Chapter 6 - Sierra
"But thank you. For saying that," I finish, my arms wrapped tight around myself like I can hold all my scattered pieces together through sheer will.
Cade's standing so close I can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the way his jaw is tight like he's holding back a dozen things he wants to say. The hallway is quiet except for the muffled sound of a television from one of the other rooms and the distant hum of the inn's heating system.
"We should talk," he says finally. "Really talk. About logistics, about how this is going to work. But not tonight. Tonight you should rest. Ruby needs to rest."
"Tomorrow," I agree. "After you show us around. Maybe when Ruby's occupied with something?"
"Tomorrow," he repeats, and there's a promise in the word.
He turns to leave, makes it three steps down the hallway before stopping. "Sierra?"
"Yeah?"
"Does she—" He turns back, and there's vulnerability in his expression. "Does she know? About the fire? About why I left?"
I shake my head slowly. "She knows you're a firefighter. She knows you lived in our town before. But the details? No. I thought… I thought you should be the one to decide what to tell her. When to tell her. If ever."
"Okay. Good. I just… I need to figure out how to explain it. In a way that makes sense to a seven-year-old."
"You don't have to do it alone," I offer. "When you're ready, we can tell her together."
He nods, and for a moment, we just stand there, two people who used to know everything about each other trying to figure out how to navigate this new, complicated reality.
"Goodnight, Sierra."
"Goodnight, Cade."
I watch him walk down the hallway, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of a day that changed everything. When he disappears around the corner toward the stairs, I lean back against the door and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
He took it better than I expected. Worse than I hoped. Somewhere in the complicated middle ground where real life exists, messy and imperfect and without easy answers.
But he loves Ruby already. I saw it in his face, heard it in his voice, felt it in every word he chose. Whatever anger he has toward me, and he has plenty of right to be angry, it doesn't touch his feelings for our daughter.
That's what matters. That has to be what matters.
I slip back into the room to find Ruby sprawled across her bed, her stuffed elephant, Mr. Trunk, the imaginatively named companion she's had since she was two, tucked under her arm. She's still fully dressed, her shoes still on, but her eyes are heavy.
"Is Dad gone?" she asks, stifling a yawn.
"Yeah, sweetheart. He'll be back tomorrow morning."
"He's nice." Ruby rolls onto her side, watching me as I sit on my own bed. "Nicer than I imagined. I thought he might be scary because he fights fires and that seems like a scary job. But he's not scary at all."
"No," I agree softly. "He's not scary. He's very brave, though. Fighting fires takes a lot of courage."
"Like me when I blocked that big girl in soccer?"
"Exactly like that." I reach over and brush her hair back from her face. "But maybe even braver."
Ruby considers this, her fingers absently playing with Mr. Trunk's worn ear. "Do you think he'll really come back tomorrow? Like, really really?"
My heart clenches at the question, at the uncertainty underneath it. "Yes, baby. I really really think so. He promised, didn't he?"
"Yeah." She yawns again, bigger this time. "Mom?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad we came. I was scared in the car, but now I'm glad."
"Me too," I whisper, and it's the truth. Despite the anxiety and the guilt and the complicated mess of feelings I have about Cade, I'm glad we came. Glad I finally did the right thing, even if I'm seven years late.
"Can I sleep in my clothes? I'm really tired."
"Let's at least get your shoes off and brush your teeth." I stand, holding out my hand. "Five minutes and then you can crash, okay?"
She groans but takes my hand, letting me lead her to the small bathroom. We go through the abbreviated bedtime routine—shoes off, teeth brushed, face washed. By the time I tuck her into bed, she's already half asleep.
"Love you, Mom," she mumbles, curling around Mr. Trunk.
"Love you too, baby girl. So much."
I watch her for a moment, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of approaching sleep, her face peaceful in a way that makes my throat tight. She looks so much like Cade it's almost painful. Those same blue eyes now hidden behind closed lids, that same stubborn chin…
How did I keep her from him for seven years? How did I justify it to myself, day after day, year after year?
I know the answer. I was scared. Scared he'd reject us, scared he wouldn't be ready, scared of a thousand things that seemed so real and important at the time. But looking at Ruby now, at the joy on her face when she talked to Cade, at how naturally she called him Dad…
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I've been wrong for seven years.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as I change into pajamas and wash my face, going through the motions on autopilot. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. My mother, no doubt wanting an update on how today went.
I'm right. There are three texts waiting.
**Mom: How did it go? Is everything okay?**
**Mom: Did he meet Ruby? What did he say?**
**Mom: Call me when you can. Love you.**
I dial her number and she picks up on the first ring.
"Sierra! Finally! I've been going crazy here. Your father has threatened to drive up there twice today." My mother's voice is warm and worried in equal measure. "Tell me everything."
So, I do. I tell her about showing up at the fire station, about Cade's face when he saw Ruby, about the five other firefighters who witnessed the whole thing. About hot chocolate at Melt and Ruby's easy affection and the way Cade looked at our daughter like she hung the moon.
"He was good with her, Mom. Really good. Patient and interested and—" My voice catches. "And he already loves her. I can tell."
"Of course he does," Mom says gently. "She's his daughter. And Cade was always good at loving people. That was never the problem."
"The problem was me," I say. "I should have told him years ago. I should have—"
"You made the choice you thought was right at the time," Mom interrupts firmly. "With the information you had, the fear you were carrying. Was it the right choice? Maybe not. But you can't change it now. You can only move forward."
"He wants to spend the weekend with us. Show us around Blackwater Falls."
"That's wonderful!"
"Is it?" I stare at the ceiling, my free hand pressed against my stomach. "What happens after the weekend, Mom? When we have to go home and he has to stay here? Ruby's going to be devastated. And I—"
I stop myself before I can finish that thought. Before I can admit that I'll be devastated too. That sitting across from Cade today, watching him with Ruby, seeing glimpses of the man I fell in love with eight years ago, it made me realize that I never stopped loving him. Never even came close.
"You'll figure it out," Mom says with the confidence only a mother can have. "Together. That's what co-parenting is."
"I don't know how to co-parent with someone who lives three hours away. Someone I—" I can't finish that sentence either.
But Mom knows anyway. She's always known. "Someone you still love?"
"It doesn't matter," I say. "He doesn't feel that way about me. He can't. Not after what I did."
"You don't know that."
"Mom, I saw the way he looked at me. The hurt. The betrayal. Whatever we had, I killed it when I kept Ruby from him."
"Or maybe," Mom suggests softly, "you gave it a chance to grow into something different. Something stronger. Built on honesty and shared purpose."
I want to believe her. Want to think that maybe, somehow, Cade and I could find our way back to each other. But that feels like hoping for too much. Like being greedy when I should just be grateful he's willing to be part of Ruby's life.
We talk for a few more minutes. Mom extracting promises that I'll call tomorrow, that I'll send pictures, that I'll bring Ruby by to see them when we get home. When I finally hang up, the room is dark except for the streetlight filtering through the curtains.
Ruby is sound asleep, her breathing deep and even. I should sleep too. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, full of emotion and negotiation and watching Cade fall more in love with our daughter.
But my mind won't shut off. I keep replaying the day. Cade's shock, Ruby's joy, the moment in the bathroom when Cade touched my shoulder and how he looked at me like he wanted more. Or maybe I imagined that. Maybe I wanted it so badly I made it up.
I must eventually fall asleep because I wake to early morning light and the sound of Ruby bouncing on her bed.
"Mom! Mom, wake up! It's pancake day and Dad is coming!"
I pry my eyes open to find my daughter fully dressed. Mismatched socks and inside-out shirt, but dressed, standing on her bed with more energy than should be legal before eight a.m.
"Ruby, it's—" I squint at the clock. "It's seven-thirty. We don't need to be downstairs until—"
"But I'm hungry! And Linda said there would be chocolate chips! And Dad is coming at nine and I need to be ready!"
There's no arguing with that logic, apparently. I drag myself out of bed, pulling on jeans and a sweater, running a brush through my hair without really looking in the mirror. I don't want to see the dark circles under my eyes, the evidence of a night spent half-asleep and worrying.
The dining room of the Blackwater Inn is a sun-filled space with four tables covered in cheerful yellow tablecloths.
Only one other table is occupied, an elderly couple sharing the newspaper and coffee.
Linda is in the attached kitchen, and the smell of pancakes makes my stomach growl despite my nerves.
"Good morning!" Linda greets us with a warm smile. "Ruby, I have your chocolate chip pancakes ready. And for you, Sierra? I have blueberry, plain, or I could make chocolate chip for you too."
"Blueberry sounds perfect, thank you."
Ruby digs into her pancakes with enthusiasm while I sip coffee and try to wake up properly. The elderly couple leaves, nodding politely as they pass our table. Through the window, I can see Main Street coming to life—shops opening, people walking dogs, a jogger passing by.
It's a nice town. Quiet, peaceful. The kind of place where people know their neighbors and look out for each other. I can see why Cade stayed here, why he built a life in Blackwater Falls.
I can also see why leaving it would be hard.
The thought comes unbidden, unwelcome. I haven't let myself think too much about the logistics, about how we're actually going to make this work. Weekends? Holidays? Ruby spending summers here while I stay behind? Or—
"Mom, you're not eating." Ruby's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts.
I look down at my pancakes, untouched. "Just thinking, sweetie."
"About Dad?"
"About everything." I take a bite of pancake, not really tasting it. "Big changes ahead for us."
"Good changes though, right?" Ruby's face is so hopeful, so certain that this will all work out perfectly because that's how she needs it to work out.
"Yes," I assure her, even though I'm not certain of anything. "Good changes."
We're back in the room, Ruby brushing her teeth again because she's determined to have perfect breath when Cade arrives, when my phone buzzes. A text from a number I haven't seen in eight years but still recognize instantly.
**Cade: Morning. Running a few minutes early. Would it be okay if I came by at 8:45 instead of 9?**
I text back: **That's fine. Ruby's been ready since 7:30.**
**Cade: She gets the morning person thing from you.**
I stare at that text, at the acknowledgment that he remembers I was always an early riser while he preferred to sleep until the last possible moment.
He remembers. After eight years, he remembers these small things about me.
**Sierra: Some things don't change.**
**Cade: Some things do though.**
I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. I just tell Ruby that her dad is going to be here in ten minutes and watch her face light up like I've just told her Christmas is coming early.
When the knock comes, Ruby sprints to the door, yanking it open to reveal Cade standing in the hallway. He's wearing jeans and a dark blue henley that makes his eyes even more striking, and he's holding two coffee cups from what looks like a local café.
"Morning, Ruby." He grins at her enthusiasm. "Ready for your tour?"
"So ready! Can we see the waterfall? And the ice cream place? And will I get to meet your cat? Can we—"
"One thing at a time," I interrupt, stepping forward and trying not to notice how Cade's eyes track my movement. "Good morning."
"Morning." He holds out one of the coffee cups. "I didn't know if you had already taken a coffee today, and have no idea how you take it anymore, so I got it the way you used to. Two creams, one sugar. If that's wrong, I can—"
"It’s my first today and you’re not wrong." I take the cup. "It's exactly right. Thank you."
"Shall we?" He gestures down the hallway, and Ruby is already moving, chattering about all the things she wants to see.
He remembered how I take my coffee. After eight years, he remembered. And somehow, that small detail feels like maybe, just maybe, not everything between us is broken beyond repair.