Chapter 5 #2
“How do you know when it’s real? When they mean it this time?”
“You don’t. Not with absolute certainty.
” Raven smiled. “But Wyatt proved it to me by making changes. He moved out of deep undercover work. He comes home every night. He tells me what he can about his cases. He went to counseling with me. He showed me through his actions that I mattered more than the job.”
“And that was enough?”
“More than enough.” Raven’s hand moved unconsciously to her belly—a small, protective gesture.
“We’re expecting again. Getting pregnant hasn’t been an easy journey for us, but a couple of years ago we had twins.
This one will be here in about six months.
And I’m terrified and excited and so grateful we didn’t give up when it got hard. ”
“Congratulations,” Mia said, meaning it.
“Thank you.” Raven stood, gathering the empty containers.
“My point is this, if Zeke’s really going to retire, if he’s really taking a job in Riverton, if he’s really here trying to prove he’s changed—maybe give him the chance to do it.
Maybe don’t make him pay forever for the mistakes he made three years ago. ”
“What if he breaks my heart again?”
“What if he doesn’t?” Raven countered. “What if this is the real thing, and you miss it because you were too scared to try?”
After Raven left, Mia stood in the middle of her slowly healing shop and thought about second chances. About whether love was worth the risk of getting hurt again. About whether she was brave enough to believe that people could change.
Her makeshift front door opened and Lily Crow O’Hara walked in, her tall frame moving with the easy confidence of someone who’d never backed down from a fight.
“It must be my day for O’Haras,” Mia said, smiling at her friend.
“You can hardly sneeze without hitting an O’Hara,” Lily said, tossing a bag on the counter.
“Lovely image,” Mia said.
“Brought you some things. Pepper spray, a better deadbolt for the back door, and a stun gun. Because Blaze told me what happened and I’m not letting you stay here alone until those bikers are caught.”
Mia stared at the bag. “Lily, I—”
“Don’t.” Lily held up a hand. “We’re friends. This is what friends do. Besides, Blaze would have my head if I didn’t check on you. He’s been worried.”
“He has his own problems. Wyatt too, from what Raven said.”
Lily’s expression turned sympathetic. “Zeke’s a good guy, from what Blaze tells me. They’ve worked together on several cases over the years. Blaze says he’s never seen Zeke so focused on getting out of the undercover life until now.”
“Seems like everyone’s talking about us,” Mia said wryly.
Lily grinned. “Small town. Law enforcement family. Of course we’re talking.
But we’re also rooting for you.” Her expression grew more serious.
“Blaze and I got married drunk in Vegas. We barely knew each other. And then we spent a year apart before we finally figured our lives out. So believe me when I say—if you want it to work, it’ll work.
You just have to decide if he’s worth the fight. ”
“I thought so once. I don’t know now.”
Lily’s smile was genuine. “Only you can answer that. But from where I’m standing?
That man hasn’t stopped looking for ways to prove himself to you since he got here.
Blaze mentioned he’s been coordinating with Wyatt and the DEA, setting up protection details, doing everything he can to keep you safe.
That’s not just professional duty. That’s personal. ”
After Lily left, Mia walked through the shop, running her hands over the repaired shelves, the new inventory, the evidence of a community that had shown up for her without being asked. The O’Haras had done this—had woven her into the fabric of Laurel Valley whether she’d intended it or not.
And Zeke was part of that network too—connected to Wyatt and Blaze through work, to the O’Hara family through friendship, to this town through his summers working here years ago.
He wasn’t just a man from her past anymore. He was becoming part of her present.
The question was whether she was ready to let him become part of her future.
* * *
Zeke had been true to his word about staying close—so close that her small apartment had become an exercise in restraint and surrender, often within the same breath.
That first night after the break-in, she’d tried to maintain some distance.
She’d given him a pillow and blanket for the couch with a cool efficiency that fooled neither of them.
He’d taken it without complaint, settling onto the too-short sofa with that knowing look in his eyes that said he understood she needed the illusion of control.
She’d lasted exactly three hours.
She woke in the darkness to find herself reaching for him, her body remembering what her mind was still trying to sort through. And he was there—had moved to the armchair beside her bed sometime after she’d fallen asleep, his weapon on the nightstand, his eyes opening the moment she stirred.
“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked quietly.
She couldn’t. Not with him so close and yet not close enough. Not with three years of missing him pressing against her chest like a physical weight.
She didn’t answer with words. She’d stood, crossed the few feet between them, and pulled him to her bed. His arms came around her immediately, and whatever distance she’d been trying to maintain dissolved in the heat of his mouth on hers.
They didn’t talk about it the next morning. Or the morning after that. But every night, she reached for him, and every night, he was there—solid and real and exactly what she needed even if she wasn’t ready to admit it out loud.
Her body recognized him in ways her mind was still struggling to accept.
In the dark, with his hands on her skin and his breath warm against her neck, all the doubts and fears quieted.
There was just this—the two of them, the connection that had never really broken no matter how hard she’d tried to sever it.
But in the daylight, with the shop needing attention and the case hanging over them like a storm cloud, the questions returned.
The worry. The fear that this was temporary, that he’d finish whatever operation he was running and disappear back into that world of secrets and danger that had broken them the first time.
They’d fallen into an easy rhythm over the week—at least on the surface.
He’d leave at odd hours for work, or disappear for short stretches throughout the day.
Then he’d show up at her shop, pitch in to help, and leave again.
She remembered how it was—the erratic schedules, the missed meals and plans.
The only difference was he no longer talked to her about the details of his work.
That conversation still hung between them, waiting.
But at night, when they were alone and the walls came down, none of that mattered. At night, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.
She’d forgotten how comfortable they’d always been with each other—not just physically, though heaven knew that fire between them had never dimmed.
But the easy conversations when they did talk, the things they had in common, the sports teams they argued over.
Remembering the arguments had been the easiest thing to do over the past three years.
But there’d been more good times than bad.
The problem was figuring out if the good times were enough to outweigh the secrets he was still keeping.