Chapter 22

22

Chloe

My phone alarm rang out, waking me from my peaceful sleep. I blinked against the soft morning glow filling Mason’s room, and a slow smile spread across my face as memories from last night trickled into my consciousness. Warmth seeped into my skin from where his arm had been draped over me, though now he lay with his back to me, deep breaths telling me he was still lost to the world.

I stretched beneath the sheets, careful not to disturb him. The bed was a cocoon of comfort, his scent wrapped around me like a promise. Just another minute, I told myself, savoring the quiet contentment that hummed through my veins. It felt like I’d finally found a slice of happiness that was all mine—ours.

With one last stretch, I edged out of bed, wincing at the slight chill of the room compared to the lingering heat of Mason’s embrace. On tiptoes, I padded across the wooden floor, which thankfully didn’t betray a single creak. A glance over my shoulder showed Mason still in the throes of sleep, a faint smile curving his lips. Was he dreaming? Maybe about us?

My heart did a little pirouette at the thought .

Today, I wanted to do something sweet for him—and Abby too. Surprise them with breakfast. I knew that their weekday breakfasts were usually quick bowls of cereal or toast and fruit. I figured I could do better than that.

I imagined Abby’s bright-eyed excitement, the way she’d probably squeal with excitement over surprise pancakes, and how Mason’s eyes would light up with that mix of amusement and love he reserved just for her. They deserved it, this small token of my growing affection.

Reaching the door, I allowed myself a final look at Mason’s peaceful form. Then, slipping through the doorway, I set out on my mission. I could already taste the joy it would bring.

The kitchen greeted me with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the faintest light filtering through the half-closed blinds. I paused for a moment, letting my eyes adjust, before diving into the cupboards with gusto. Flour, baking powder, sugar—the basics for pancakes lined up like soldiers on the counter. Eggs and milk followed, plucked from the fridge with a practiced hand.

With each ingredient, I measured and mixed, a pinch of salt here, a dash of vanilla there. The batter came together smoothly under my whisk, the rhythm soothing any lingering nerves about my culinary adventure. I preheated the skillet, the sizzle of the first test pancake a gentle promise of the breakfast to come.

Moving on to setting the table, I pulled plates from the cabinet—one for Abby, one for Mason, and one for me. Each plate was placed with precision, flanked by utensils that gleamed softly in the morning light. Napkins folded neatly, just the way my Mom had taught me to do it all those years ago.

“Perfect,” I murmured, surveying the scene.

A tiny thrill danced in my chest at the thought of their surprise. Even as I laid out the glasses, filling them halfway with orange juice, I couldn’t help but smile—the kind that starts deep in your soul and doesn’t fade even when you try to stifle it.

I heard heavy footsteps on the kitchen stairs, and turned to see a sleepy Mason appear, a confused smile stretching across his face.

“What’s all this?”

I stirred the batter. “Just a little surprise for you guys.”

He approached me from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

I leaned back into him, savoring his warmth. “Well I woke up feeling so lucky. So I wanted to do something nice for my two favorite people.”

His low chuckle rumbled against me. “I think we’re the lucky ones here.” He planted a soft kiss below my ear before pulling away. “I’ll go wake up the munchkin.”

I smiled as he headed upstairs, the padding of his bare feet fading away. Turning my attention back to the stove, I scooped another golden brown pancake onto the growing stack. The batter was nearly gone now. I had made plenty—Abby could put away an impressive number of pancakes for a six-year-old.

The clatter of footsteps barreled down the stairs, bursting into the kitchen with all the contained chaos of an excited child.

“Pancakes!” Abby cheered, nearly skidding across the floor in her unicorn pajamas before Mason caught her around the middle

“Easy there, kiddo,” Mason chuckled, lifting Abby off her feet with practiced ease. Her enthusiastic energy filled the kitchen like the morning sunshine streaming through the windows.

I looked over my shoulder, giving them both a playful grin. “I hope you like chocolate chip. We’ve got a big stack here ready to go!”

“My favorite!” Abby wiggled in Mason’s arms until he set her down, and she scrambled up onto one of the chairs. Her little legs swung back and forth, barely brushing the floor.

Mason shot me an appreciative smile as he joined Abby at the table. “You really outdid yourself here, Chloe. This looks amazing.”

His praise warmed me from the inside out. I divvied up the pancakes between their plates, adding a generous pat of butter on top. The chocolate chips were already melting into the fluffy cakes.

“Dig in.”

I watched with quiet joy as Abby and Mason enthusiastically tucked into their pancakes. The kitchen filled with the happy sounds of their enjoyment—Abby’s delighted “Mmm!”s between big bites, Mason’s deep hum of appreciation, and the melodic clink of forks on plates.

Abby was a nonstop chatterbox, already recounting a vivid dream she’d had about riding a unicorn through a field of kittens. Mason listened attentively, eyebrows raised in amusement, as he steadily worked his way through the stack of pancakes. A dollop of syrup clung to Abby’s chin, making me smile.

“These are the best pancakes ever!” Abby declared, shoveling another big bite into her mouth. “They’re like a bazillion times better than the yucky cereal Daddy makes.”

Mason let out a hearty laugh. “Can’t argue with that logic. Chloe’s pancakes put my cereal skills to shame.”

I smiled at Abby’s praise, warmth blooming in my chest. “Why thank you, sweetie. I’m so glad you like them.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. I found myself leaning against the counter as I nursed my coffee, simply soaking in the cozy domesticity of it all. The early morning sunshine streamed through the windows, glinting off the maple syrup bottle and the silverware. The earthy notes of my coffee mingled with the sweet scent of sizzling batter and melting chocolate chips. Moments like this were worth waking up extra early for.

Mason finished off his plate and leaned back in his chair, one hand drifting absently to rub his stomach. “Mm, Chlo those were incredible. You’re gonna spoil us with cooking like that.”

“Good thing I don’t mind spoiling my favorite people every now and then,” I said with a playful grin. I gathered up their empty plates and carried them to the sink.

Abby zoomed by, running up the stairs to get ready for school. I guess I didn’t think about how much all that sugar would affect her, but oh well. A moment later, I felt Mason behind me again, his arms locking me in place. This time, I turned around, looking up at him with what I was positive was stars in my eyes.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Chlo . . . but I hope you know, I’m gonna work like hell to earn it.”

My heart practically exploded.

“Mason . . .” I wanted to tell him he deserved me. That he was the best man I’d ever known, and that I’d fallen so deeply in love with him, I could feel him even when he wasn’t there.

But the words wouldn’t come. So instead, I rose up onto my tiptoes and took his lips in a kiss I hope served as a good enough explanation for now.

He moaned into the kiss, deepening it as he gripped my hip, my face. It was passion incarnate, but at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, we broke apart, reluctantly.

He took a step back, but still held my hand, giving it a sweet kiss. And I knew that I was a goner. Mason Bridges had stolen my heart, and I didn’t want it back.

Sunshine Acres was a flurry of activity. Around lunchtime, I headed to the breakroom to grab a snack. Eryn was there, chatting with one of our new volunteers, an older gentleman named Walter. He reminded me of my grandfather—kind eyes, bushy white eyebrows and a penchant for terrible dad jokes. I smiled as I caught the tail-end of one such groaner, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

“Hey Chloe,” Eryn said. “Everything going okay today?”

“So far, so good,” I replied,

I took a big bite of the apple, savoring the sweet crunch. Things were finally looking up after the difficult morning.

“We’ve got a full schedule this afternoon. Two yoga classes and a meditation workshop,” I said.

Eryn nodded, glancing down at her tablet. “It’s been busy lately. Lots of new faces.”

I was glad to see our retreat thriving. When I first arrived in Whittier Falls broken and adrift, Sunshine Acres became my refuge. Now it felt like home.

Walter chuckled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well, don’t work too hard, ladies. Take time to stop and smell the roses.”

“We’ll try,” Eryn laughed. She gave my arm an affectionate squeeze as she headed out of the breakroom.

I lingered a few moments, chatting with Walter about his volunteer work. He was retired and had plenty of time on his hands to help around town. I loved that people wanted to give back here. It made it all the more special.

After saying goodbye to him, I headed back to the office to grab some of the new student paperwork.

That’s when I noticed the envelope on my desk. Plain white, with my name and the address of Sunshine Acres printed neatly on the front. No return address.

My hands shook as I picked it up, turning it over. It had been mailed, postmarked over the stamp neatly affixed in the corner. But who would be sending me a letter here? The only people who knew I worked here were people from town, and surely they wouldn’t be mailing me anything. Especially not from Chicago, I thought as I looked closer at the postmark.

I’d never been to Chicago.

The phone call I’d received now replayed in my head.

I slid my finger under the flap and tore it open, my heart pounding in my ears. As I unfolded the single sheet of paper inside, my blood turned to ice.

No. It couldn’t be.

The letter fluttered from my trembling fingers and landed face up on the desk. Two words stared back at me, scrawled in achingly familiar handwriting.

Found you.

A choked sob caught in my throat as I stared at those two words, their jagged letters searing into my brain. It was his handwriting. I would know it anywhere, even after all these years. The way the ‘F’ slashed across the page, the sharp angles of the ‘u’ . . .

But it couldn’t be him. He was locked away, behind bars where he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

I snatched up the letter with shaking hands, my eyes scanning the page for any other clues. There was nothing else, just those two damning words. No signature, no date, nothing to indicate where it had come from.

My vision blurred as memories assaulted me, fragments of a past I’d tried so hard to forget. The glint of a knife, the coppery scent of blood, the sound of my own screams echoing in my ears . . .

“No,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s gone.”

But the fear that had been my constant companion for so long wouldn’t be silenced. It coiled in my gut like a poisonous snake, ready to strike at any moment. I crumpled the letter in my fist, my nails digging into my palm.

I couldn’t let him win. Not again. I had to be stronger than this.

With a shuddering breath, I shoved the crumpled letter into my bag and stood up on shaky legs. I had to keep going, had to pretend everything was fine. I couldn’t let anyone see how much this had rattled me.

I needed a distraction. And I knew just where to find it.