I barked orders at my crew, flipping through my clipboard like the paper could shield me from the truth,
I could rebuild a whole town with my bare hands. But I couldn’t stop the crack that kid had just put in my chest.
And I didn’t know what scared me more, that the walls were breaking, or that part of me wanted them to.
The Hollow Tap was quieter than usual for an early evening, the kind of lull that happens between the late lunch crowd and the evening rush. I was halfway through a sandwich when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Cunningham himself. Thought you swore off bar food unless it came from your own grill.”
I turned. Maddox Rees leaned in the doorway, same backwards ball cap, same smirk.
“Maddox,” I said, shaking his hand. “Didn’t think you’d wander into town before five.”
“I like to keep people guessing. Besides, Grey’s got the night off, and Blair threatened to lock me out if I hovered too much. Figured I’d spread my charm elsewhere.”
He slid onto the stool beside me. “So… rumor mill says you’ve got company out at your place. Madison Cole and her little girl?”
I set my glass down carefully. “Yeah. They’re in the guest house.”
He studied me for a long moment, that look he always had when he was about to cut through the crap. “And how’s that working out?”
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine,” he echoed, grinning. “You’ve always had the emotional range of a brick wall, Seth. I’m asking if you’re happy.”
I looked at him, then away. “It’s complicated.”
Maddox raised his bourbon in a toast. “Everything worth a damn usually is.”
And that was the end of it. He turned to the baseball game, like he hadn’t just stripped me bare in two sentences.
Chapter 19
Madison
By late afternoon, the light had turned honey colored, the way it always did in late summer when the heat finally began to soften. The air conditioner ticked as it turned on, Olive sang to Bunny in the bedroom, her sweet little voice drifting out into the rest of the house as I stood at the kitchen island trying to remember how to make an evening feel normal again.
I lined up the ingredients like a list of small victories. Box of pasta. Jar of marinara. A handful of basil from the planter outside that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a magazine. Olive’s favorite Parmesan is in a tub with a cracked lid. I filled a pot at the sink and watched the water swirl and shimmer before I set it on the burner. Steam rose in a thin ribbon and curled toward the ceiling.
Olive padded out in her rainbow socks, hairbrush clutched like a microphone. “Mommy, Bunny says he is hungry.” She pressed the brush to her mouth and sang a little line about spaghetti while she tilted her head so I could see the sticker she had plastered to her cheek. It read “Brave” in glitter letters.
I tugged the sticker gently so it sat straight. “Bunny has excellent taste.”
“Uncle Seth likes eggs. But he will like pasta too,” she decided. She said it with the steady certainty of a person who expected the world to rise to meet her.
My stomach tightened. “We are not cooking for Uncle Seth.”
Olive blinked up at me, unbothered. “But he is tired.”
“He is fine,” I said. The words came out too quickly. I turned back to the pot and shook in the salt. The hiss was louder than it needed to be.
Olive climbed onto a stool and colored while the water rolled at a furious boil. I added the pasta and stirred until the pieces stopped clicking against the metal. The room smelled like tomatoes and basil, and something simple that made my shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. Domestic rituals always relaxed me. Put water on. Stir. Taste. Adjust. Serve. Even when the big things were chaotic, a small kitchen to cook in could still ground me.
I set two place mats on the island and paused. The drawer held another set of flatware, heavy and expensive, a world away from the mismatched forks in my little bungalow. I pulled out a thirdfork before my brain caught up with my hand. Habit was a tricky thing. Hope was trickier.
“You want to carry napkins to the counter?” I asked.
Olive bounced off the stool and did it like it was a job she had trained for. She arranged the napkins with careful precision. Then she leaned her chin on the island and watched me pour noodles into the colander.
