Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jesse
THREE WEEKS LATER
Three weeks is not a long time.
I know this because my kids still think three weeks ago was “basically yesterday,” and because I still haven’t figured out how Abilene Kentwood managed to become such a fixed part of our days without ever announcing herself.
She just… showed up.
Just coffee on the counter some mornings. Clean jars lined up by the sink. Her laugh drifting down the hall while she helps Eliza braid her hair, fingers gentle and patient.
Her boots by the door. Her apron hanging on the hook.
And the honey…
“Daddy,” Caleb says, peering into the pantry with the seriousness of a man checking inventory before winter. “Are we out of Jewel Honey?”
I glance over my shoulder. “We are not out. We’re low.”
Eliza gasps as if I’ve just announced the apocalypse. “Low is basically out.”
“Low means you’ve been putting it on everything,” I say. “Including macaroni.”
“It makes it better,” she insists.
“You’re not wrong,” I mutter, reaching past them to grab a jar. “But this one is for toast only.”
They watch me intently as I drizzle it, amber and thick, catching the morning light just right. Jewel Honey. The name still makes a warmth settle in my chest every time I say it.
Everyone loves it.
The market sold out in under an hour last weekend. The bakery down the street already asked if she’d consider a small batch partnership. Even Red, who thinks flavored anything is suspicious, asked if there was “more of that calming one.”
Abilene tries to play it off as if it’s no big deal.
It is a big deal.
It’s her.
She’s sitting at the table right now, sleeves rolled up, hair escaping its braid same as it always does when she’s relaxed, while Wyatt reads quietly and Marshall pretends he’s not listening but absolutely is.
This is my life now.
“Daddy?” Caleb says, softer this time.
I turn. “Yeah, bud?”
He hesitates. That’s new. Then: “Is Miss Abilene… staying?”
The room stills just a fraction.
I crouch so I’m level with them. “She’s spending a lot of time with us because we all like being together.”
Eliza’s eyes shine. “I like her a lot.”
“I know,” I say gently.
“Is she… like family?” Caleb asks.
My chest tightens.
“She is,” I say honestly. “If that’s okay with you.”
They don’t even hesitate.
Eliza throws her arms around my neck. “Can she come to my school thing?”
Caleb nods vigorously. “And movie night. And pancakes. And the fair.”
“Whoa,” I laugh. “One thing at a time.”
Abilene looks over then, concern flickering across her face. “Everything okay?”
I meet her gaze, and I don’t soften the truth. “They want to know if you’re family.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes go a little glassy.
“I told them yes,” I add.
She crosses the room in two steps and kneels with us. “Only if you want me to be,” she says softly to the kids.
Eliza grabs her hand. “We do.”
Caleb nods. “A lot.”
Abilene laughs and cries at the same time, and yeah, there it is. That feeling again. Hope. Dangerous, beautiful hope.
Wyatt clears his throat quietly. Marshall shifts closer, steady as ever.
I stand, pull Abilene into my side, and for once, I don’t worry about what comes next.
Three weeks isn’t a long time.
But sometimes, it’s enough to know when something good is real.
And this?
This feels real.
Dinner doesn’t start so much as it detonates.
In a good way.
A loud, insane, flour-on-the-counter, someone-is-definitely-going-to-spill-something way.
Caleb is standing on his stool, captaining a ship. Eliza has declared herself “Sauce Supervisor,” which mostly involves stirring aggressively and narrating her decisions.
“It needs more red,” she says seriously.
“That’s not how cooking works,” Marshall tells her.
“It is if you believe,” Wyatt says, deadpan.
Marshall looks betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Wyatt doesn’t even look up from draining the pasta. “I’m on the side of joy.”
Abilene laughs, that soft bell sound that makes my chest do stupid things, and reaches for a clean spoon. “Let’s taste before we panic.”
Caleb gasps. “Is this the tasting part?”
“Yes,” she says solemnly. “Very important.”
He tastes. Freezes. Then grins so hard I worry about facial strain. “It’s amazing.”
Eliza tastes too. “It tastes like hugs.”
Wyatt blinks. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”
Marshall mutters, “I don’t cook with emotions.”
“Yet,” Abilene says gently, handing him a plate.
When we finally sit down, it’s noisy immediately. Chairs scrape. Forks clatter. Someone’s elbow knocks into mine.
I wouldn’t change a single thing.
“Daddy,” Caleb says around a mouthful of pasta, “can we do this every night?”
“Eat dinner?” I ask.
“No,” Eliza corrects. “Like this.”
I glance around the table, at Wyatt smiling faintly, at Marshall pretending he’s not amused, at Abilene watching the kids joyfully.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think we can do that.”
She meets my eyes. Bright, unsure, and hopeful emotions all tangle together.
Conversation overlaps after that.
Wyatt tells a story about a horse that absolutely should not have fit through a gate but somehow did. Marshall counters with a dry correction. The kids argue over whether honey belongs on garlic bread.
“It does,” Eliza insists.
“It’s weird,” Caleb says.
“It’s adventurous,” she counters.
Abilene lifts her glass. “To adventurous.”
“To adventurous,” Wyatt echoes.
Marshall sighs. “I feel outnumbered.”
“Welcome to the family,” I tell him.
Dessert turns into a production.
Honey-drizzled apples, yes, but also whipped cream, because the kids staged a protest, and suddenly everyone’s laughing too hard to argue.
Caleb gets honey on his nose. Eliza licks whipped cream off her finger and declares herself “the happiest.”
Abilene wipes sticky hands with infinite patience, smiling so wide it hurts to look at her.
“This is the best dinner,” Eliza announces loudly.
“The best,” Caleb agrees.
My throat tightens again, but I keep it light. “High praise.”
Later, when the kids are yawning, and the house settles into that soft, content quiet, they hug Abilene tight.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Eliza asks sleepily.
Abilene smiles. “If that’s okay.”
Caleb nods. “It’s more than okay.”
When the lights are off, and the porch creaks beneath us, the night cool and calm, Abilene leans into me.
No fireworks.
No big speech.
Just warmth. Laughter still echoing faintly in the walls. Honey lingering on our hands.
Rom-coms make love loud.
But this?
This is family.
And it’s perfect.