Chapter 1 #2
“The worst yet.” She allowed herself to sink into his strength for a moment, breathing in the scent of winter and wood shavings that had come to mean safety. “She’s disappearing. Every day, a little more of her just... goes.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” The endearment still made her chest flutter. At fifty-five, she’d thought those kinds of feelings were behind her, reserved for young love and romance novels. Will had proved her wrong about a lot of things.
“I feel so guilty,” she whispered. “She saved me when I had nothing, and now when she needs saving, there’s nothing I can do.”
He tipped her chin up gently, his blue eyes serious. “You think Patty would want you to give up your happiness to go sit by her side and watch her fade away? The woman who loaded up her SUV with everything you’d need to start over? Who gave you cash so you’d have a safety net?”
Before she could answer, the bedroom door creaked open, and Emily’s voice drifted toward the kitchen.
“Do I smell coffee?” Her daughter-in-law appeared in the doorway, her pregnant belly leading the way, draped in one of Evan’s old t-shirts. Her light brown hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were bright. “And eggs?”
“Omelettes,” Tara confirmed, quickly wiping her eyes and turning back to the stove. “How’s my granddaughter this morning?”
Emily placed a hand on her rounded stomach, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Practicing her soccer kicks. I think she’s going to be an athlete.”
Evan appeared behind his wife, his hair still damp from the shower, dark circles under his eyes betraying another restless night. “Morning, Mom. Will.” He nodded to each of them, heading straight for the coffee. “Snowing pretty hard out there.”
“Six inches by tonight, according to the forecast,” Will said, sliding plates onto the table as Tara flipped the first omelette. “You folks still planning to look at the old Hamilton place out on Cedar Lane today?”
Emily and Evan exchanged a glance laden with meaning. The house on Cedar Lane, with its view of the lake and its nursery-ready second bedroom, seemed perfect, if they could figure out what Evan would do for work in a town this size.
“The realtor said she’d call if the roads get too bad,” Emily said, lowering herself carefully into a chair. “But I really hope we can see it. The pictures online were beautiful.”
Before Evan could respond, the mudroom door burst open with a gust of cold air that carried the sharp scent of pine and snow.
Angus, the brown mutt’s tail wagging so enthusiastically his whole body wiggled, ran in first, leaving wet paw prints across the floor as he greeted everyone with equal enthusiasm.
Christina followed, her honey-blonde hair tucked under a knit cap, carrying a plate covered with a red-checkered kitchen towel. Behind her came Ryan, his dark hair dusted with snow, cradling a mason jar that caught the morning light like liquid amber.
Tara watched her daughter move confidently around the kitchen, the same daughter who, just a month ago, had barely been able to look her in the eye.
Their relationship had weathered the storm of betrayal and misunderstanding, and had softened into something stronger, more honest than before.
When Harry had denied his son, Christina had finally seen the truth of who her father really was.
Christina caught her staring and flashed a warm smile, a far cry from the guarded expressions of last spring.
The healing between them felt like its own kind of miracle.
“We brought breakfast contributions,” Christina announced, setting the plate on the counter. “I woke up craving biscuits.” She pulled back the towel to reveal golden-brown rounds. “From a can, not from scratch like yours, Mom, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
“And I brought honey from Mr. Jenkins’ hives,” Ryan added, so different from the wary, closed-off boy who’d arrived on her doorstep with Christina last month.
“They smell delicious,” she said, genuinely touched.
She watched as Ryan moved around the kitchen with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged, setting out plates and silverware without being asked.
Harry’s son, the living reminder of her ex-husband’s betrayal, had somehow become a part of her heart, proof of how life could surprise you with its capacity for healing.
As everyone settled around the table, the conversation flowed easily from topic to topic. The Secret Santa mystery, the best Christmas tree farms in the area, and even though she hadn’t joined them all for breakfast, Ally’s plans for her business in the spring.
“Maybe Ally could keep bees,” Ryan suggested suddenly, slathering a biscuit with honey. “With all her flowers, they’d have plenty to eat. It could be another income stream.”
“Not to mention you’d get first dibs,” Christina teased, nudging her half-brother with her elbow.
Ryan’s sweet tooth was legendary. He put honey on toast, biscuits, and stirred it into his coffee along with cocoa, much to the disgust of Evan, who believed coffee should be black and strong enough to strip paint.
“It’s a good idea,” Will said thoughtfully. “Honey’s a solid seller at the farmers’ market. And with the right setup, it’s not too labor-intensive.”
Ryan’s face lit up at the validation, and Tara felt a surge of gratitude toward Will. He had a way of making everyone feel heard and valued, especially Ryan, who’d had so little of that lately.
“If Ally goes for it, I could help build the hive boxes,” Evan offered, surprising everyone.
He’d been the last to warm to Ryan’s presence, still dealing with his father’s betrayal.
But over the past few weeks, something had shifted.
“Thanks to Will, I’ve been watching some woodworking tutorials online. Might as well put them to use.”
Ryan looked up, his usual reserve melting into genuine enthusiasm.
“Really? That would be awesome. I found these plans that use a special joint system.” He pulled out his phone, and Evan leaned over to look, their heads bent together over the screen.
The simple moment of connection between brothers who were still learning to be family wasn’t lost on her.
The conversation continued as they ate, the warm kitchen filled with the sounds of clinking forks and easy laughter.
Looking around the table, Tara marveled at how full her life had become since she’d moved into the cottage.
From the ashes of her marriage, a new kind of family had emerged.
Messier, more complicated, but infinitely more authentic than the carefully curated image she’d maintained in Miami.
Ryan swallowed the last bite of his biscuit and pushed back from the table, already reaching for his environmental science textbook as he checked his phone.
“Charlie’s here,” he said, gathering his things. “We’re going to work on our lab for class next week. We’ll be back from campus before the snow gets worse.” He wrapped four biscuits in a napkin and tucked them into his backpack. “Come on, Angus.”
The dog bounded to his side, tail still wagging. Ryan paused at the door, looking back at the warm kitchen scene with a flicker of something like wonder in his eyes, as if he still couldn’t quite believe this was his life now.
“Be careful out there,” Tara called after him. “Text me when you’re heading back.”