Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HAZEL
Trying to predict the weather in Sonoma County in late summer was like gambling blindfolded. Did I need a jacket or a bikini? Flip a coin.
Today, though, was a perfect eighty degrees and sunny. I sweat my way through work, but with Tex and Annie at my side, we made real progress on the Sonoma project.
It’d be done before I knew it.
The Seattle offer waiting in my inbox kept poking at the back of my brain like a nosy little sister. I’d started a pros and cons list. So far, the pro column was stacked:
Steady work.
Steady paycheck.
Not seeing Tucker every day would keep me from doing something very, very stupid.
The con list had only one thing on it:
Not seeing Tucker every day.
God, I was down bad.
At lunch, Caleb had pulled me aside. “Why does Tucker have a red tinge to his hair?”
I bit back a smile. “Ask him.”
“I did. He told me to ask you.”
“Oh, well, then I guess I can tell you—he got a bad highlight job.” I smiled sweetly. “I told him he should ask for a refund.”
Caleb stared at me, a slow, wicked smile across his face. “You’re evil. Love it.”
I was driving home when I got a text.
Tucker: Truce definitely over.
I snorted and laughed all the way to my dad’s house.
He was at the front door, saying goodbye to Sybil.
With his lips.
I squelched a grimace as they broke apart, Sybil smiling up at him with soft eyes, patting his cheek like he’d hung the moon.
“Have a good evening, sweetheart,” she called out to me as she passed me on her way to her car.
I stared after her, then turned to my dad. He was watching her go, a ridiculously mushy smile on his face that I hadn’t seen in…years. “I need to bleach my brain,” I muttered. “And maybe my retinas. But I’m glad you’re happy, Dad.”
“I’d be happier if you let me fleece you in poker over a loaded pizza.”
We sometimes played cards at night. It allowed us to hang out and connect without having to actually talk. Avoidance with structure—my specialty.
“Yes to poker,” I said. “No to loaded pizza. We can play cards over the chicken salads I’m going to make.” I waved the bag of groceries I’d stopped for on the way home.
He sighed like I’d canceled Christmas. Then sighed again when I won fifty bucks off him in Texas Hold’em.
After I’d showered and made exactly zero progress on the Seattle situation, I wandered the hallway. Every photo lining the walls had been taken before my mom had died. Like life was now frozen in place. I stopped in front of one—me at ten, holding up a birdhouse I’d built, beaming.
Mom had snapped the photo.
Grief came in waves, I’d discovered. One day I was fine, and the next I stood in the frozen aisle at the grocery store, tearing up at the sight of my mom’s favorite ice cream.
I needed something. Air. Quiet. Escape.
I didn’t think. I just moved and was on my way to the tree house via the path behind Tucker’s backyard before I realized what I was doing.
His gate was open, like an invitation. I hesitated, just for a second, then stepped through before I could talk myself out of it.
And came to a dead stop.
Tucker had set up a kiddie pool on the grass. Kiera’s twins ran full tilt around it, covered head to toe in mud. Tucker was mid-chase, laughing and losing.
He scooped up Abi, who squealed in delight and immediately smeared mud all over him as she hugged him tight. The red tinge in his hair caught the sun.
Oops.
He plunked Abi into the pool, then lunged for a giggling Alex, who dodged him like a pro.
I snorted, and Tucker’s head whipped to mine. “Hey,” he called out. “You laughing at me?”
“I am.”
“You try this—they’re slick as little piglets.”
I laughed. “Aw, is the big, bad firefighter being bested by two little four-year-olds?”
“Yes—” He finally caught Alex mid-sprint and held him like a squirming football.
Abi, now rinsed, promptly escaped and made a beeline back to the mud.
At one point, she wrapped herself around his leg like a koala and wouldn’t let go. He nearly went down like a redwood.
Near the fence, Hank sat in a lounge chair with a bowl of popcorn, clapping with glee.
“You’ve got the right idea,” I said, settling in beside him to enjoy the Tucker Colburn Bested by Toddlers show. “This is better than Netflix.”
Every time Tucker got one kid clean, the other one was back in the muck. The yard was a swamp. Her Fluffiness observed the scene from a safe distance on the back stoop with a lifted chin and deep feline judgment.
Then Abi dragged a step stool toward the kiddie pool.
“Hey,” I called to Tucker. “Pro tip: When a toddler walks past you lugging a step stool, nothing good is about to happen. Look alive.”
He gave me a look that could’ve melted paint off a wall.
I just grinned as my worries faded away and my heart lightened. That ache in my chest eased for a moment. It was the kind of light that comes from watching someone you care about being happy, even if you aren’t ready to admit how much that matters.
A shadow suddenly blocked out the sun.
Tucker, standing at the foot of the lounger where I sat.
I tried not to notice the black board shorts with little white smiley faces on them, or that his previously white shirt was now filthy and clinging to his torso like he was trying to win a wet T-shirt contest, or how his hair stuck up in muddy clumps.
“You going to help?” he asked. “Or just sit there and admire the view?”
“Definitely door number two.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
I loved watching him with the kids. He never raised his voice. He was endlessly patient, and every time he caught one, he hugged them close like they were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
I’d once thought he’d look good as a dad. I hadn’t been wrong.
And the twins melted into him like they knew it. Like their little hearts recognized safety when they felt it.
My throat tightened. There was something about watching him like this—unguarded, playful, full of joy—that cracked me right open. Like the past hadn’t taken everything after all.
My hands slid to my belly. What if I hadn’t lost the baby? What if he’d shown up that night? What if we’d become a family, stayed each other’s home base?
What if, what if, what if…?
A slice of grief slid through me that we hadn’t gotten our chance.
But, oh, how I understood why Abi and Alex melted for him.
I knew just how warm and strong his arms were, how they made it feel like nothing could penetrate and hurt you.
And I mentally added another con to leaving: not getting to see Tucker like this.
Happy. Unburdened. So damn good with kids, it made my heart hurt.
I decided to take mercy on Tucker and stood to help. “Kiddos. Come.”
They galloped over, eyes bright.
“How do you two feel about a hose?”
Cheers all around.
I rinsed them off, got them dry, and tucked them in beside Hank, who made a satisfied “ah,” which was universal for These kids are awesome.
Kiera emerged from the house and surveyed the carnage. “Did I miss a cyclone?”
Tucker, drenched and still battling mud, sent her a look. “Your kids are the sweetest little menaces I’ve ever met. They tag teamed me.”
“I’d say they’d never, but then they go ahead and never like they’ve never nevered before.” She whistled, and the twins immediately ran to her.
She shot Tucker a proud look and ushered her crew inside, Hank included.
Tucker faced me, dripping, shirt clinging, looking somewhere between exasperated and impressed. “You’re still good under pressure.”
“That wasn’t even close to pressure.”
He smiled. “You’re liking it here. In spite of yourself.”
He wasn’t wrong. And that scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t afford to feel this settled. Or this seen. Not when everything was temporary. Not when I still hadn’t told him so much.
So…I lifted the hose and nailed him in the chest.
I’d really hoped for an unmanly yelp. But he just laughed, running his hands down his torso, pushing off chunks of mud like it was a spa day.
“You forgot something,” he said casually.
“What’s that?”
“Payback.”
The image of him hosing me down, then following that up with those big, skilled hands sent a shiver down my spine. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
His eyes gleamed. “Yeah, you’re definitely starting to like it here.” Then he stepped in close, wrapped a hand around mine on the hose…
And turned it on me.
I squealed and laughed, spinning away in a shower of cold spray—but inside I was bracing.
Not for the cold water.
But for the fall.
I already knew what it felt like to lose him.
And I was terrified of finding out what it felt like to let him in again.