Chapter 18
Sandra blinked open her eyes and stretched. Instantly realizing she wasn’t in her bed, she sat up to see Toby and Emma in the kitchen, whispering as they appeared to be getting out some pans while trying not to make noise. “Oh my goodness, guys! Don’t be quiet on my account.”
Sandra pushed herself up from the couch, her body protesting the awkward position she'd slept in.
The throw blanket had twisted around her legs during the night, and she worked to untangle herself before shaking out the soft fabric.
Her fingers smoothed the wrinkles as she draped it across the sofa's back.
"I hope we didn't wake you." Emma's voice carried genuine concern, her youthful face radiant with morning energy as she padded into the living room. “But Toby doesn’t know how to be quiet.”
Toby appeared behind his sister, his hair sticking up at odd angles. "Hey, I was hungry."
A warm laugh bubbled up from Sandra's chest. "You didn't wake me, and I'm hungry, too."
She hurried toward the powder room. The cool water helped to refresh her skin and wake her fully. She finger-combed her tousled hair back into a neat ponytail. The mirror reflected tired eyes and pillow creases on her cheek, but there was also a contentment she hadn't felt in a long time.
In the kitchen, Toby had already claimed the role of breakfast coordinator, a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread positioned on the counter like soldiers awaiting orders.
"Do you want some help?"
Toby glanced up, his eyes sparkling as he tapped his chin with deliberate drama. "What are your breakfast specialties?"
"Toby!" Emma's voice carried the exasperated tone of an older sister. "You shouldn't ask that. She's a guest and doesn't need to cook for us."
Toby whirled around, his expression indignant. "Well, she might be a guest, but if her breakfast is better than what we fix, then I'm all for letting a guest do some of the cooking."
Sandra's laughter filled the kitchen, genuine and unguarded. "I don't mind helping at all. And my breakfast specialties are world-famous French toast and—"
"You've got the job!" Toby declared, his excitement obvious as he bounced on his toes. "I was just going to make toast with butter and jelly, but French toast is so much better!" His enthusiasm dimmed slightly as suspicion crept into his voice. "How do you know it's world famous?"
A bittersweet smile tugged at Sandra's lips. "That was what my grandmother always called it."
The memory wrapped around her in a familiar embrace as she heated the griddle.
When visiting, she used to wake early just so she could help her grandmother in the kitchen.
While the others slept in, she relished the time spent as the two talked about what was going on in Sandra’s life and her grandmother shared stories from her childhood.
Shaking her head to clear the memories, she stepped up to the counter.
Emma worked beside her, the sausage patties sizzling under the broiler while Sandra whisked eggs with milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. The domestic scene felt natural in a way that surprised her.
The sound of the front door opening caused all three heads to turn in unison, and Sandra's heart stuttered as Terry appeared in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, and exhaustion etched lines around his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Dad! You were gone all night!" Toby's voice carried across the kitchen as he launched himself toward his father.
Terry's large hand ruffled his son's unruly hair, affection evident in the gentle gesture. "You're right, I was. And since I'm standing right next to you, you don't need to shout, bud. Although your enthusiasm at my return is appreciated."
He caught Sandra's eye and winked, but dad duty called first. His daughter received his attention, and he wrapped his arms around Emma in a protective embrace. "Smells good in here, sweetheart."
Emma practically glowed under his praise. "Just so you know… I wasn't going to have Sandra cook since she's a guest. But Toby insisted because her specialty is French toast."
Terry's gaze found Sandra across the kitchen.
She gripped the spatula tighter, fighting the urge to rush to him.
Everything in her wanted to offer comfort, to smooth the tension from his shoulders and ask about whatever crisis had kept him away all night.
Instead, she remained rooted beside the stove, her eyes drinking in every detail of his face.
Something shifted in his expression, as though he could read her internal struggle.
He crossed the kitchen in three quick strides, his arms encircling her with a tenderness that made her knees weak.
His lips brushed hers in a kiss that was both greeting and reassurance, warm and brief but full of promise.
"Never want you to feel like you have to cook for us, but I'm with Toby..." His voice rumbled against her ear. "If French toast is your specialty, I'm all in."
She melted into his embrace, her free hand finding the solid wall of his chest. "I know you've got to be exhausted."
He nodded, and she caught the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders carried invisible weight. Frustration and fatigue warred in his dark eyes.
"I'm going to my room to shower and change clothes. I'll be right back out." His gaze drifted to the coffee pot with longing. "If there's any chance I can get a cup of that in a few minutes, that'd be great."
Concern knotted in Sandra's stomach. "Are you sure you want that? If you have caffeine, then you won't be able to sleep."
"That's a nice thought, Sandra, but I'm going to try to stay awake. I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Sandra acutely aware of two pairs of young eyes studying her every move. Heat crept up her neck as she turned back to the griddle, focusing on the golden-brown toast with unnecessary intensity.
"That was really nice of you, Sandra." Emma's voice carried a softness that tightened Sandra's chest.
She turned, confusion clear on her face.
Emma continued. "Caring about whether Dad would be able to sleep or not. That was nice of you to think of that."
Toby nodded solemnly. "It was also nice of you to stay during the night. Dad doesn't mind leaving us for a couple of hours since we're old enough, but he would've been worried if he had been gone all night."
Their words sent curiosity through Sandra. Had their mother not cared about such things? Had Terry faced his burdens alone, without someone to worry about his rest or well-being? The thought sent a protective surge through her that she hadn't expected.
Determined to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere, she forced a bright smile. "I'm glad I stayed, too. After all, we can have Grandma O’Neill’s world-famous French toast."
Toby's skeptical expression returned. "Is it like certified or something?"
Emma's giggles filled the kitchen as Sandra shook her head. "Well, I don't have a document that certifies the world-famousness, but we'll see what you say after you try them."
Minutes later, the four of them sat around the table, plates piled high with golden slices of French toast dusted with powdered sugar and accompanied by fresh strawberries.
The first bite brought satisfied moans from all three Bunswicks, and Sandra glowed with accomplishment as they unanimously declared her breakfast specialty truly worthy of its world-famous title.
For the first time since moving to the Shore, Sandra felt like she belonged somewhere and wasn’t just here for work. The realization should have terrified her, but instead, it filled her with hope.
By the time the breakfast dishes were cleared and the kitchen restored to order, the children had drifted into the living room.
Emma curled into a corner of the sofa, her book already open and holding her complete attention.
Toby claimed the remote control with the satisfaction of someone who'd won a hard-fought battle, settling in for what promised to be a lazy Sunday morning of channel surfing.
Sandra found herself adrift in the sudden quiet, her hands fidgeting with a dish towel as uncertainty crept in. What was her place here now? The morning had felt natural, but with the tasks complete and the children occupied, she wasn't sure where she fit.
Terry stepped closer, his presence both comforting and electric. His eyes held hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken as he reached out and gently pulled the dish towel from her restless fingers. The fabric landed softly on the counter.
Without a word, his hand found her arm, fingers trailing along her skin in a caress that sent shivers racing through her.
When his fingers intertwined with hers, the simple contact felt like coming home.
A gentle tug guided her toward his room, and she followed willingly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them in intimate privacy.
Sandra lifted her eyebrow, waiting. The last time she'd been in this room, she'd escaped through the sliding glass door, her emotions a tangled mess of frustration and longing.
But now, with Terry so close and something weighing on his mind, she simply waited.
He had brought her here for a reason, and she wanted him to feel safe enough to share his thoughts.
He reached for her other hand, linking both of theirs together in a connection that felt both tender and desperate.
"Last night didn't go the way I wanted it to.
" His words carried the weight of disappointment as he shook his head.
"I wanted you to meet my kids but with me around.
I wanted to have time to just talk with you after they went to bed.
I wanted to make sure that after the last time you were here, you were once again comfortable in my home.
" His gaze never left her face, regret etched in every line. "And none of that happened."
She stepped closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice.
Her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him, seeing past his exhaustion to the man beneath.
"There are a lot of times in life when we have an idea in our head of how something will go.
And then real life never quite matches what we have in our imagination.
" Her gentle voice was full of understanding.
"But, Terry, last night was fine. Dinner was great with all of us, and I didn't mind staying.
In fact, it gave me a chance to get to know your kids a little bit better.
And while we hadn't expected this morning, that gave us more time for the kids to get to know me. "
Their fingers released simultaneously, as though choreographed by a deeper understanding. Her hands lifted to wrap around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight tension in his muscles. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him until no space remained between them.
He bent his head, sealing his lips over hers with a hunger that spoke of the long night apart. Desire took over, keeping the kiss hot with flames licking through her body. Every nerve ending came alive under his touch, and she lost herself in the taste and feel of him.
But reality intruded slowly, reminding them that Emma and Toby were just down the hall. They separated reluctantly, both breathing harder than before, but remained wrapped closely together.
Her fingers traced along his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his shirt. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I am. It was a shit night." His voice carried exhaustion and frustration.
"Started as what looked like a typical beach house party that got out of hand.
Turns out, it was way more complicated than that—drugs, alcohol, underage kids, and wealthy college students with lawyers for parents.
" He rubbed his face with his free hand.
"Spent most of the night processing evidence and trying to sort out who was responsible for what.
Some of these entitled kids thought their daddies' money would make it all disappear. "
Sandra's heart ached for him, imagining him dealing with a situation where justice got tangled up in politics and privilege, while he should have been home with his children and her.
"But after all that, I came home, not knowing what I would find.
And my children were in the kitchen early on a Sunday morning, smiling and laughing with you while making breakfast." His voice grew softer, more reverent.
"They'd done that with me. They'd done that with their grandparents.
But they never had that with their mom. And seeing it with you suddenly made everything that I had to do last night seem okay. "
He kissed her again, this time with tenderness that made her eyes sting with unshed tears.
"I know we're early days, Terry. But anytime you need me, I'm here. Because I really liked being with your kids, too."
Something shifted in his expression, a wall crumbling to reveal hope and gratitude. "You have no idea how much that means to me." His thumb traced along her cheek. "I haven't had someone to share this with in a long time."
"Well, you do now." She smiled, meaning every word. "We'll figure it out together."
“We’re good?”
She nodded, but he pressed onward. “I mean, are we together?”
Soft laughter slipped out. “Yes, Terry. We’re together.”
He rested his forehead against hers, and for a moment, they simply breathed together, finding peace in each other's presence. The weight of the night seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by something lighter and more hopeful.
"Come on," he said finally, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "Let's go see if we can convince the kids to agree on a movie."
She laughed softly. "Good luck with that."
They walked back to the living room hand in hand, and Sandra felt the rightness of it settle deep in her bones. Emma looked up from her book with a knowing smile, while Toby barely glanced away from the television.
"Movie time?" Terry suggested, and suddenly, the living room filled with an animated discussion about what to watch.
Sandra settled onto the sofa with Terry beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Emma was on the other side, and Toby was sprawled on the floor with the remote.
Sandra realized this was what happiness felt like.
Not the fleeting joy of a moment, but the deep contentment of belonging somewhere, with someone, surrounded by the gentle chaos of family life.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting everything in golden light, and Sandra allowed herself to believe that maybe she was exactly where she needed to be.