself. Wynter’s sudden return was a reminder of so much—things I tried not to dwell on too often, but which now seemed impossible to ignore.
“He just wanted to say hi, kiddo,” I replied, forcing a calmness into my voice. “He was your papa’s best friend.”
“Papa’s been dead for five years,” Rory pointed out, his tone sharp, the words cutting deep.
I swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.
Five years. It still felt raw some days, the loss creeping up on me when I least expected it.
I couldn’t help but wonder how different things were for Lisa—how she must’ve felt seeing Wynter walk through her door after all this time.
Probably ecstatic. I imagined them reuniting, and a familiar wave of jealousy swept through me.
Lisa had her husband back; Wynter had come home to her.
But Royce would never come home to me again.
I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t fair to think like that, but I couldn’t help it. Seeing Wynter had ripped open old wounds, and now, getting over the surprise of his visit, I was left with more questions than answers.
“I know, sweetheart.”
Rory shifted in his seat, clearly not satisfied with my answer, but he didn’t try to get any more information out of me.
I turned my attention back to the cupcakes, trying to shake the unsettling thoughts that Wynter’s visit had stirred up.
There hadn’t been time to ask him anything real.
Just seeing him had opened old wounds, and now that the initial shock had worn off, I was left with questions and a deep sense of unease.
“I have to head to the bank soon,” I said, quickly boxing up the cupcakes for my client, another responsibility I had to juggle on top of everything else. “I’ll drop you off at Mathew’s.”
Rory frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “Dad, I’m twelve. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know you don’t, but humor your old man, won’t you? With this weather, I don’t want you stuck here by yourself if something happens.”
He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in that way only a preteen could. “Fine. But I’m not bringing my school bag—it’s winter break.”
I smiled despite myself, grateful for his small concession. “Fair enough. Just grab your coat.”
While Rory got ready, I took a quick glance in the hallway mirror, adjusting my striped navy blue tie and brushing dust I assumed was there off the collar of my coat.
The bank meeting was important and I had to look presentable, even if all I could think about was Wynter.
The dark gray wool coat I wore was the last gift Royce had given me before he died.
I kept it in perfect condition, partly because I couldn’t afford to replace it, but mostly because it reminded me of him.
The memory weighed heavily, especially today.
Rory bounded back into the hallway, bundled up in his puffer jacket, a pair of gloves sticking out of his pockets. “Ready.”
I nodded, grabbing the cupcake boxes. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland, the snow covering everything in a soft, white blanket.
Aspen Ridge was like a postcard during the holidays—pine trees heavy with snow, wreaths on every door.
It was beautiful, but the cold cut through my coat as we stepped outside, making me question just how much more snow we’d get before the night was through.
Rory trudged beside me, his boots crunching through the snow as we made our way to the car.
The drive to Matthew’s house was slow, the roads slick with ice.
Rory stared out the window, the lights reflecting off his face, and for a moment, it felt like everything had returned to normal.
The holidays had a way of doing that—masking the pain with the magic of the season.
But as soon as we reached Mathew’s house, the questions about Wynter resurfaced, gnawing at the back of my mind.
“You’re a good kid,” I said, resting a hand briefly on Rory’s arm as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Did I tell you today that you’re my sunshine and my star?”
“Dad!” Rory groaned, trying to duck out of my reach, but not before I caught the faint grin on his face. He bolted out of the car, his boots kicking up snow as he ran toward the door, his breath visible in the cold air.
I watched him go, my heart swelling with love for my boy.
Within fifteen minutes, I handed over the cupcakes to my client and gratefully accepted the payment.
Every little bit helped, though it still felt like a drop in the ocean of what I needed.
Once the bakery was mine, things would finally turn around.
Sure, the first year would be tight—in new businesses it always was—but I knew I had what it took.
My worries wouldn’t vanish overnight, but at least I’d be building something for Rory and me.
As I drove toward the bank, the familiar flutter of anxiety crept in.
I glanced at the sign for Mabel’s bakery as I passed, reminding myself that this meeting could decide everything.
Mabel had given me first preference to buy, but she wouldn’t wait forever for me.
I couldn’t let this slip through my fingers.
Inside the bank, the warmth hit me, though it did little to calm my nerves. I stepped up to the receptionist’s desk, straightening my tie as I gave her my name.
“I’ve got a three o’clock with Mr. Graham,” I said, doing my best to sound confident.
The receptionist gave me a polite smile. “Please take a seat, sir. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
I nodded, heading to the waiting area. I crossed my fingers, then chuckled at myself and uncrossed them. It was silly, but I needed this break. This meeting could change everything.
The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. I picked up a magazine from the table, some glossy home improvement issue, and flipped through it aimlessly. The pictures blurred together as I stared at them, my mind too tangled in its own web to focus.
What’s taking so long? I glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking loud enough to echo in my ears. Fifteen minutes had passed. Or maybe thirty. I wasn’t sure.
I shifted in my seat, my fingers drumming against the armrest. Were they back there, deliberating over my application, or just having coffee and a chat, forgetting I was even here? Maybe they’d already decided, and I was just waiting for someone to come out and tell me, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
I set the magazine down, only to pick it up again a second later. I couldn’t sit still. My knee bounced as I stared out the window. The parking lot outside looked calm, snow dusting the tops of cars.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a mistake. I should be home, rolling out dough, timing the oven, doing something productive. Each minute spent here was a minute lost, and for what? A shot in the dark.
But then I thought of Rory, his face lighting up when he talked about the holidays. I wanted this for him—for us. I needed to prove to myself, to everyone, that I could do this.
Still, the waiting gnawed at me. My palms were damp, and I rubbed them against my pants, trying to dry them. Do they know I’m out here? Maybe I should ask. No, don’t do that. You’ll look desperate.
I glanced at the clock again. Another twenty minutes had passed. Or was it just five? Time had become a blur, stretching and folding in on itself.
The door finally creaked open, and I shot upright. My name echoed through the room, and my heart leaped into my throat.
I stood, adjusting my tie again, trying to make myself look as put together as possible.
I followed the assistant into Mr. Graham’s office, where he was finishing a phone call. He held up a finger, signaling me to sit, so I settled into the chair, trying to steady my breathing.
I checked my watch, careful not to be too obvious—it was already past five in the evening. I’d been waiting for over two hours! I could’ve been using this time to make deliveries or prepare my next batch of orders. But I had to see this through, no matter how long it took.
Finally, Mr. Graham hung up and gave me a quick, practiced smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Turner.”
“It’s Mr. Taylor, Sir,” I corrected, forcing a smile and hoping my voice sounded steady. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
This was it—the moment that could decide if my bakery dream would become a reality. I couldn’t blow it.
The burly man leaned forward, his tone all business. “So, what can I do for you?” His eyes flicked over me with disinterest; I was just another client, another poor sap looking for a break.