Chapter 30
Blair
The scent of something buttery and slightly sweet pulled me from my deepest sleep in years.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. The blankets smelled like him: woodsmoke, whiskey and clean cotton. Sunlight poured across the bed in lazy streaks of gold. My legs were tangled in sheets, my hair a mess across the pillow, and my body hummed with a contentment I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Then I remembered the night before. The orchard. The way his hands had memorized me like I was a story he already knew by heart.
And now pancakes?
I pulled on the oversized flannel shirt he’d left slung across the foot of the bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, still buttoning up the shirt. The kitchen was warm with maple, cinnamon, and something citrusy that made my stomach flutter with anticipation, not just for the food.
Greyson stood at the stove, barefoot, shirtless, and completely unaware he was starring in my new favorite fantasy.
Pajama pants slung low on his hips, spatula in hand, a smear of batter across one forearm, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he hummed along to an old Johnny Cash track.
I leaned in the doorway and crossed my arms. “Do you always look this good when you cook?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Only when there’s someone worth impressing.”
“Mission accomplished.”
He flipped a pancake effortlessly. “You’re up early.”
“You made pancakes. I’d rise from the grave for pancakes.”
“Duly noted.”
I walked over, slipping my arms around his middle and pressing my cheek to his back. His skin was warm, silky. Familiar already.
He covered my hands with his own and squeezed. “Morning, honey bee.”
“Still calling me that, huh?”
“Forever,” he said simply.
Ten minutes later, we sat across from each other at his small kitchen table, sharing syrup, laughing over shared bites of blueberry pancakes, and sipping coffee from mismatched mugs. Outside, the leaves rustled in the cool breeze, painting shifting shadows across the tile.
He ate like a man who appreciated food, which made me love him even more.
“So,” I said around a forkful of perfectly fluffy pancakes, “You just… do this? Cook a full-on weekend breakfast for the women you sleep with?”
He raised a brow. “Women?”
“Fine. Singular.”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “I’ve never done this.”
“What, made pancakes?”
“No.” He looked down at his plate. “Had someone to wake up to. Someone I wanted to make breakfast for. Someone who looks at my busted barstools and says, ‘Yes, this’ll do.’”
My stomach flipped, not from nerves, but something quieter. Steadier. Like love, settling in for the long haul.
“I like your barstools.”
“They squeak.”
“I squeak.”
He grinned. “You do.”
I took a long sip of coffee and watched him over the rim of my mug. “I like this, Greyson. This morning. This house. You.”
His eyes softened. “Then stay.”
It didn’t feel like a proposal. It felt like an invitation to breathe.
“You mean move in?” I asked carefully.
He reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Whatever version of staying you’re ready for, I’ll take it.”
The words hit somewhere deep in my chest.
He wasn’t asking me to change. He wasn’t promising that things would always be easy. He was just giving me a place to land.
I reached for his hand. “Then yes.”
His grin was slow and bright, like sunrise. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
After breakfast, I stood at the sink rinsing plates while he dried. We didn’t speak much, we just passed things between us, shoulder to shoulder, hips brushing. It felt like something sacred.
Halfway through, he leaned over, kissed my neck, and whispered, “This is my favorite version of us.”
“What version is that?”
“The one where we get to stay, forever.”
I head over to Madison’s house to get some much needed baby time.
I still can’t believe I decided to move in with Greyson.
It feels like a dream, and I never want to wake up.
I pause at the front door, deciding I will enjoy a couple more days of baby bliss before telling her I am moving out.
The soft coo of a newborn and the gentle hum of Madison singing off-key was the kind of music I never knew I needed.
I stood in the doorway of the nursery, arms crossed over my chest, watching as Madison cradled Olive against her shoulder, swaying side to side like it was second nature.
Her hair was messy, her eyes a little tired, but there was something almost magical in the way she held her daughter.
Like she was made for this, even if she’d never planned it.
“You want a break?” I asked, stepping forward.
Madison turned, grinning. “She just went down. But if you want snuggle duty, I won’t argue.”
“I always want snuggle duty.”
She gently passed Olive to me, the baby curling instinctively into my chest like she recognized the rhythm of my heart. Her tiny fingers peeked out from her swaddle, and I kissed the top of her soft head, inhaling that newborn scent that made everything feel lighter.
“I still can’t believe she’s here,” I whispered, rocking slowly. “Or that I’m here.”
Madison smiled from the rocking chair, pulling her legs up beneath her. “You stayed, Blair. You didn’t run. That means something.”
I met her eyes across the room. “You’re the reason I stayed.”
She blinked, surprised. “Me?”
I nodded. “You made this place feel like home again. After everything. You didn’t ask for details. You didn’t push. You just… made space for me.”
She sniffled and waved a hand. “Don’t make me cry, I’m hormonal.”
We both laughed quietly so we wouldn’t wake Olive.
“Seriously though,” I said, glancing down at the sleeping baby in my arms. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” Madison replied.
I looked at her, my best friend, the strongest woman I knew, and realized this was what rebuilding looked like. Not in grand gestures, but in the quiet moments. Late-night bottle-warming, soft rocking chairs, shared silences that felt safe.
I leaned my head back and whispered to Olive, “You’ve got the best mom in the world, little one.” She sighed in her sleep, like she already knew.
And in that moment, with a baby on my chest and my best friend nearby, I realized I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was building something too.