Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
April woke slowly, surfacing through layers of sleep like rising through warm water.
Pre-dawn light filtered through her bedroom curtains, turning everything soft and blue. Her sheets were twisted around her legs, the pillow warm against her cheek. Outside, the river flowed, the morning air punctuated by the dawn chorus of birdsong. She felt... good. Rested. Safe.
Then memories of the night before crashed in like a wave.
Shane kissed me.
Shane stayed over.
He wants another chance and I told him to ask me again after the hike.
April waited for the panic to hit—the old voice that showed up around dawn in Vegas, whispering that she'd made a mistake, that she was fooling herself, that her luck would turn because nothing good ever lasted. She braced for the familiar clench of regret in her stomach.
It didn't come.
Instead, there was just... peace.
Hope, even.
I’ve forgotten how good hope feels.
April sat up, pushing tangled curls out of her face. Through the window, she could see the night sky through the trees brightening toward dawn, stars fading like they were making room for something new.
She slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to Kevin's room.
The door was cracked open—she never closed it all the way, not since she found him hiding under the bed.
Kevin was sprawled across his mattress, one arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open.
That boneless, absolute surrender to sleep that only kids could manage.
April's chest squeezed. Kevin looked so peaceful. No nightmares. No fear. Just her boy, sleeping sound.
Is this what it could be like? she thought, leaning against the doorframe. Shane here, Kevin sleeping sound, everyone safe? No more looking over my shoulder?
Then she realized Pete was not in Kevin’s room.
April pulled Kevin's door almost closed and headed for the living room.
In the pale blue light, she could see that the couch was empty.
The pillow she’d loaned Shane sat on top of the neatly folded blanket, corners aligned with military precision.
The side table was clear. Both their mugs from last night sat in the drying rack on the kitchen counter, exactly where she would have put them.
He left.
The thought landed like a stone.
Unless he took Pete for a walk.
April moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked out at the driveway. No Shane. No Pete. No SUV.
That sinking feeling opened up in her stomach—disappointment and a sense of inevitability tangled together in a knot she couldn't untie.
Of course he left. You didn't exactly make it easy to stay. You told him to wait for an answer until after the hike.
Not only that, she remembered thinking he’d only sent money because he felt guilty. She was ready to see him out after that. She didn’t need pity. She needed…
Never mind what she needed.
That kiss. That’s exactly what I needed.
A ball of heat formed in her belly at the memory of Shane’s hand tangled in her hair. It had been so long.
April pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
She turned toward the kitchen, needing to do something with her hands that wasn’t obscene, and that's when she saw it.
A note. White paper, neatly torn from a notebook, sitting on the counter right in front of the coffee maker.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs as she crossed the room and picked it up.
Shane's handwriting—neat, precise, the letters strong and sure.
Didn't want to text and wake you, Sweetness. Taking Pete for a run and grabbing some gear. Back by 6:30 with donuts. –S
April read it twice. Then a third time. She covered her mouth and realized she was smiling.
Relief flooded through her, warm and sweet.
Oh.
She was self-aware enough to know what that hollow feeling meant when she thought he'd left, and this warmth now that she knew he was coming back.
Oh, I'm in trouble.
April set the note down carefully and reached for the coffee beans in the purple bag, the special reserve a local roaster made just for her family as a thank you.
What went better with donuts than fresh coffee?
She measured, poured, hit the button. The grinder's familiar whir filled the kitchen as the sky outside brightened from grey to pale gold.
She was carrying a mug of coffee to the couch when Kevin's door banged open.
"Mom?" His voice carried that edge of panic from last night. "Mom, where's Pete? Where's Shane?"
April turned, mug still in hand, just as Kevin skidded into the kitchen in his rumpled Hulk pajamas, hair sticking up in six directions, face pale with worry.
"Honey, it's okay—"
The sound of tires on gravel cut her off.
Through the window, they watched Shane's SUV pull into the drive.
"He spent the night," April said, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. "He's back with donuts, sweetie."
Kevin looked up at her, eyes bright. "He spent the night," he echoed. Then he ran to open the front door.
And watching Shane's SUV door open, watching Pete bound out and Shane follow him to the door with a colorful bakery box in his hands and that sexy, cocky smile on his face as he spotted her in the window, she realized she’d been waiting years for this moment.
Shane offered to drive them to Riversong so that they could leave straight from the coffee shop for the hike. April sat in the passenger seat holding the box of donuts from a new shop—Do’s and Donuts—on her lap while Kevin sat in back chattering about the upcoming hike.
April snuck a glance at Shane. His hands were relaxed on the wheel, one elbow propped against the door, that small smile playing at his mouth while Kevin explained his theory about why Pete was the smartest dog at Watchdog.
"And another thing," Kevin continued, "Pete knew exactly where the donuts were even though they were in a box. That's, like, advanced smell detection."
"That's just Sunday morning training, bud," Shane said, eyes crinkling. "Pete knows the difference between weekdays and weekends. Weekends mean donuts."
April shook her head, unable to fight her own smile. Shane answered all of Kevin’s questions patiently and with humor, a look of contentment on his face.
It all felt so easy.
So what was this strange tightness in her chest?
Shane turned onto Main Street and Riversong came into view—the painted sign her dad had made, the flower boxes April and Hannah had planted earlier in the spring, the big windows that let morning light flood the whole shop.
Shane pulled into the small parking lot in front of the building.
April's stomach clenched. Her father's truck was already there.
"He's here early," she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Shane cut the engine and looked at her. "You okay?"
Oh, just fine. I'm nervous about what this looks like. The three of us showing up together. You and me and Kevin, like we're...
Like they were a family.
"Yeah, I just—" She glanced back at Kevin, who was already unbuckling. "I wasn't expecting him to be here yet. Usually I open alone on Sundays."
Shane's hand found hers, squeezed once. "If it’s gonna be a problem, Pete and I can pick you guys up later."
April gazed through the window and caught movement as her dad moved back and forth behind the counter.
“No.” She smiled at Shane. “There won’t be a problem at all.”
Kevin bounded out of the SUV before April could overthink it further. "Come on! I wanna tell Grandpapa the news!" He ran around to the back to do his customary job of letting Pete out.
Shane came around to open April's door. Always the gentleman. He grabbed the donuts and she took his offered hand—warm, callused, steady—and let him pull her out.
Together, they walked toward the entrance.
Sonny was at the prep counter, measuring out beans for the first batch of coffee. He looked up when Kevin opened the door, his weathered face breaking into a smile.
"There's my favorite grandson—" He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the whole picture. Kevin, Pete, Shane, April. All together. At seven-thirty in the morning.
April felt her cheeks heat.
"Morning, Mr. Taylor," Shane said evenly.
"Shane." Sonny's tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes—sharp and assessing—flicked between Shane and April like he was adding up a math problem he didn't quite like the answer to.
Kevin, oblivious to any tension, launched himself at his grandfather. "Grandpapa! Guess what?"
"What's that, kiddo?"
"Shane spent the night with us!"
Oh God. April thought ‘the news’ Kevin wanted to share was about the hike today.
The temperature in the room dropped in proportion to how high Sonny's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. His gaze locked on Shane with the kind of scrutiny that had made April's high school boyfriends—the one or two her father had actually met—never take her out again.
"On the couch," April blurted, her voice coming out higher than intended. "He slept on the couch. Shane was a perfect gentleman and—"
"I made him," Kevin added helpfully. "Because he's Mom's bodyguard and I was scared he'd leave and something bad would happen."
Sonny's intense expression was replaced by amusement. He crossed his arms, still looking at Shane.
"The couch, huh?"
"Yes, sir." Shane met his gaze steadily. "I gave Kevin my word I'd keep watch."
Sonny studied Shane for another long moment. Then his mouth twitched. "Well. I suppose that's all right then." He ruffled Kevin's hair. "Your mom treating her bodyguard okay?"
"She made him coffee this morning!" Kevin reported. "The good stuff in the purple bag."
April wanted to sink through the floor.
Sonny chuckled, the tension breaking like a snapped rubber band. "That's how you know you're in good standing around here, Shane. The good coffee in the purple bag’s reserved for family."
The word hung in the air—family—and April watched Shane's throat work as he swallowed.
"I brought donuts," Shane said finally, holding up the box like a peace offering.