9. Connor

The room was quiet.

Trev had said coming back to this place was a mistake. He'd refused to come, and I couldn't blame him for it. It wasn't like I could explain why I had to go back.

But I knew—I could feel with every breath... Shit, it was like the air even smelled like the top of Jessie's head, like that candy-sweet conditioner they'd used.

In our apartment, that bottle was gone, but here? I could smell Jessie everywhere, feel them all around.

When Mattias had first left me alone in that room, I'd had a moment's panic that this would be too much. Maybe I was making a mistake, living in the very worst moment of my life.

But I couldn't let it go, and a couple deep breaths in, I realized it would've felt wrong to. There was a kind of peace in Cider Landing.

In the end, I slept better in the heron room than I'd slept in the year since I'd left it. And when I woke up? Fuck, it felt like Jessie was right there, waiting to watch Saturday morning cartoons together.

By the time I got dressed and ready for the day, I was in a better place than I'd been in ages. And then?—

Well, I went to the county sheriff's office. On the one hand, I thought the deputy assigned to Jessie's case, who'd been following up for the last year, who replied to all my emails, really was doing the best that she could. There was no trail to follow, no evidence.

On the other hand, the new sheriff himself was obviously exasperated that I'd shown back up, told me they were doing everything they could, and assured me that there was no amount of "alpha male posturing" that was going to bring my kid back any faster. All he had to offer me a clap on the shoulder and a sympathetic grimace.

The deputy from the year before made a better show of actually pulling out meaningful information, but there were only threads—nothing I could grasp onto and hope for.

Before I went back to the inn, I dragged my feet along the sidewalk, toward the trail where Jessie had disappeared only a year ago. It was just outside of town, and we hadn't gotten far into the woods when they'd just been gone.

I could stand there beneath the trees and let the breeze rush across the nape of my neck, stare into the shadows and trick myself into thinking they were there, hiding behind a trunk.

When I got back to the Cider Inn, it was well after dark and my arms felt heavier than they had since leaving the city. I'd expected to drag myself upstairs and fall face-forward into bed, maybe shake myself off later in the night to grab a candy bar or something on the off chance I came back to myself enough to feel hungry.

But weirdly, there was Mrs. Hall, smiling at me from behind the desk, and from the dining room off to the side, a warm, savory scent wafted through the air.

"We weren't sure you'd eaten," Mrs. Hall said, "so Mattias made dinner. I hope you saved room?"

I stopped and stared and—and all through searching for Jessie, the only chance we'd had to recover was coming back to the inn, where Mattias had been cooking constantly. It seemed to be how he handled a crisis, how he offered support, and all that warm, homey food had settled my nerves.

Somehow, in the months away from Cider Landing, I'd forgotten. Now, the sense memory washed over me, and I smiled. "Absolutely. I should've let you know when I was coming back."

"Not necessary," Mattias said from the door to the dining room, wiping his hands on a clean dish rag. "The beef needed to rest a few minutes anyway. You've got perfect timing."

"It smells amazing."

Mattias smiled at me. There was something so nice to coming back to people, not just?—

I shook myself out of it. Trevor had gotten distant, but he was—he was busy, that was all. And we were both doing our best. I just couldn't remember the last time we'd sat down and eaten a meal together, much less cooked instead of doing takeout or frozen pizza.

I followed Mattias into the dining room and sat at one of the tables where he'd already put out cutlery. There weren't a ton of seating—about half a dozen tables in total—but there wasn't anyone else in there that evening. Maybe I was just late to dinner.

Mattias disappeared into the kitchen as I spread a napkin out on my lap, and he came back with a full plate—a hearty cut of steak, potatoes, and green beans that looked like they'd been picked from someone's garden.

"This looks great!" I leaned in to take a deep, appreciative sniff.

"Thanks," Mattias said. "Can I get you anything else?"

Could he? This was more than I'd anticipated, and looking down at the full plate, I felt a little more human than I'd felt dragging my feet up the porch stairs to the inn.

It was more than enough, and still?—

"Have you eaten?" I asked. "I could—company would be nice?"

Mattias arched his brows in apparent surprise. "Really?"

I shrugged. "I've never really been great eating alone."

It reminded me of being a kid, when Dad was on the phone with some business and Mom went to bed early. It made me feel squirmy, ill-at-ease.

"But if you're busy?—"

Mattias shook his head. "I'm not. Yeah. I'd love to join you."

He returned a couple minutes later with a plate of his own. "Bon appétit."

I dug in, and he did too. For a few minutes, the only conversation we made was about how damn good everything was. Compliments were easy to give when—damn, I really had forgotten how good food could be.

Then, I asked him about the inn. He got a little cagey when I asked if he usually made dinner for other guests or if he'd hired other kitchen help.

The inn had been quiet when Jessie first went missing, but the town hadn't been. I'd always assumed Mrs. Hall and Mattias had refused to give up rooms to the media when Trev and I were there. It'd been a kindness, really.

Then, we talked books. Mattias was reading something about mermaids, and he thanked me for turning him onto fantasy. He still had my book, he said, and I told him to keep it. Something in me felt lighter, like I'd given someone something worthwhile instead of just dragging everybody down.

"Where's, um—" Mattias glanced beside me, and I drew in a breath.

"Trevor couldn't make it. He had work—" I caught myself and grimaced. "I'm sorry. It comes out by rote now? He, uh, does have work, but more... he thinks coming back here is morose. That it's not doing any good, just prolonging the suffering."

Mattias's lips twisted. For a horrible moment, I figured he was going to tell me it was. Instead, he asked, "Is it?"

I stared down at my plate and dragged a piece of meat through the creamy mashed potatoes. "Not for me? For Trev, I get it. But I don't think"—I sighed—"I don't think there's really anything that can make this worse? Not sure there's much that can make it better, either. We're just handling it differently, me and Trev, which is... how we've always handled most things."

"What about for you? Being back in Cider Landing isn't weird?"

He hadn't stopped eating, wasn't just staring at the spectacle of my misery. It was easier to talk with his hands moving.

"This is the last place I saw Jessie. I feel like—well, I guess for me, it feels like I should be here. Jessie's here, somewhere. Or they were. I don't know. Trev's not the only one who thinks I've got to learn how to let go but—" My lips screwed to the side, and I glanced down, unsure what to say. Did it make me weak, that I couldn't?

"But Jessie's your kid," Mattias whispered, setting his fork down quietly. "Pretty much the hardest person in the world to let go of, your kid. Even when—even when you get to the point where it's time. Before that? I don't know... I'm not sure what I'd do in your or Trev's shoes, but I think it's okay here, to not give up. Nobody even knows what happened."

"Thanks," I whispered. "I mean, for—uh, for dinner. But also for talking to me. I feel less... pathetic, I guess." I laughed awkwardly.

Mattias shook his head. "Pathetic is pretty much the last word I'd use to describe you," he said, folding his napkin as he rose with his plate. "I made apple pie. And I've got ice cream, so, thoughts?"

I grinned. "I'd love some."