Chapter 22
Twenty-two
Tarryn
I wake up to the soft hum of city traffic and the quiet rhythm of Declan’s breathing beside me. It’s Boxing Day which should be about shopping, but instead we’re going to my parents for brunch.
His arm is draped across my waist, heavy and warm, anchoring me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The faint light leaking through the blinds paints thin silver lines across the sheets, catching the faint stubble on his jaw where he’s pressed into the pillow.
For a few long seconds, I just watch him. His lashes twitch, his mouth curves faintly, and he shifts closer, half-asleep but aware of me.
“Staring’s kind of creepy,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“You weren’t supposed to catch me.”
He cracks one eye open. “You’re terrible at stealth.”
I smile and trace a line over his shoulder, feeling the muscle tighten beneath my touch. “I was thinking about how fast everything changed.”
“In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
He opens both eyes, searching mine. “Even with the fire and investigation, your brothers ready to tackle me at every turn?”
I breathe out a quiet laugh. “Especially with all that. It feels real. Not perfect, but real.”
Declan props himself on one elbow. The sheet slides down his chest, revealing the dark lines of old scars and the tan that hasn’t faded since summer.
“You’re sure you want to do this today? Introduce me as your boyfriend to your entire family?
Because I’ve seen the lineup. That breakfast is basically a firing squad with mimosas. ”
“They’re not that bad.”
He arches a brow. “Greyson threatened to ‘medically sedate’ me if I broke your heart.”
“That was more of a joke.”
“He didn’t laugh.”
I bite back a grin. “You’ll survive. My mom loves you and that’s why you’ll be fine.”
He exhales, slow and cautious, and lies back down. “Guess I should enjoy these last few minutes of peace before the shit hits the fan.”
I roll toward him, resting my chin on his chest. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Pretty sure that’s your job.”
He grins, but I catch the flicker of nerves underneath. It makes me want to protect him, which is ridiculous—he’s six feet of solid muscle and calm under pressure—but I still want to smooth the worry lines that appear when he thinks too hard.
“I’ll be right there with you,” I say. “They already know you, they already like you. This is just... official.”
His fingers trace the back of my neck. “Official sounds dangerous.”
I shift closer. “Official sounds overdue.”
He leans in, brushing his lips against mine.
It starts soft, lazy, the kind of kiss that stretches time until the outside world disappears.
When I slide a hand up his chest, he groans low in his throat and pulls me tighter.
The warmth spreads, steady and slow, the kind that lingers rather than burns.
By the time we pull apart, we’re both smiling like idiots.
“Morning breath and all,” he mutters.
“Still worth it.”
He laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like that about me.”
“Maybe.” He sits up and glances at the clock. “What time are we supposed to be there?”
“Nine. Mom’s punctual when there’s bacon involved.”
“That gives us…” He squints. “Thirty minutes. You drive?”
“You’re driving. If we pull up together in your truck, it’ll soften the blow.”
He shoots me a look. “Because nothing says ‘trust me’ like the guy who shows up in a truck full of emergency gear.”
“It says capable. Reliable. The kind of man my brothers can’t intimidate.”
He smirks. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve had practice.”
He stands, stretches, and disappears into the kitchen while I dress and attempt to do something with my just fucked hairdo.
“Coffee?” he calls out.
“Yes, please.”
The smell hits first—dark roast and something sweet. He returns with two mugs, handing me one before settling beside me on the couch. The quiet stretches between us, comfortable and easy.
“I keep thinking about how different it feels,” I say softly. “Not having to hide. Not wondering if it’s a mistake.”
Declan turns toward me. “It was never a mistake.”
“I know. But now it feels like something we’ve both chosen, not something we fell into.”
He studies me, then nods. “I’ll take that.”
I sip the coffee, watching the steam curl. “Do you ever think about what happens after all this? After Zach’s arrested, after the investigation wraps up?”
“Every day,” he admits. “But I try not to get ahead of it. I just want to know you’re okay.”
“I am.” I smile faintly. “Mostly.”
His gaze sharpens. “Mostly?”
I hesitate. “Zach’s still missing. It’s like there’s this shadow at the edge of everything. Ryker thinks the Marshal’s closing in on him, but Zach hasn’t been seen since the day of the fire.”
Declan’s jaw tightens. “He’s running.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t feel finished.”
“It will be.” His voice hardens just enough to make me believe it. “We’ll make sure it is.”
I nod, letting his certainty settle in my chest.
He stands, pulls on a clean shirt, and looks back at me. “You ready for the circus?”
“Almost.” I stand and brush the wrinkles from his shirt. “Do I look like I’ve slept?”
He steps close and smooths the fabric at my shoulder. “You look perfect.”
“Liar.”
He grins. “Maybe a little sleep-deprived. But still perfect.”
I grab my coat and purse, heart thudding faster than it should. “If my dad starts talking about marriage, you’re allowed to pretend you didn’t hear him.”
“Noted.”
“And if my brothers glare, you’re allowed to glare back.”
He gives me a look that says he’s up for the challenge. “This might be fun.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He locks the door behind us, and we head downstairs. The December air bites, crisp and bright, and the city hums with post-holiday quiet.
A short time later, his truck hums up the ridge road toward Paradise Hill.
The lake glimmers to our left, sunlight catching the water like a mirror.
The vineyard comes into view, the main house framed by snow-dusted vines that stretch for acres.
It still feels strange not seeing the cottage at the edge of the property, just an empty charred space where everything began.
Declan’s hand squeezes mine once before he parks near the main house. “You ready?”
“Not even a little.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
He opens my door, and the cold air rushes in. I step out and glance toward the porch where my mom’s already waving, apron tied around her waist, the smell of maple and bacon drifting through the open door.
“Too late to run?” he asks under his breath.
“Way too late.”
I grab his hand before he can change his mind. “Come on, hero. Time to face the firing squad.”
He grins despite himself and follows me up the steps. My mom’s eyes drop immediately to our joined hands, and I swear I see the smile she tries to hide.
“There’s my girl,” she says, pulling me into a hug before turning to Declan. “And my favorite firefighter. You’re just in time—your father’s making a mess in the kitchen.”
Declan laughs, easy and charming, and I know we’re off to a good start. Still, the weight in my chest doesn’t lift completely. Because even as warmth and laughter spill through the doorway, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers that it’s not over yet.
Zach’s still out there.
And until he’s found, none of us are completely safe.
Mom sweeps us into the kitchen like we’re late to a festival. Platters crowd the counters. Dad runs two pans and flips bacon with surgeon focus.
“Thought you two would oversleep,” Dad teases. “Coffee’s fresh. Grab plates.”
Declan hands out plates while I pour coffee. Greyson and Trinity set silverware. Beckett slices fruit. Sadie whistles off key. Kingston steals a strip of bacon. Ryker and Ginny step in with snow in their hair.
Mom bumps my hip. “Announcement from me or from you?”
“From me.”
We carry our plates to the long table. Candles flicker though it’s bright. A bowl of oranges glows in the center.
I stand. “I’ve something to share. Declan and I are moving in together. He’s my boyfriend.”
Silence holds a beat, then the room erupts.
Mom claps. “Finally.”
Dad points his spatula at Declan. “Treat her right or you flip the next hundred pancakes.”
“Deal,” Declan answers.
Greyson nods once. “I’ll treat any injuries he gets if he fails. At cost.”
Trinity winks at me. “Happy for you.”
Ryker studies Declan. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I answer.
Ginny squeezes my arm. “Then me too.”
Beckett lifts his mug. “Welcome to the loudest mornings in the valley.”
Kingston leans forward. “I already liked you,” he tells Declan. “Now I’ll try not to test you.”
“Trying’s good,” Declan says. “I brought jumper cables.”
Laughter cracks the tension. I exhale, a tiny tremor of relief loosening my chest. His knee bumps mine and steadies me. Plates move. Voices braid.
For a minute it’s easy. Then Ryker clears his throat. The table quiets.
“I talked to the police this morning. The arrest warrant for Zach is close. Days, not weeks.”
Forks pause.
“What changed?” I ask.
“Financial records that tie him to past vineyard fires. And testimony from a supplier through an intermediary.”
“Zach,” I breathe.
Ryker nods. “He’s the link. He bought materials that match the accelerant pattern. He used a throwaway number. The pings line up with his routes.”
Trinity frowns. “No one’s seen him.”
“No. He’s hiding,” Ryker says. “Scared or loyal. Either way, a loose wire.”
Ginny looks at me. “How do you want to handle today?”
Everyone waits. Declan squeezes my hand, and the room sharpens into focus.
“We don’t spiral,” I answer. “We eat. And we enjoy some American football.”
Dad nods. “Who are we cheering for?”
Kingston lifts his brows. “The Seahawks of course.”
Greyson taps the table. “I’m pulling for the Chiefs.”
I look at Declan. “Are you still able to meet the marshal with me after lunch?”
“Of course.”
The plan lands. Conversation resurfaces. The smell of coffee cools, laughter fading under the weight of what comes next. Mom sets down a new dish. “Eat before it gets cold. Worry travels farther on an empty stomach.”
Ryker watches Declan, then looks at me. “I was hard on you. I thought I was protecting you.”
My pulse spikes, the old instinct to yield tugging hard—but I hold the line.
“You were,” I answer. “But protection and control aren’t the same.”
He starts to argue. He closes his mouth. He nods. “You’re right.”
Relief slides through me.
Dad lifts the platter toward Declan. “What’s your plan when this ends?”
Declan glances at me, then back to Dad. “To keep showing up. With her.”
“Even when it’s messy?”
“Especially then.”
Dad studies him. “All right.”
Beckett steers the mood lighter. “If anyone needs me, I’m on call for syrup emergencies.”
“Only in this family,” Trinity says dryly, “could a felony investigation and pancakes share the same table.”
Laughter ripples. The heaviness cracks enough for us to breathe.
Kingston asks about deliveries. Sadie mentions a nervous supplier. Greyson reads a staff list. I keep notes. Work mode clicks in.
“Could someone be framing Zach?” Ginny asks.
“Possible,” Ryker allows. “But the only one who might do that would be your grandmother. What do you think?”
“She’s usually very verbal about her intentions,” Ginny says. “And I doubt she’d risk you not paying for the damage he caused to her award winning vines.”
We eat until the platters are thin. Chairs scrape. Everyone moves at once. Beckett and Sadie clear plates. Greyson and Trinity gather napkins. Kingston heads for the door. Ginny whispers about a Boxing Day sale she wants to hit. Mom loads the sink. Dad dries with a towel that used to be bright.
I turn to Declan. “Should we call the police?”
He reaches for my hand and we step onto the porch for a better signal. I follow. The air is sharp. Beyond the vineyard, the ridge stands too still, like the world’s holding its breath.
“They have confirmed a fingerprint of Zach’s found at the scene on the inside of a fire detector.”
Mom’s fist goes to her heart. “I can’t believe that Zach would do this.”
Dad pulls her into his arms. This is the ultimate betrayal. Together they hold each other tight.
“It’s progress,” Declan says.
“Progress,” I echo.
If Zach’s out there, he’ll run into us before he reaches the shadows again—and this time, I’ll be ready.