Chapter Eleven #2
My gaze flits to the mess of plugs, and for a brief second, I contemplate turning the tutorial back on—for research purposes. Clearly, the guy knew what he was doing. The woman was closer to combusting in five seconds than I was with either of my ex’s.
I exhale sharply, my breath coming out in a rush as I drop to the couch in a daze. All I wanted was to stretch out my tired muscles, not witness— wait .
Was that seriously porn?
Fuck, I’m not a prude by any means, but that was a jump scare wrapped in Lycra and disguised as inner peace.
Note to self: Never accept yoga recommendations from Abby ever again.
I snag my phone and pull up my texts.
Me: Brannon? Are you kidding me? I hate you.
The timer on my bread machine goes off, and I jump up, rushing to the kitchen. I drop my phone on the counter, wash my hands, and grab my oven mitts, pretending the last however many minutes didn’t happen.
“Come on,” I murmur, my brows furrowed as I gently flip the pan over. “Don’t fail me.”
It slips from the tin perfectly, landing on the cooling rack with a tiny thud that makes my heart swoon. My smile is hesitant but real as I quickly wash the pan and unplug the bread maker, leaving the loaf to cool while I make my coffee.
It’s still early, but I have to head to Serenity Falls High to investigate a new chronic truancy report I was just assigned, and it’s a good forty minute drive from here.
A few days ago, I had to go into the county office to meet with Finch.
He said Ethel Sorrenson, Kade’s original caseworker, is returning to light duty this week.
She’ll be resuming her Heart Springs caseload, including Aurora’s, which means I’m officially being reassigned to cover Serenity Falls full time.
It’s what was supposed to happen eventually. But hearing it now, after meeting him and Aurora—I’m not sure how I feel.
On one hand, it’s a relief. I was starting to lose my ability to stay impartial. I hardly know the man. He’s grumpy, rude, and condescending. Being around him makes my nerves go haywire and my brain spaz out. I lose all composure and restraint—which isn’t like me at all.
I know being removed from the case is a good thing. I was well on my way to slipping up and risking my job, not to mention my professional reputation.
But more than that, crossing any boundaries with Kade Archer would hurt Aurora the most, and that sweet baby girl doesn’t deserve adults she hardly knows getting in the way of a possibly wonderful future.
Professional conflicts aside…
I haven’t seen or spoken to Kade in days, and I still can’t get him off my mind. I tell myself it’s just attraction. That I’m only interested because I secretly love sparring with him. That his smile, his voice, his overwhelming willingness to step up for Aurora—mean nothing to me.
And then I remind myself: I’m a big, fat liar.
My phone vibrates, and I quickly open my texts.
Witchling: But did you come?
Me: Did you when you watched it?
Witchling: Watch it? I was in it. Didn’t you get to the second act?
I gape at my phone, unable to tell if she’s serious or not.
My best friend is a free spirit, wild in every single way, down to her brilliant bones.
She’s a senior financial analyst by day, but only because her uptight, Wall Street parents made her follow in their footsteps.
But at heart, she’s a green witch chasing her forever dream of opening an apothecary.
Based on all the adventures we’ve had and stories she’s told me, I don’t doubt her involvement in the porno at all, but…
Me: I want to say you’re lying, but I already threw away my TV, so there’s no way to know.
Witchling: Threw it away? Guess you didn’t get to work cowboy out of your system, then. Bet you’re all sorts of horny now.
Me: Goodbye, Abigail.
Witchling: Love you, have a wet day!
Sighing, I lock my phone and toss it on the table. Unfortunately, she’s not wrong. I’m still horny, and now I have blue ovaries, which is way worse.
Once the bread is cool enough, I grab my serrated knife and pause, holding my breath.
This is it—the moment of truth.
The knife glides through the loaf with zero resistance, revealing the perfect, airy center. My jaw drops.
“Holy gluten-free grail,” I choke out, staring at the soft, pillowy crumb. It’s perfect.
I shake my head and exhale through a proud smile as I slice another piece and pop it in the toaster.
When I got my diagnosis, everything changed. Suddenly, I was saying goodbye to croissants, bagels, and late-night pizza binges—all my favorite things—and hello to endless ingredient labels and an obsessive need to Google “is this gluten-free?”
It was exhausting. Not to mention beyond expensive.
The simple act of shopping or eating made me mad, and when I’m mad, I bake. But even that looked different.
I was at a crossroads in my life—give up everything I know, love, and find comfort in, or adapt, and I’ve been adapting my entire life. So I learned. Bread, snacks, desserts, you name it. If it’s gluten-free and edible, I’ve probably made it. And now, I don’t just survive; I thrive.
Who needs a bakery or expensive grocery store when you can make sourdough this perfect?
The toaster dings, and I pile the slice high with avocado, salt, chili flakes, and a drizzle of olive oil. Grabbing my breakfast and coffee, I set myself up at the tiny kitchen table, back to the TV.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at it again without thinking of Kade.
And apparently Abby.
Sighing, I take a sip of steaming hot coffee, letting the oat milk and sugar coat my tongue, and pull out the mostly empty binder I brought with me from New York.
My breath catches, and the coffee twists in my stomach, but I open it, eyes zeroing in on the first page.
A photocopy of a birth certificate that doesn’t belong to me.
Lorna Iris Walker was born in the Heart Springs Emergency Clinic just over forty-seven years ago to Joseph and Sarah Walker.
There are no photos, no addresses or any other identifying information, and given that it was nearly fifty years ago, in a rural community, finding more details has been extremely hard.
I stare at it for a long moment and munch on my toast. It’s cooked perfectly, but I hardly taste it at all.
Swallowing thickly, I flip to the next page.
Georgia Rose Walker, born on August twentieth to Lorna Walker—and a blank space for a father—in Saffron, West Virginia, population four hundred thirty-two.
A town so small, so in the middle of absolutely nowhere, that the doctors at the tiny hospital were unable to save her mom, Lorna, when she hemorrhaged during childbirth.
Only eighteen years old, and Lorna passed before she ever got to hold her baby. And that baby? She became a ward of the state before she even opened her eyes.
Fifteen years. That’s how long I bounced around foster homes. In and out. Never a fit. Never wanted long enough to stay.
Not until Robin Donnelly.
She was older—mid-seventies and cranky in the mornings, but she loved me like I’d always been hers.
She was a widow who lived on a small farm she and her late husband had dreamed of.
On that farm, she raised me through heartbreak, taught me how to fight for myself, and made sure I believed I was worth something, all while riding a horse with a shovel in my hand.
She’s the reason I made it through undergrad. The reason I applied to grad school in New York and got my MSW.
She’s the reason I believed I could help other kids like me.
Robin died before she could see me graduate. That part still hurts the most, but I pushed through anyway. For Robin. For the mother who never got to hold me. For the father I’ve never known. For the family I dreamt of.
And for me.
It took me years before I could work up the courage to look for information about my roots, but I had to do it. It’s been a clawing ache in the pit of my soul for as long as I can remember.
For years, I used to stare at the front doors or foster homes and imagine someone busting them down to get to me. To save me. Bring me home, and love me.
The places I lived were never particularly bad, but they weren’t good either.
I wanted more.
I wanted happy mornings, and cuddles on the couch. I wanted birthday presents, and Christmas trees like my friends. Family vacations, where I was actually in the pictures.
But most of all, I wanted the family in the photos. A mom and dad, brothers and sisters. Big and happy and forever. I still want it. It’s my deepest, and hardest wish.
A place to fit in.
A place that feels like home.
A place that’ll keep me.
And after a month in Heart Springs, searching for answers, but finding nothing, I’m not sure my wish will ever come true, no matter how many stars or rainbows I ask.