Chapter 2
The next morning dawned bright and cold, sunlight bouncing off the fresh blanket of snow that had fallen overnight. I moved through the motions, pulling Connor’s coat from the hook by the door and searching for the gloves we’d already misplaced.
On my way back to the front room, I caught sight of myself in the mirror by the door.
For a second, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
Blonde hair pulled into a low, messy braid.
Prominent cheekbones, sharper than I remembered.
A faint bruise still shadowed the curve of one cheek–barely visible now, though I could still feel it.
Still remember how it got there. My green eyes, once so bright–so much like Connor’s–looked dull and tired, ringed with shadows from too many nights spent half-awake, ears turned to every noise.
As I leaned closer, new bruises began to bloom in the glass’s reflection–dark finger-shaped marks stark against the pale skin of my throat.
My stomach twisted. I lifted a trembling hand to trace them, stopping short, the memory of his grip still searing in my skin.
Instead, I reached for the scarf on the handrail and wrapped it snugly around my neck, covering the evidence. Hiding it–like I always did.
I drew in a breath, and turned away.
Connor was bundled into his thick coat, gloves in hand. I tugged his hat snug over his ears, his nose already pink from the cold. My own coat was frayed at the seams, but it would have to do. There were so many things we needed, and a new coat barely made the list.
“Ready?” I asked, forcing cheer into my voice.
He nodded, eyes sparkling. “Ready!”
As we crunched down the snow-covered path, I glanced back at our small rental house.
In daylight, it looked… almost charming.
The white siding was worn and chipped in places, front steps slightly uneven, and the faded green shutters clung stubbornly to their hinges.
A narrow porch wrapped halfway around, dusted in snow and edged with a rusty railing.
An old rocking chair sat abandoned in the corner, its wooden slats warped from years of weather.
Fresh snow weighed down the roof, icicles dangling from the eaves like jagged glass teeth.
It looked quaint. Peaceful, even. But peace didn’t come easy anymore.
My eyes swept the street. A flicker of movement in the house next door made my shoulders tense before I realized it was just the curtain twitching.
The neighbouring house sat barely ten feet away, its light-blue siding faded and cold.
A black car was parked in the driveway, windshield dusted with snow.
No one appeared. No doors opened. Still, a small spike of adrenaline pulsed under my skin. Every sound–a branch shifting under snow, a distant dog bark–made my pulse jump.
I forced a slow breath. No one knew we were here. No one had followed us.
Still, I glanced over my shoulder once more before taking Connor’s hand.
The town was quiet as we made our way toward the main road–so different from the city we’d left behind. Chimneys puffed soft trails of smoke into the pale sky, carrying the faint scent of wood burning.
When we reached the main road, I slowed, taking it in.
The town had a charm that felt both timeless and lived-in, the kind of place generations might grow up and grow old in.
Buildings were a mix of weathered brick and brightly painted wood.
Hand-painted and carved signs hung above the doors, each one worn but full of character.
A hardware store with tools and shovels displayed in the window stood beside a little boutique called Stitch & Thread, its display bursting with knitted hats and scarves.
Across the street, a small bookstore caught my eye–shelves stacked with books visible through frosted glass, a plump orange tabby curled in the window, its striped tail flicking lazily. Connor pointed to it and grinned.
He darted ahead, boots kicking up powder.
I kept close, scanning the other storefronts.
We walked past a florist’s shop strung out with evergreen garlands and dried orange slices that gave off a faint citrus scent.
Across the street, a barbershop’s red-and-white pole spun slowly.
A cafe sent smoke curling from its chimney.
Farther down, the small movie theatre’s marquee announced The Nightmare Before Christmas.
No children played nearby–just the stillness of a Tuesday morning in a small town. The snow-muted street was nearly silent, save for the soft crunch of our boots. Though I could imagine it: laughter echoing, snowballs flying, forts rising.
That’s what Connor deserves, I thought. A real childhood.
I forced the ache in my chest aside and hurried after him.
We walked slowly, the cold nipping at our cheeks, however the scenery was too inviting to rush past. Connor hopped ahead, pausing every few steps to inspect the pristine snowbanks.
“Mom, we’ve never had snow like this before! This is the perfect snow for a fort!” he called, his voice bubbling with excitement.
“We’ll try after lunch,” I said, smiling as he darted forward again. His joy filled my chest with warmth… and a thin thread of worry.
Connor slowed, glancing back with a thoughtful expression. “Do you think we’ll stay here for a long time?”
The question caught me off guard. I knew what he was really asking: Are we going back to Dad?
I closed the distance, brushing snow from his shoulder. “Why do you ask buddy?”
“I like it here. It feels… better.” His voice wavered slightly, vulnerable. “Plus, I always wanted to live somewhere with so much snow!”
I knelt to his level, pulling his hat over his ears again. “I like it too. And I promise I’m going to do everything I can to find us a place where we can be happy.”
His brow furrowed. “You promise?”
“I promise,” I said, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat.
He nodded solemnly, as if sealing a pact, then grinned. “Okay. Let’s build the biggest snow fort ever after lunch!”
I laughed softly, ruffling his hair. “Deal.”
He took off running again, and I stood, exhaling a breath.
The smell of something sweet and freshly baked drifted toward us, stopping me in my tracks. I turned toward a small bakery, its frosted windows glowing with warm light. A chalkboard sign out front read: Hot Cocoa & Cinnamon Rolls–Fresh Today!
Connor was already heading for the door. “Can we go in, Mom? Please?”
I hesitated, fingers brushing the near-empty wallet in my pocket. I hadn’t budgeted for treats. I hadn’t even figured out how we’d get through the month. But I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
“Let’s just look, okay?”
He grinned and pulled the door open, the little bell above jingling as we stepped inside.
Warmth wrapped around us. The smell of cinnamon and sugar made my stomach growl.
The bakery was cozy, with mismatched furniture and old black-and-white photos of the town lining on the walls.
A man stood behind the counter, silver streaks running through his dark hair, flour dusting his hands and apron.
He looked up, his face breaking into a kind smile–and for a moment, I was struck by the warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners.
“Morning!” he called out. “Are you two enjoying the first snowfall of the season?”
Connor nodded eagerly, his gaze fixed on the pastry display.
“Haven’t seen you in here before.”
My shoulders tensed. I scanned the room–people chatting at small tables, steam curling from mugs, laughter bubbling in the corner. No one was paying us any attention, but my grip on my bag tightened.
“We’re new to town,” I said evenly.
“Well, welcome!” he said. “I’m Benny. I own the place. You picked a good day to stop by–our cinnamon rolls are practically famous!”
I offered a small smile. “We were just stopping in to look around.”
Connor stood rooted in front of the glass case, eyes wide, nearly fogging the glass. Rows of golden croissants, flaky danishes, and icing-drizzled cinnamon rolls stared back at him.
Benny followed my gaze, then looked back at me with a raised brow and a knowing smile. “Uh-huh,” he said gently. “Why don’t you grab a seat over there–” he nodded toward a cozy table in the corner near the window, “–and I’ll bring over some hot chocolate. On the house.”
“Oh–thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks.
Benny gasped and clutched his flour-dusted chest. “Not necessary? Darling, of course it’s necessary! You’re new in town, which means it is my civic duty to welcome you properly. And besides, my hot chocolate is legendary. Life changing. Possibly illegal in six countries.”
Connor laughed, eyes bright.
I blinked, caught between amusement and embarrassment. Before I could argue, Connor was tugging at my sleeve, silently pleading with me to say yes.
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Thank you.”
Benny grinned like he’d won a prize. “Excellent choice. You won’t regret it.”
A few minutes later, Benny returned with two steaming mugs and a plate holding two generously glazed cinnamon rolls, icing still warm and glistening.
“I put extra whipped cream on this one,” he said, setting Connor’s mug down with a flourish and a wink.
“Mom, can I eat this now?” Connor asked, his hands hovering over the roll.
“Go ahead,” I said, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“You’ve got a polite young man there,” Benny said, ruffling Connor’s hair. “Good job, Mom.”
I laughed softly, though the compliment twisted something inside me. If only he knew how much of that came from Connor–and how often I wondered if I was getting any of it right.
Connor dove in, groaning with delight as sticky glaze coated his fingers and cheeks. “Mom, this is so good!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I said, handing him a napkin, amused as he wiped his face without pause between bites.
As Benny turned to help another customer, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and took a sip, letting the heat spread through my chest.
The bakery had filled quickly–every table occupied, the line at the counter stretching to the door. The scent of nutmeg and vanilla hung thick in the air, and the clink of mugs blended with low conversation into a cozy hum.
Benny moved effortlessly behind the counter, greeting customers like old friends–some of them probably were. He asked about kids, commented on snow tires, complimented coats and haircuts like it was second nature. People responded in kind, smiling, laughing, waiting patiently for their turn.
It was the kind of place that made you feel like you belonged, even if you weren’t sure how yet.
But what caught my attention was that Benny was doing it all alone. Pouring coffee, boxing pastries, chatting, wiping tables–no other staff in sight. He made it look easy, though I noticed the slight quickening of his pace as more people came in.
I glanced at Connor, happily finishing the last bite of his cinnamon roll, cheeks flushed from the warmth and sugar. His legs swung beneath the table, carefree.
The doorbell jingled as someone new entered, the cold air curling inside.
My gaze lifted automatically, and my body went rigid before I could stop it.
Same build. Same dark hair. His hood was pulled low, shadowing most of his face, and for a split second the resemblance was too close–too much like Reid.
Just a man in a heavy coat, brushing snow from his shoulders.
Still, I slid my plate toward Connor, offering the last bite without a word.
The sense of calm began to slip, replaced by something harder to define. New places always held promise–and the possibility of disruption.
I forced myself to look away, inhaling slowly through my nose, steadying my breath. We’d face whatever came next. We had to.