Chapter Sixteen
Home came back to me in pieces.
The familiar creak in the front step. The smell of laundry detergent. Yeast from another loaf of bread Allie had baking in the oven. The quiet hum of the fridge working harder than it should. It was all exactly as I’d left it and yet, I wasn’t.
Days unfolded softly after that. In text messages sent between shifts. In phone calls made once the house went quiet for the night. Tristan checked in every morning. We talked every evening; sometimes about nothing at all, sometimes about everything we didn’t quite know how to say yet.
Time didn’t rush. It layered itself. Until a couple of weeks had passed without my noticing.
One night, a fortnight after returning home, Allie breezed through the kitchen planting a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be late, love you.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Gage managed to book a kitchen space and we’re going to create a few things. See if they are worthy of entering into culinary contests.” With a backpack slung over her shoulder, she was already on her way to the door.
“Do you need anything?” I stretched out to peer around the wall fruitlessly.
“Already taken care of it. Gotta go. Bye.” The door closed before I had a chance to say anything further.
I brewed myself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, taking it all in.
My home – our home – for the past fifteen years.
Put the down payment on it a couple of years after the kids’ father gave up on all of us.
It was our home, our sanctuary. We’d all grown up here, the height measurements on the kitchen wall showed as much.
I sighed as the memories rolled through like a highlight reel in the movies.
Josh came home ten minutes later, still in his work jacket, hair damp from the rain.
“Hey,” he said, opening the fridge. “You eat yet?”
“Barely,” I admitted. “Sit with me?”
He hesitated, pulled out a container of leftovers, and dropped into the chair across from me without having warmed it first in the microwave.
It was such a normal thing that it almost undid me.
We talked about nothing of importance. His shift.
A customer who’d tried to return something clearly broken by misuse.
Allie’s new obsession with baking bread like it was a competitive sport, but he wasn’t complaining and hoped she’d make more of the savoury garlic one she’d made while I was gone.
I listened, smiling, watching him in that way parents do when they realize their children have quietly become people.
He caught me looking.
“What?” he asked, tipping his head to the side so his floppy bangs fell over his left eye.
“Nothing. Just... glad you’re home.”
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary and dug back into his food. But I felt the shift, the way he was paying attention now and giving me the side-eye with every second bite.
After a beat, he said, “You know, you seem different lately.”
I blinked and tightened my grip around the mug. “Different how? Different bad?”
“Nah. Happier,” he said simply, adding a half-smile, “Like... lighter.”
My throat tightened.
“That road trip do something to you?” He gobbled down another bite and went to the fridge to hunt for more.
“Is it that obvious?” My coffee was still hot and it scalded the tip of my tongue.
“Kind of,” he said. “You hum now. You didn’t before.”
I hadn’t realized.
Pulling the collar of my hoodie forward to give me more breathing space, I sighed a happy and content sigh. “I didn’t go looking for anything,” I said. “But I found... perspective.”
Josh nodded, like that made sense, and sat down with a container of pulled pork. “Good.”
“You really should reheat that.”
“Nah, it was cooked once already.” He stabbed his fork in and shovelled up a bite.
Shrugging, I reached over and grabbed a piece too.
There was a pause. The moment stretched familiar, but new too.
“Mom?” he said carefully and looked into my eyes.
“Yes?”
His Adam’s Apple bobbed. “You know ... You’re allowed to have a life, right?”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“I know,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“No, I mean it,” he continued. “Allie and I, we mean it. You’ve been in survival mode forever. For us. And that was great. Really. But we’re okay now. We’re not fragile little kids anymore. You’ve done well. And we’re going to pick up more of the slack ‘round here. Promise.”
I swallowed, suddenly seeing the man my boy had become.
“And if that perspective you found came with a guy,” he added casually with a solid shrug, “I wouldn’t be mad. Neither would Allie.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re not supposed to make this easy.”
He grinned and gulped down half a can of Ginger Ale. “Sorry. Comes with the job.”
“Would you be okay...” I hesitated with the question I’d wanted to ask since I’d unpacked. “if there was... someone?”
Josh didn’t even pause. “Yeah,” he said, with a mouth full of food. “It’s about time.”
My eyes burned.
“It’s that guy you text with all the time. Tristan, right?”
“Yeah.” Hearing his name made the butterflies in my stomach flutter.
“Is it serious?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but it feels... real.” There were many late-night conversations, random memes and thinking about you messages throughout the day.
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
When did my kid get to be so wise?
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Josh’s eyes flicked to it, before they flashed up to me. “That him?”
I smiled, and this time, I didn’t hide it. “Yes, it’s him.”
“Answer it,” he said, already standing. “I’ll give you privacy.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said. “Go be happy. I’ll grab dessert. Surely, Allie has left something to affect my waistline.” His chuckle was deep.
I took the call.
“Hi,” I said, unable to hide the warmth in my voice.
“Hey,” Tristan replied. “I was hoping it was a good time.”
“It is,” I said, and stopped myself from whispering. The kids knew, and the best part, they understood. “I miss you.”
There was a smile in his voice. “I miss you too.”
I stood and strolled through the kitchen, putting away the dirty dishes.
“Oh,” he added, “I wanted you to know that Mr. Moose has been promoted to a place of honour.”
Before I’d left his vineyard, I’d left our travel mascot on the spare room bed. “You kept it?”
“Absolutely. It’s watching over the tasting room. Very intimidating presence.”
I glanced up to see Josh watching me from the doorway, eyebrows raised, smiling.
“I can’t wait to see you again,” I said, softer now.
“Me too,” Tristan replied. “Soon?”
My heart thumped harder at the thought.
“Maybe dinner?” he offered. “Anything is better than my cooking.”
“Eggs and toast is perfectly fine.” I leaned against the counter.
“But it’s not ideal. I prefer something more... well, something better.”
I laughed. “You’re still negotiating.”
“Always,” he said. After a breath, he lowered his voice. “Anna... I meant what I said.”
“I know,” I said, pulling once again on the collar of my hoodie. “So did I.”
“So, back to that dinner question. Are you on?”
Tossing my gaze toward the old-school family calendar hanging beside the fridge, I scanned for upcoming evenings off. Would he fly here? “Well, I’m on days next weekend.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Hang on,” I said slowly, walking toward the entryway. “Someone’s at the door.”
Josh leaned against the wall, arms crossed, fork deep in a chocolate concoction. A cocky expression was plastered over his face as he glanced at the dessert. “Don’t tell Allie.”
I didn’t even know there was chocolate cake! I swiped my finger over the frosting as I sauntered by and opened the door.
My jaw dropped. There Tristan was with his phone against his ear.
And there I stood with a dollop of chocolate on my finger.
“Dinner tonight?” He stood on the porch, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair wind-tousled and slightly damp, eyes bright and hopeful and entirely too real. “Or are we starting with dessert?”
A breathless and incredulous laugh sailed out of me and after licking my finger, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him without hesitation. He held me just as tightly, like he’d been waiting for this moment too.
Over his shoulder, Josh gave me a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen.
“I guess complications travel fast,” I said against Tristan’s collarbone.
“Good thing I specialize,” he murmured.
With a smile wide and unguarded, I pulled back enough to look at and breathe him in.
“For the record,” I said, “my kids approve.”
His expression softened. “That matters.”
“It does,” I agreed.
Behind us, the house felt full, not crowded, not heavy, but alive.
And for the first time in years, standing right where I was, I didn’t feel torn between worlds.
I felt like I’d finally stepped into one that fit.