Chapter 4 #2
Sam decided to park on a side street where she could watch Main Street come to life.
The shops were all decorated for Christmas with twinkling lights and garlands, making everything look like something out of a movie.
She watched families walking together and parents carrying shopping bags while children pressed their noses to storefront windows.
Through the window of the florist shop, she could see a man arranging a display of red poinsettias.
The bookstore had fairy lights draped around its entrance, and even the grocery store had a wreath on its door, though Sam noticed with amusement that a goat wearing a hot pink and white polka dot sweater was currently trying to eat it.
Everyone belonged somewhere. Everyone had someone.
Before she could second-guess herself, she pulled out her phone and stared at the contact she’d never been able to delete. Her fingers hesitated over the screen before she finally pressed call.
“The number you have dialed has been disconnected...”
She ended the call and let the phone drop into her lap.
It had been two years since she’d run away after that horrible night, and still no answer.
Still no sign that anyone cared she was gone.
Who knew where her parents were now? They’d been addicted to alcohol and drugs for as long as she could remember, but she’d always hoped that one day they’d call. Guess not.
Bella nudged her hand, and Sam forced a smile. “At least I’ve got you, right?”
But as she watched a family emerge from the café, the parents laughing while their little girl skipped between them, The familiar ache of wanting something she’d never had practically overwhelmed her as she hugged Bella tight.
The note in her pocket seemed to burn against her ribs, a small flame of possibility she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do anything about.
---
The music had been so loud Christina could feel it in her bones, the bass thrumming through the crowded Miami club like a second heartbeat. She’d gone out clubbing one last time, dancing with a stranger whose name she didn’t want to know.
“No names, no personal history,” she’d said, laughing as he spun her around. “Just one night.”
And it had been just one night. Perfect in its recklessness, in the way it belonged entirely to that version of herself... the one who lived for the moment, who chased excitement like it was the only thing that mattered.
Christina had stood in front of the mirror in her small bedroom that evening, turning to and fro, admiring the red dress she’d plucked from the donation pile that hugged her curves.
After a long shower, where she’d taken extra care with every detail, from shaving her legs to moisturizing her skin, and even splurging on getting her nails and toes done in hot pink, she was ready for fun.
On the floor beside her, a pair of red stiletto heels with tiny crystals had sparkled faintly, the same ones she’d tossed into the donation pile earlier that day along with the party dress.
“One last night,” she’d murmured to herself, bending down to slip the shoes on. They fit perfectly, like they had been waiting for this moment, showing off her long tanned legs, making her feel beautiful.
The neon lights had flickered overhead at the club, casting vibrant hues across the sea of bodies.
Pink, blue, and green, all blending and swirling together like some kind of electric dream.
For hours, they’d danced, flirted, and laughed, completely lost in the moment.
The energy between them was electric, a spark that had nothing to do with the future or the past.
But when she woke up the next morning, tangled in sheets that weren’t hers, the sunlight streaming through unfamiliar blinds, it didn’t feel the way it used to.
There was no rush of adrenaline, no thrill of having lived a night without consequence.
Instead, there was a strange hollowness.
Not regret, exactly, but something close to it.
Like she had stepped into her old life for one night, tried it on again, and realized it no longer fit.
She’d slipped out quietly, without a word, and when she got back to the apartment, Ryan was still asleep with Angus curled up at the foot of his bed.
Christina had stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them, her heart swelling with emotions she couldn’t quite name.
Then she quietly closed the door, dropped the heels back into the donation pile, shimmied out of the red body-skimming dress, adding it to the pile, and went to take a shower before climbing into bed.
This was her life now. Not the clubs, not the parties, not dating men who wouldn’t commit, not the fleeting moments with strangers.
This. Ryan, Angus, the move to Blueberry Hill. This was what mattered.
She shook off the memory as she pulled the homemade pizza from the oven, the cheese bubbling golden and perfect.
The cottage kitchen felt warm and safe, filled with the comfortable sounds of family.
They all ate together a few times a week and did their own thing the rest of the time.
Ryan was setting the table, Ally chopped vegetables for the salad, and her mom was humming along to the Christmas music playing softly from the radio.
“Smells incredible,” Ryan said, appearing at her elbow. “What did you put on it this time?”
“Pepperoni, mushrooms, and that fresh mozzarella Will brought from town,” Christina replied, sliding the pizza onto the cutting board. “And maybe a little extra love.”
Ryan grinned. “The secret ingredient.”
As they gathered around the table, the conversation turned to the town’s mysterious Secret Santa, who had been leaving anonymous gifts all over town.
“Mary at the grocery store said someone paid for the Henderson family’s entire shopping bill,” Ally said, passing the salad. “Just left the money with a note.”
“And Mrs. Patterson found a box of winter coats on her porch for the kids at the daycare,” Tara added. “All in the right sizes, too.”
Christina listened to the speculation about who it could be, warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the hot pizza. This was what she’d been missing in Miami. This sense of community, of people caring for each other just because it was the right thing to do.
“I think it’s beautiful,” she said quietly. “The idea that someone wants to spread joy without getting credit for it.”
“Makes you want to do something nice for someone else, doesn’t it?” Ryan said, and she caught the thoughtful look in his eyes.
She nodded, noticing how he seemed distracted. “What’s on your mind?”
He hesitated, setting down his fork. “I saw someone the other day—a girl about my age, maybe a little older. She was living in her car with her dog.” He glanced at Tara, then back at Christina. “I left her a note with our address.”
“Ryan,” Tara said softly, concern in her voice. “That could be complicated. If she’s a runaway—”
“I know,” Ryan interrupted, his expression serious.
“I know there are legal things to consider, just like when I ran. But...” He took a deep breath.
“When I was alone after Mom died, before I found you all, I would have given anything for someone to just see me. To offer help without asking a million questions first.”
The table fell silent as they all remembered Ryan’s journey to find them after his mother’s death.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be careful,” he continued. “But I couldn’t just walk away. Not when it’s this cold, and she looked so...”
“Alone,” Christina finished for him, understanding completely.
Her mom reached across the table and squeezed Ryan’s hand. “If she shows up, we’ll figure out what to do.”
Outside, it began to rain. And inside the cottage, surrounded by family, Christina felt the profound difference between the life she’d left behind and the one she was building here. One had been about escape. This one was about coming home.