What I couldn’t do, what I hadn’t done in years, was let someone close enough to see the broken pieces. The doubts that kept me up at night. The moments when I wondered if all my success was just smoke and mirrors. The truth was that beneath all the rough edges, I wasn’t as unshakable as people thought.
And then there was Madison.
Madison Cole, with her sharp tongue and fierce loyalty, never let me get away with anything. She looked at me differently. Not like the respected architect or the gruff town fixer. She looked at me like she could see right through the walls I’d built. And worse, like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw.
It unsettled me. Made me feel stripped bare. And yet I found myself wanting more of it. Wanting her to keep looking.
Olive complicated things even further. That kid didn’t hesitate to hand me a title I didn’t deserve. Uncle Seth. She said it with such easy certainty, like it had always been true. And the way it felt in my chest when she smiled at me, like I was safe, like I was steady ground, terrified me more than any storm ever could.
I pressed my palms flat to the counter, grounding myself. I had promised Madison she and Olive could stay in the guesthouse as long as they needed. I meant it. I could give them safety. I could fix what was broken in their house.
But I couldn’t fix what was broken in me.
And the part that scared me most was the way Madison’s presence made me want to try.
I turned away from the window, forcing myself to finish the beer even though it didn’t sit right. Upstairs, I showered and pulled on a clean shirt, but even in bed, the silence pressed in. I stared at the ceiling long after midnight, the glow from the guesthouse still flickering in my mind.
They were across the lawn, breathing steady, safe because I’d made it so. That should have been enough. That was the versionof me I knew how to be, the protector, the fixer, the one who never let anything slip.
But the truth lingered anyway. Madison’s eyes were wet with frustration in the adjuster’s office. Olive’s little hand wrapped around my leg, trusting without hesitation. The way my chest had tightened when Madison whispered, “Thank you,” like it cost her something.
The walls I’d built weren’t indestructible. They were already cracking.
And I didn’t know if I had the strength, or the will, to hold them up anymore.
Chapter 23
Madison
Morning came too quickly.
Olive had crawled into my bed sometime during the night, her little feet tucked against my hip, Bunny wedged between us. I lay there until long after dawn, staring at the ceiling of the guesthouse while she breathed softly beside me. My mind spun in loops I couldn’t quiet.
The storm. The insurance adjuster. The way Seth’s hand had steadied me in that office, firm and grounding. The words he’d spoken outside, low and certain, how he promised the guesthouse was ours for as long as we needed.
I wanted to take comfort in that. Part of me did. But another part, stubborn, scarred, the part that remembered every person who had left me behind. My inner voice kept whispering that it was dangerous to lean on someone like Seth Cunningham.
Still, I got up, slipped into my jeans and a soft tee, and coaxed Olive into her dress with little sunflowers stitched across the hem. She twirled, grinning, and I kissed the top of her head before pulling my hair back into a bun.
By the time we reached The Beanery, the square was already buzzing. Vendors sweeping their sidewalks, flower boxes spilling over with color, the fountain gurgling in the center. The town wore its morning routine like a familiar hug. For the first time in days, I almost felt normal.
Inside, the coffee shop smelled like roasted beans and cinnamon muffins fresh from the oven. Evie was behind the counter, apron dusted with flour, her smile wide when she saw me.
“You holding up?” she asked as I tied my own apron.
“As much as I can,” I said with a small smile. “Olive’s excited to be back here, so that helps.”
Olive had already claimed her corner table, crayons spilling out like treasure, and Bunny propped beside her cup of milk. She gave me a little wave before plunging into her drawing.
The rhythm of work was steady. Orders called out. Espresso steaming. The hiss of milk frothing. My hands moved on instinct, but my head was somewhere else. Replay after replay of yesterday’s meeting. Of Seth’s voice saying that we could stay. Of the tiny smile Olive had pulled out of him at the shop when she called him uncle.
It all left me feeling unsteady, like the ground under my feet was shifting.
The bell above the door jingled, and my stomach gave a lurch.
Seth walked in.
Still in work boots, shirt already damp at the collar, clipboard tucked under his arm. He looked like he’d been up for hours, like he’d already rebuilt half the town before most people had finished breakfast. His eyes scanned the shop, landed on me, and softened just barely.
