Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

T he rich scent of melting chocolate filled Megan's small kitchen, mingling with Ruby's delighted giggles as she perched on her step stool, watching Miss Doris measure ingredients with practiced ease. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, catching the fine dusting of flour that seemed to coat every surface.

"Now, the secret," Miss Doris said, her eyes twinkling as she handed Ruby a measuring cup, "is using exactly the right amount of chocolate chips. No more, no less."

Ruby's face scrunched in concentration as she carefully poured the chips into the bowl, though Megan didn't miss the way her daughter's other hand snuck a few pieces into her mouth.

"I saw that, little one," Miss Doris laughed, tapping Ruby's nose and leaving a small smudge of flour. "You're as sneaky as my boys were at your age."

Megan smiled, leaning against the counter as she watched them work. There was something achingly familiar about this scene—the warmth, the laughter, the gentle guidance of someone who'd baked countless batches of brownies before.

"Mama, can I stir?" Ruby asked, bouncing on her toes.

"Careful now," Megan said, stepping forward to steady the bowl as Ruby wielded the wooden spoon with determination.

Miss Doris watched them both, her expression soft. "You're getting quite good at this, Ruby. Pretty soon you'll be teaching me how to bake."

Ruby beamed, chocolate smeared across one cheek. "Can we make these for Santa Scott?"

The question caught Megan off guard, and she felt Miss Doris's knowing gaze settle on her. "We'll see, sweetheart," she managed, brushing a curl from Ruby's forehead.

As Ruby returned to her stirring, Miss Doris moved closer to Megan, her voice dropping. "Have you thought more about what we discussed?"

Megan's chest tightened. She focused on wiping down the counter, avoiding Miss Doris's gentle scrutiny. "The offer from San Diego is solid," she said quietly. "It makes sense, practically speaking."

"Practical isn't always right," Miss Doris replied, reaching for the pan they'd greased earlier. "Sometimes the heart knows better than the head."

"I can't afford to listen to my heart right now," Megan said, watching as Ruby carefully scraped the sides of the bowl. "Ruby needs stability. A real future."

Miss Doris began pouring the batter, her movements steady and practiced. "And you think you can't find that here?"

"I'd have to take the bar exam," Megan said, voicing the practical concerns that had kept her awake at night. "That takes time, money. And childcare?—"

"You have people here who care about you," Miss Doris interrupted gently. "People who would help. Including a certain someone who looks at you like you hung the moon."

Heat crept into Megan's cheeks. "Scott's been kind, but?—"

"Kind?" Miss Doris raised an eyebrow. "Honey, that man is head over heels for both of you. And don't tell me you don't feel something too."

Before Megan could respond, Ruby's voice piped up. "Are the brownies ready?"

"Almost time for the oven," Miss Doris said, smoothing the batter with practiced strokes. "Want to help me make sure it's even?"

As Ruby scrambled to help, Megan stepped back, her thoughts swirling. The simple domesticity of the scene—Ruby's enthusiasm, Miss Doris's steady presence, the warmth of her small kitchen—felt like everything she'd been searching for since Danny's death.

"You know," Miss Doris said later, as they watched the brownies rise through the oven door, "sometimes the best decisions aren't the ones that look perfect on paper."

Megan met her gaze, finding understanding in the older woman's eyes. "I don't want to make a mistake," she admitted. "Not with Ruby's future at stake."

"The only mistake," Miss Doris said softly, "would be not being honest with yourself—and with Scott—before you decide."

After Miss Doris left, Megan sat at her small desk, a blank piece of paper before her. Ruby lay on her stomach nearby, contentedly drawing with her crayons.

Megan's pen hovered over the paper, her heart racing slightly as she began to write.

Dear Scott,

The words came slowly at first, then faster, like a dam breaking. She wrote about her fears, her gratitude for his kindness, the unexpected way he'd woven himself into their lives. She wrote about Ruby's laughter at Santa's Village, about quiet moments over coffee, about the safety she felt in his presence.

"What are you writing, Mama?" Ruby asked, peering up from her drawing.

"A letter," Megan said, her voice soft. "To Santa Scott."

Ruby's face lit up. "Can I help?" She held up her drawing—a familiar figure in a red suit, standing next to what appeared to be Cupid.

Megan's heart squeezed as she took the picture. "It's perfect, sweetheart."

Later, as she folded the letter and tucked it away with Ruby's drawing, Megan felt the weight of Miss Doris's words settle over her. Maybe the practical choice wasn't always the right one. Maybe, sometimes, the heart knew better after all.

The evening air held a hint of winter's chill as Megan and Ruby made their way down the quiet street toward Scott's house. Ruby skipped ahead, her curls bouncing beneath her knit hat, while Megan followed more slowly, the box of brownies in one hand and the letter tucked safely in her coat pocket.

"Do you think Santa Scott will like the brownies?" Ruby asked, her breath forming tiny clouds in the cool air.

"I'm sure he will, sweetheart," Megan said, though her stomach fluttered with nerves. The weight of the letter seemed to grow with each step, its carefully chosen words both a comfort and a source of anxiety.

As they rounded the corner, Scott's house came into view. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the Christmas lights still twinkled along the porch railing, casting a soft glow across the front yard. It looked inviting, almost magical in the gathering dusk.

Ruby bounced on her toes. "Can I ring the doorbell?"

"Hold on a minute," Megan said, adjusting her grip on the brownie box. She needed a moment to gather her courage, to prepare herself for whatever came next.

But as they drew closer, movement in the front window caught her eye. Scott stood in what appeared to be his living room, but he wasn't alone. A woman stood close to him—tall, elegant, with carefully styled dark hair. They were deep in conversation, and even through the window, Megan could see the easy intimacy between them.

The woman laughed at something Scott said, reaching out to touch his arm. She leaned in slightly, her body language unmistakable, and Megan's heart plummeted to her feet.

"Mama?" Ruby tugged at her sleeve. "Can we go in now?"

Megan's throat felt tight, her earlier resolve crumbling like sand through her fingers. "I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart. Scott has company."

Through the window, the woman moved even closer to Scott, and Megan forced herself to look away. How foolish she'd been, imagining that their connection was something special, something exclusive. Of course Scott would have other people in his life. Other possibilities.

"But the brownies," Ruby protested, her lower lip beginning to tremble. "And my drawing..."

Megan's chest ached at her daughter's disappointment. "We'll leave them on the porch," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It'll be a nice surprise for him to find later."

She set the box down carefully, tucking Ruby's drawing and the letter beneath it. Part of her wanted to snatch the letter back, to burn it before Scott could read her vulnerable confessions. But her hands were shaking too much to try.

"Why can't we stay?" Ruby asked as Megan guided her back down the path. "I wanted to tell Santa Scott about the brownies. And maybe talk to Cupid.”

"Not tonight, baby," Megan said, her voice thick. "Maybe another time."

They were halfway home when Ruby's quiet sniffles turned into proper tears. "But I love Santa Scott," she said, her small voice wavering. "He makes the best hot chocolate, and he tells funny stories, and he lets me pet Cupid..."

Megan stopped walking and knelt in front of her daughter, pulling her close. Ruby's words confirmed her worst fears. She'd allowed her daughter to form an attachment that could only lead to heartbreak.

"I know you do, sweetheart," she whispered, stroking Ruby's curls. "I know."

The walk home felt longer than usual, each step weighted with regret and resignation. Ruby's hand was warm in hers, but Megan's heart felt frozen. She'd been right to consider the job in San Diego. Right to prioritize practicality over emotion.

Sometimes the safest choice was the only choice that made sense.

As they approached their bungalow, Megan cast one last look over her shoulder, though Scott's house was long out of sight. The letter she'd left behind suddenly seemed like a message in a bottle, cast into an ocean that would never bring it back to shore.

Maybe it was better this way. Better to step back now, before Ruby—before both of them—got hurt even more.