Chapter One

Annette

Stepping out of the car with Beathan's small hand in mine, we're immediately greeted by the sleepy hum of Becca Falls. It's as if the town pauses for a moment, acknowledging our return after five long years. The air holds a crispness of new beginnings and old memories mingling together. Glancing down at Beathan, his wide green eyes take in everything with pure childlike wonder. His hair is tousled from the drive, making him look like a little explorer ready to conquer new lands or, in this case, rediscover old ones.

"Momma, it looks like a storybook," he says, his voice tinged with awe.

Squeezing his hand, I say, "It does, B. Our story started here."

We stand on the sidewalk, staring up the town's main street. We are two doors down from the bakery, owned by Jamie's girlfriend, Isabelle. It's called Baked Goodness. Trees line the main street, and in front of the building I own is a large oak tree, its branches offering shade on this warm summer day. Beathan's grip tightens around my fingers, grounding me as we stand before the red-brick building that now houses my yoga studio and our new home above it. My heart pounds against my ribcage, and a strange cocktail of emotions floods through me. This town is the past I thought I wanted to leave behind, and now it's the future I'm yearning to build.

Memories flash in rapid succession—the scent of rain on the pavement, the sharp sting of loss that once drove me away. And now, here I am, back to where it all began, with my son by my side.

"Are you okay, Momma?" Beathan's voice is soft, but an undercurrent of concern belies his years.

I crouch to meet his gaze. "I'm better than okay," I tell him, mustering a smile. "We're starting fresh, you and me. This place is part of us, and we'll make new memories. Just wait and see."

He nods, his grin infectious, and I feel the weight on my shoulders lighten ever so slightly. We turn toward the entrance, each step taking us closer to the building, and a sense of excitement bubbles within me. Becca Falls has never had a yoga studio, and I'm looking forward to building a new business and creating a life for my son and me.

"Look, Momma, it's just like you said it would be," Beathan says, his eyes fixed on the sign above the door, etched with the name of our new sanctuary.

"Serenity Space Yoga," I whisper the words.

"Can we go inside?" he asks, tugging at my hand, already eager to explore.

"Let's do it."

The red door creaks open, its familiar groan a whisper of welcome as Beathan and I step over the threshold. The floors are all wooden, and a desk is set off to one side. It's one big space with mats and cushions ready for our first clients. At the back of the studio are two doors, one leads to the women's locker room with showers and toilets, and the men's is mirrored on the other side. Next to the front door is a set of stairs leading up and at the top is another red door with the word ‘PRIVATE' written in gold. Beathan lets my hand go and climbs up to our apartment above. He opens the door, and the space wraps around us like a warm embrace. Soft lighting spills from overhead, casting a gentle glow on walls painted in hues of buttercream and honey. It's a stark contrast to the enormous apartment we shared in New York with Tyson Reed.

Tyson was a lifesaver. Without him these past five years, I'm not sure I could have survived in New York for as long as I did. He was always there to lend a hand, babysit, and take care of us. But as Beathan got older, the skyscrapers of New York didn't feel like the right environment to raise my son. And although it's for the best to be back home, a part of me wishes Tyson had come with us.

"Wow," Beathan breathes out, his voice pulling me out of my memories.

This apartment has two bedrooms and bathrooms, with a living room, small dining room, and kitchen. It's cozy, and as I look at the mismatched cushions scattered on a plush blue sofa, a sense of belonging comes over me.

"Is this really our home, Momma?" Beathan's eyes, like Lochlan's, search mine for affirmation.

"Every corner of it, love," I assure him, my fingers brushing against a photograph on the mantle. Lochlan's smile beams at us from behind the glass, forever frozen in time yet somehow still offering comfort.

From below, laughter filters up through the floorboards, punctuated by the timbre of foreign and known voices. The MacKenny clan, voices that have filled countless phone calls and letters but now swell around me, real and present.

"Who's here?" Beathan asks, inching toward the staircase drawn by the magnetic pull of voices.

"It sounds like your uncles," I reply, swallowing the knot of emotion that forms in my throat.

I take a deep breath and follow Beathan's lead as he bounds back down the stairs. The chatter grows clearer and more distinct as we enter the yoga studio.

"Annette!" Kyle's gruff bark is softened by an undercurrent of joy.

"Welcome home!" Sean calls out.

"Home," I echo silently, allowing myself to be drawn into the fold, into the heart of the MacKenny clan.

Beathan puts his small hand in mine, suddenly shy under the gaze of his uncles.

Kyle, the oldest member of the MacKenny clan, steps forward and holds out his hand to my son. His brown hair, a little more peppered with gray than I remember, doesn't diminish the vitality in his eyes.

"Annette," Kyle says, but his eyes are on Beathan.

"Hello, Kyle."

Beathan looks up at me. "Shake hands with your Uncle Kyle."

Beathan lets me go, and his small hand slips into his uncle's large one.

"Welcome home." Kyle bends to talk to him, then straightens up. His arms, strong and sure, envelop me, and for a moment, I allow myself to rest against his steady heartbeat.

"Welcome back," he murmurs, and the words resonate through me, an echo of all the welcomes we've shared before.

"Thank you," I reply, pulling back just enough to see him clearly and memorize the lines time has etched upon his face.

Beathan tugs at my hand, a gentle reminder that there's more to this reunion than my battered heart. I crouch beside him, smoothing back the unruly tuft of brown hair that falls across his forehead.

"Bean, do you remember your uncles?" I ask, nudging him forward.

"Hi." Beathan's voice rings with clarity only a child can muster, his green eyes wide and trusting as he waves at the men in front of him.

"Hey, champ." Kyle's smile is a thing of warmth, and he ruffles Beathan's hair with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior.

One by one, the MacKenny brothers approach, their smiles carving a space for Beathan in the fabric of our clan. Beathan meets them with a bravery born of innocence, accepting the place offered at the table of kinship.

"Uncle Jamie, Uncle Mad, Uncle Angus, and Uncle Sean," he greets them.

"Look how big you've gotten," Jamie exclaims, his laughter filling the room.

"Going to be tall like your da…" adds Sean.

Maddock merely nods, his quiet demeanor a still pool amidst the ripples of our reunion, his smile for Beathan a silent promise of stories yet to be told.

"Got your mother's eyes, lad," he says, and Beathan beams under the weight of their attention.

My gaze lingers on Beathan, my heart brimming with silent thanks. His laughter mingles with the MacKennys', a symphony of joy that breathes life into the once-hushed corners of my soul. They toss him gently in the air, his small body buoyant with trust, and I catch my breath at the sight. This is the childhood I've dreamed of for him, one filled with the safety of kin and the magic of belonging.

"Will you teach me to fish?" Beathan asks, eyes wide with hope.

His Uncle Jamie nods. "Of course. The river runs right past my place." He glances at me. "So long as your mom doesn't mind."

"Not at all."

Jamie smiles broadly at me as Beathan removes his hat and puts it on his own head. It immediately covers half his face. Laughing, Jamie tilts it up so Beathan can see.

"Maybe we should get you one of these for yourself?"

Beathan nods at his uncle. "Can it be the same color as yours?"

"Sure."

Heavy boots thud against the wooden floor. I turn to find Cutter standing in the doorway. The light casts shadows across his stern face, but his eyes hold a warmth that belies his imposing stance. He's in Kyle's MC, the Loyal Rebels, and although he's scary to look at, I know he's devoted to the MacKenny brothers.

"Annette," he says by way of a greeting. His gaze rests on Beathan, a subtle softening around the edges of his eyes.

"Hey, Cutter," I manage, my voice steady, though my heart skips a beat.

He's dangerous, but he's also loyal to his MC and the men in this room.

"Good to have you home," he says as he steps closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and the room seems to contract around his solid frame. "You've been missed around here."

I nod, the knot of tension in my chest easing somewhat. "Thank you, Cutter. That means more than you know."

A swell of gratitude rises within me, warming my cheeks. Beathan never knew his father, but surrounded by these sturdy men bound by honor and blood, I realize he has something perhaps just as powerful—a legion of uncles with hearts as fierce as their reputations.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Sean moves toward us. "Annette," Sean's voice is steady, unwavering. "Let's get you settled in. Whatever you and Beathan need, consider it done." He extends his hand, not in command but in offering.

Hesitantly, I place my hand in his. His grip is firm yet careful like he's handling something precious. It's not just an offer of help but a lifeline, an unspoken promise that some things can be rebuilt, even from the ashes of the past.

"Thank you, Sean," I reply, allowing myself to lean into the support he offers.

In the embrace of those who share my blood and history, love stitches together the frayed edges of my heart. And as I watch Beathan, so small yet so fiercely embraced by the MacKennys, I know that this, the return to roots and the slow rhythm of Becca Falls, is where healing begins.

The next day, Beathan and I wander through town. The park in Becca Falls hasn't changed much—the swings creak the same tune, and the slide still boasts its sun-faded red. But as Beathan's laughter rings out, pure and undiluted by city sirens, something shifts inside me.

"Look, Momma! Ducks!"

"Careful by the water," I call out, but he knows.

My son squats by the lake's edge, hands cupping the bread we brought, crumbs tumbling from his little fingers as ducks waddle over with a sense of entitlement only nature can give.

I stand back, arms wrapped around myself, watching him charm the birds.

"Momma, come play!" Beathan beckons, and I can't help but smile.

"All right, I'm coming." I approach, kneeling beside him, our reflections fractured on the lake's surface. "You're quite the duck whisperer."

He grins at me, those green eyes sparkling with mischief. "They like me."

"They sure do."

"You shouldn't give them bread," a voice behind me says.

It's a woman, in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She holds out a bag filled with oats.

"Bread is bad for them, but oats are good." She smiles widely.

"Thank you."

"You're Annette." She points at my son. "And you are Beathan. I'm Charlotte."

I hold my hand out to her, and she wraps her hands around mine. "Nice to meet you, Charlotte."

Jamie walks toward us and puts an arm around Charlotte. "This is Isabelle's sister."

Charlotte smiles up at him, then looks at me. "I work in the bakery. Jamie says I make the best coffees in town."

"And you do."

The smile on her face gets bigger, and she blushes. "I should be getting back. Isabelle will want help cleaning up." Charlotte bends to look Beathan in the eyes. "It was nice meeting you and remember, no more bread for the ducks."

Charlotte bounds away, and I look at Jamie.

"She's a little slow, our Charlotte. But she does make the best coffee in town, and she's right about the bread."

"Good to know."

As the afternoon wanes, we amble down the tree-lined streets of Becca Falls with Jamie. Memories linger on every corner like ghosts from another life, whispering secrets of what once was.

"Are you two settled in?"

Nodding, I say, "Yes. We only have a couple of boxes to unpack. It's too nice a day to stay indoors."

"We're glad you're home. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Jamie tips his hat at me and ruffles Beathan's hair. "See you around, buddy."

"See ya!"

I watch Jamie walk to the bakery and disappear inside.

"Are you happy we're here, Momma?" Beathan asks, slipping his hand into mine.

"Very happy," I answer truthfully because, at this moment, gratitude wells up, warm and overwhelming.

"Me, too," he says and skips ahead.

Walking through the heart of Becca Falls, memories flood back. It's here, between the lovingly tended flowerbeds and the murmur of greetings from familiar faces, that I absorb the full weight of our return.

"Annette, welcome home!" a voice calls, and I turn to see Mr. Corrigan, from his garage door next to the gas station, his overalls stained with grease and oil.

"Thank you, Mr. Corrigan!" I reply.

How different this is from the anonymity of New York, where neighbors pass like ships in the night, their stories untold, their smiles sparing.

"Let's get some cookies, Momma!" Beathan tugs at my arm, pulling me toward the bakery.

"Of course, let's go." Inside, the scent of baked goods wraps around us.

Charlotte beams at us. "What can I get you?"

"Do you have any cookies left?"

Charlotte holds up a finger and disappears into the back of the bakery. A petite woman with kind brown eyes comes out holding a box tied with a string bow.

"Hello! I'm Isabelle, Charlotte's sister and Jamie's girlfriend."

Holding out my hand, I say, "Annette, and this is Beathan."

"I know." Her smile is welcoming. "I'm so sorry I didn't get over to see you when you first arrived, but I hope these make up for it."

"Cookies?" Beathan asks.

"You bet." Beathan takes the box from her.

With a hand on his back, I say, "What do you say?"

"Thank you."

"You are more than welcome, and when you run out, you come see me, little man."

With big eyes, he looks up at me. "Can I, Momma?"

"If Auntie Isabelle doesn't mind and you're a good boy, yes."

He grins at me, then back at Isabelle. "Thank you."

"Don't open them yet. Dinner first." He pouts at me. "Why don't you take them home, and I'll be up in a minute."

"Okay!" Beathan runs away with the box of cookies secured in both hands.

"Thanks for that."

"Anytime, the same goes for you. If you need anything, I'm here most days with Charlotte."

"Well, I should get home before he eats the whole box before I get there."

"Don't be a stranger," Isabelle replies.

"I won't."

"Cherie, Beth, Tula, and I get together once a month for margaritas and pizza. It'd be great if you could join us. It's the first Friday of every month."

"I have Beathan so…"

"Are you kidding? Pick one of the MacKenny boys to babysit. They'll be lining up."

"I'm happy to look after him," Jamie says, stepping into the bakery. "Charlotte and I can give him his own pizza night. We could do a sleepover?"

The only person who's looked after Beathan has been Tyson, and although the MacKennys are family and I know them, I'm not so sure.

"How about I think about it?"

Jamie frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but Isabelle puts an arm around his waist and another on his chest. "Of course! No pressure. We're just glad you're here. It's an open invitation."

"Thank you." I smile at them, then step out of the bakery into the fading light. I pause, allowing the quiet of the early evening to settle over me.

This is what small-town living is all about. This is the life I want for my son, surrounded by family and friends, and the security only a small town can bring.