Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Trudy
I stood in front of my closet, staring at the dresses hanging there like they might suddenly make this easier.
Harold and Edith’s anniversary party. Ten years.
A milestone that used to mean something to me, a reminder that love could last, that commitment mattered.
Now it just felt like a reminder of everything I’d lost and was terrified of losing again.
“You’re not backing out on me.”
I turned to find Stephen leaning against my bedroom doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, that look on his face that said he wasn’t going to accept any of my excuses.
He’d been staying more nights than not lately, had basically claimed half my closet without asking, and was becoming increasingly difficult to say no to.
“I never said I was backing out,” I lied.
“You didn’t have to. I can see it written all over your face.
You’re thinking of reasons why you shouldn’t go.
Why it’s a bad idea. Why people will talk.
” He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me.
“Well, they’re going to talk anyway, Trudy.
So you might as well give them something worth talking about. ”
“That’s not helpful,” I muttered, turning back to the closet.
“Neither is hiding.” His voice was softer now, closer. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me against his chest. “You’re going to that party with me. You’re going to dance. You’re going to let people see that you’re happy. Because you are happy. Stop pretending you’re not.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that happiness was a dangerous thing to hold onto, that it could be taken away just like everything else had been taken from me. But he was right, and I hated that he was right. I was happy. Terrified, confused, guilty about it, but happy.
“Fine,” I said, pulling out a midnight blue dress I’d bought years ago and never worn. “But I’m not dancing.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
The park was decorated with string lights and flowers; the Fosters had spared no expense for this celebration.
Tables lined the perimeter with food and drinks, a small band played on a makeshift stage, and the whole town seemed to have shown up.
I recognized most faces, people I’d served at the bakery, people who’d known Terry, people who were watching me with Stephen with carefully neutral expressions.
Let them watch.
Let them wonder.
Let them judge.
Stephen kept his hand on the small of my back the entire time we walked through the crowd, introducing me to people I already knew, making it crystal clear to everyone present that I was with him.
There was something possessive about it that should have bothered me.
Instead, it made me feel safe. Claimed. Like I was worth fighting for.
“I’m going to grab us some drinks,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”
I found a picnic table away from most of the crowd and sat down, watching the party unfold around me.
Couples danced. Children ran in circles.
The band played something slow and romantic, and I felt that familiar ache in my chest, the longing for what I’d lost mixed with something new.
Hope, maybe. Or the terrifying possibility of hope.
“Mind if I join you?”
I looked up to find Cash standing there, a sleeping infant in his arms. He was dressed up by biker standards, leather cut worn over a nice button-down, his hair combed, a softness in his expression that I recognized from watching him with Kytten.
“Of course.” I gestured to the bench across from me. “Is that Sampson or Markus?”
“Markus,” Cash said, settling into the seat carefully, like he was afraid any sudden movement would wake the baby. “Sampson’s with Rosie. She’s probably spoiling him with ice cream by now.”
I laughed, and it surprised me how easily it came. How good it felt.
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the crowd. Cash’s eyes kept drifting to where Kytten stood with their other son, laughing about something, completely unselfconscious in her happiness.
Cash shifted Markus in his arms, then looked at me with that direct gaze bikers seemed to have mastered. “You remember what you told me? A year ago, when I was losing my mind over being attracted to Rose so soon after Rachel’s death?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “I... what?”
“You told me I didn’t need to go looking for someone. That I just needed to be open when someone found me.” His mouth curved slightly. “Said I needed to stop running from it.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I remember.”
“Well.” He glanced down at Markus, then back at me. “Worked out pretty damn well, wouldn’t you say? Got Rose. Got these two boys. Got a whole life I didn’t think I’d have.”
“Cash—”
“You also told me,” he continued, not letting me deflect, “that Terry made you promise to give relationships an honest try. That you’d give each one a real chance because that was what he wanted for you.”
My throat tightened. “That’s different.”
“How?” His voice was gentle but firm. “How’s it different, Trudy? You gave me permission to move on. Told me that how much you love someone isn’t measured by how long you grieve them; it’s measured by how you choose to live after.”
I looked away, watching the dancers. “I know what I said.”
“Then why aren’t you taking your own advice?” Cash asked quietly. “Popeye’s a good man. Anyone can see he’s crazy about you. And unless I’m reading this wrong, you feel the same way.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated.” He adjusted Markus again, his expression softening. “But you told me Rachel wanted me to have a life. That she’d want me to be happy. You think Terry would want anything different for you?”
My eyes stung. “No.”
“Then stop fighting it.” Cash stood carefully, cradling his son. “Go dance with your man, Trudy. Take the advice you gave me and actually follow it yourself.”
I stared up at him, this biker who’d listened to my wisdom a year ago and was now throwing it back at me with the kind of honesty only someone who’d walked through grief could manage.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” I said, my voice thick.
“Right back at you.” He grinned. “Now go. Before he comes looking for you and I have to watch him get all possessive and territorial.”
I laughed despite myself, wiping at my eyes. “Thank you, Cash.”
“Thank you,” he said. “For telling me it was okay to live again. Now do the same for yourself.”
Before either of us could say more, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Stephen was there with my drink, pressing a kiss to the top of my head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Found you,” he murmured against my hair. “Come on. They’re playing a good song.”
He didn’t wait for me to protest. He took my hand and pulled me up from the table, my initial resistance melting the moment he wrapped his arm around my waist. I glanced back at Cash one last time and saw him watching us with an expression I recognized...
hope. The same hope I’d discovered in myself when Stephen first refused to let me hide.
On the dance floor, with Stephen’s arms wrapped securely around me and his body solid and warm against mine, I finally let go of the last bit of guilt I’d been carrying around like a stone in my pocket.
Terry had wanted this for me. He’d made me promise to keep living, to keep opening my heart, to not let his death be the thing that closed me off from the world. And I had tried it, twice.
And failed.
But Cash reminded me that Terry wouldn’t want me to stop trying. I was honoring him, honoring his memory and the love we’d shared by choosing happiness instead of running from it, by allowing myself to feel something real and good instead of burying myself in work and routine.
Stephen pulled back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine with that intensity that used to make me nervous but now just made me feel seen. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the music.
“Yeah,” I said, and meant it with every fiber of my being. The truth of it settled into my bones, solid and sure. “I’m more than okay.”
He grinned that cocky, confident grin that had annoyed me so much when we first met, and pulled me close again, so close I could feel every hard inch of him pressed against me. “Good,” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm. “Because I’ve been thinking about getting you alone all night.”
My face flushed instantly. “Stephen?—”
“What?” His laugh was low and dangerous as he swayed me to the music.
“You don’t think I noticed how that dress fits you?
How every man here has been trying not to stare?
” His hand tightened on my waist, possessive and commanding.
“But you’re mine, Trudy. They all know it.
And in about an hour, I’m taking you home and reminding you exactly who you belong to. ”
Heat bloomed across my chest and up my neck. “We’re in public,” I whispered, even as I found myself pressing closer to him.
“I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.” His voice was rough, possessive. “Let them see. Let them know you’re taken by a man who’s going to spend all night showing you exactly how much he wants you.”
I should have been mortified, should have told him to behave himself.
Instead, I felt my pulse quicken, felt my body respond to his promises in ways that made me grateful for the darkness of the setting sun.
We swayed together, our bodies finding a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the connection between us, and I realized I wasn’t worrying about what people were thinking or saying.
I wasn’t wondering if this was too soon or if I was being disloyal to Terry’s memory or if I deserved to feel this light and free.
I was just... present. Just enjoying the feeling of being held by someone who wanted to hold me, who chose me every day and made sure I knew it.
The music shifted to something faster, more upbeat, and Stephen spun me out and then back in, making me laugh like I was a girl again instead of a woman who’d spent years trying not to feel anything at all.
The joy bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising me with its force.
Around us, other couples danced, their movements blurring into a kaleidoscope of color and motion.
Cash and Kytten had joined the floor with both their babies in their arms, moving together like they’d been doing this forever, like they’d invented some new form of dancing that involved toddlers and perfect synchronization.
The whole scene was chaotic and messy and perfectly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that came from real life, not from carefully staged photographs or fairy-tale endings.
And I was part of it. Not standing on the outside, watching other people live their lives like I was looking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to.
Not hiding in the bakery, serving other people’s happiness while I pretended to be content with crumbs, convincing myself that witnessing joy was the same as experiencing it.
I was in the middle of it all, claiming my place, allowing myself to take up space in a way I hadn’t in far too long.
When the song ended, Stephen didn’t let me go.
He just held me there, his chin resting on top of my head, his hand splayed across my lower back like he was memorizing the shape of me.
I could feel his heartbeat through his chest, steady and strong, and I let myself sink into the moment without worrying about what came next.
“I love you,” he said quietly, like it was a fact we both already knew.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face for any sign of teasing or manipulation. I found none. Just a gruff biker who’d walked into my bakery six months ago and refused to let me hide anymore.
“I love you too,” I said, and it felt like stepping off a cliff. Terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Stephen’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Trudy. You’re stuck with me.”
“I know,” I said, letting him pull me back close.
And for the first time since Terry died, I didn’t feel guilty about that. Instead, I felt grateful. Grateful for second chances. Grateful for a man stubborn enough to fight through my walls. Grateful for permission, from Terry, from Cash’s honesty, from myself, to keep living.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.