I can’t help smiling a little. “Come on, finish your ice cream. Then we’ll get on the road.”
Two hours later, we’re back in Fox Hollow.
Maisie’s asleep in the backseat, head tilted against the window, Rufus drooling on her shoulder. I sit there for a minute, listening to her breathe, the hum of the heater filling the truck.
She doesn’t deserve any of this.
Claire would’ve said that, too.
She loved Maisie like her own, used to bring over paints so they could make a mess on my porch. She and Ryker would talk for hours about someday—someday when the business took off, when there was time, when they could start their own family.
That someday died with her.
I shake the thought away before it can dig its claws in.
The town’s still dressed for Halloween—lanterns hanging from porches, half-frozen pumpkins lined up along the sidewalks. The community hall glows faintly in the distance, the black flowers Norah strung up now brittle and rimmed with frost.
I drive past it without slowing down. I’m not ready to think about work, or the mess waiting there, or the silence that’ll hang between Ryker and me when he sees I brought Maisie again.
He’ll understand, though. He always does.
I park in the narrow space between the two cabins and sit there for a moment, the engine ticking as it cools.
Ryker’s porch light is still on. There’s a half-finished mug of something steaming on his railing, which means he’s awake.
Of course he’s awake.
“Alright, bug,” I whisper, reaching back to shake Maisie’s shoulder. “We’re here.”
She blinks at me, disoriented. “Home?”
“Close enough.”
Rufus wakes with a stretch and a yawn that sounds like a small engine starting up.
I grab Maisie’s bag, her sketchbook, and Frida, her stuffed rabbit that’s missing one ear, and usher her toward the porch. The boards creak under our boots.
The door to my cabin sticks a little in the cold, but it gives way with a shove. The familiar scent hits me—pinewood, sawdust, coffee gone stale.
The lights are soft, the air warmer than I expected. I left the heater on low before I left. A rare smart move.
Maisie steps inside, blinking around. “It smells like pancakes.”
I smile faintly. “Probably because I forgot to clean the pan last time.”
She giggles, barely, and that’s enough to keep me going another day.
I set her bag down by the couch, shake the snow off my jacket, and turn toward the window when I catch a shadow move next door.
Ryker’s pacing in his living room. He’s on the phone, shirtless, a towel around his neck. Probably just finished a late run. He glances up, sees me, and nods once. I return it, a silent exchange we’ve perfected over the years.
You good?
Yeah. You?
Barely.
I start the kettle, more out of habit than need.
