1. Taran

CHAPTER 1

TARAN

Whoever said Christmas was a season for merriment, hope and joy probably needed to spend a day—heck, maybe a week—in my shoes.

While I prepared the icing for the cupcakes that were cooling on the rack, I glanced out of the window. Snow fell in big, heavy flakes. The yard looked glorious, blanketed all in white. But I didn’t have time to enjoy it all. I was on a tight schedule. In an hour, I needed to leave for my meeting at the bank.

“Dad, I found the gloves,” Rory, my son, announced as he marched into the kitchen. “They were under my bed.”

I turned toward the only light in my life: my twelve-year-old son—the reason I lived and breathed. Rory was tall for his age, with a warmth to his deep brown skin that seemed to glow in any light. His hair was cropped and coiled, with a soft sheen, and his smile revealed dimples in both cheeks, cheeks that still held a trace of baby fat. Soon enough, those round cheeks would fade, and he’d be a teen.

For now, though, he was my curious, gentle boy, standing out in our small, close-knit town. He was my rock—I loved to take care of him. A smile curved over my lips at his rueful expression. “If you’d cleaned the room yesterday like I asked you, you would have found them then.”

His grin looked sheepish, but also a little naughty. “Yes, Dad.”

“Now, you need to pop the second tray of cupcakes into the oven.” I filled the icing tube, ready to prepare the first batch. “And then whisk the batter for the third batch.”

“Awww, Dad!” My son groaned. “I wanted to watch a show on Discovery.”

“If you hadn’t earned yourself a punishment, you could’ve been doing that right now.” Expertly, I applied the emerald-green icing on the cupcakes. I picked up the sprinkles, dropping them on top. Perfect. My baking skills were legendary. At least that’s what my boss and owner of Mabel’s Sweet Treats, the only bakery in this small town with a population of less than ten thousand, said. Well, and our many loyal customers.

Just yesterday she’d caught me as I was tying on my apron. “You’ve been working your tail off lately, Taran,” she’d said with a smile, familiar warmth in her voice. “I’m giving you the day off today. You’ve earned it. I’ve got the extra help, and things are running smoothly.” I’d paused, surprised.

“Are you sure?” I’d asked. “I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

“Yep, you’ve been more than generous with your time, weeks of long shifts, working past closing hours to keep up with the Christmas rush. Go take care of what you need to,” she’d said, shooing me out the door with a wink. “The part-timers will hold down the fort here.”

What a woman! I couldn’t have asked for a better boss than her.

Mabel was single and never had kids, and was ready to move to Florida to be with her sister. She was looking to sell her bakery to someone she trusted and valued. I was delighted that she’d offered me the first preference to buy the business. That was why, despite holding down two jobs, I took orders on the side for parties and other events. Of course, my ultimate goal was something else. I wanted to have my own bakery and Mabel had given me the perfect opportunity to see my dream come true. Things were already in motion. If everything went as I expected at the meeting with the bank, Mabel’s would be mine within a matter of weeks.

When I glanced at my son, who was studiously whisking the batter, love welled in my heart. My pride and joy, but sometimes—like most pre-teens—he messed up. He and his friends thought it would be funny to make “snow” during lunch last week by ripping up napkins and tossing them into the air. They’d laughed as the small paper pieces floated around like confetti, but the cafeteria staff was less than thrilled about cleaning up the mess. As a result, I’d grounded him for two weeks and enlisted his help with my pre-Christmas baking orders. Hopefully, it would teach him a bit more responsibility and respect for shared spaces. The good thing was that my son’s grounding coincided with the beginning of winter break, ensuring he was at home with me during this time.

Raising a child on my own wasn’t easy, but I embraced the challenge every day. This morning, a surge of optimism fueled me as I prepared for what I hoped would be a turning point. I will get the loan. I will get the loan. The mantra played on repeat in my head, as I carefully boxed the first batch of chocolate fudge cupcakes.

Together, we worked at a brisk speed, father and son.

I pulled the second batch of cupcakes from the oven and set them on the cooling rack. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, enveloping me in a comforting warmth. The doorbell chimed, pulling me away from the steady rhythm of baking.

“I’ll see who’s at the door,” I said, giving Rory a half-serious, half-playful look. “Keep whisking that batter, and remember, no sneaking any tastes!”

Rory shot me a mock glare but nodded, his focus shifting back to the mixing bowl. I could hear him mumbling under his breath about how unfair life was.

When I opened the door, my heart leaped in my chest. Standing on the doorstep was Wynter—my late husband’s best friend—his presence as startling and vivid as ever. He wore a fitted dark gray wool coat that hugged his frame, accentuating his build, with a simple black scarf wrapped around his neck and a matching knit beanie perched atop his head. The cold morning air sent a few stray snowflakes dancing around him, and I caught the faintest hint of the cologne I remembered from years ago—something warm and spicy that stirred up old memories.

“Wynter?” I managed, my voice catching slightly. I stepped aside, my heart thumping in my chest. “Come in. I can’t believe you’re here.”

As he stepped inside, I caught myself wishing for the warm, spontaneous hugs we used to share, but everything felt different now. I gestured toward the hall tree where I hung my own coat. “You can hang your coat here.”

Wynter slipped off his coat, revealing a fitted sweater underneath that accentuated his broad shoulders. I took it from him, brushing my fingers against the fabric, and hung it carefully on the hook. He kept his beanie on, the soft wool framing his face in a way that was oddly charming.

Wynter’s smile was genuine but tempered with an edge of weariness. “It’s good to see you,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet depth that hinted at the changes he’d been through.

The handsome, hunky Wynter Thornton had been Royce’s and my best friend. They joined the army together after high school. The years had been kind to Wynter. His wide, angular face looked slightly thinner than I remembered, but the vibrancy in his aquamarine eyes was the same. They were startlingly sharp and bright. Wynter never lacked female company, and when he got married, there were many women who were broken-hearted.

He looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine—his presence striking and polished. I couldn’t help but notice how well he carried himself, the years seemingly only enhancing his good looks. Meanwhile, I felt the weight of time on my shoulders, acutely aware of how much I’d aged since we last met.

“Taran, you look great,” Wynter said, his eyes scanning me with genuine warmth.

His compliment felt both unexpected and reassuring. “Thank you,” I replied, managing a laugh, though it didn’t entirely mask my self-consciousness. “When did you get back? How long are you staying?”

The question of his duration lingered unanswered, a remnant of the unspoken rules from when Royce was alive. I had learned not to press for specifics, respecting the fleeting nature of his visits, but the curiosity remained.

Wynter’s smile flickered, a brief flash that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I retired,” he said, his voice carrying an undertone of unresolved matters. “Got some… things to work on.”

I told myself not to ask any questions. I couldn’t. Not with my history. “That’s great, Wyn. Welcome back.” Where had he been posted? Iraq? Afghanistan? I didn’t know. I suddenly remembered my cupcakes. “Come on into the kitchen. I was just doing some baking.”

While I led Wynter into the room, memories flooded in. Of him with Royce, of all of us together. Our picnic trips together, a road trip we went on before Wynter got married to Lisa. The three of us were best friends, so Wynter understood my pain when Royce was stolen from me. He missed Royce terribly after his death and spent a lot of time at our house, hanging out, helping me with chores or just sitting there, letting me know he was around and available whenever I needed him. I appreciated his concern, even relied on him in those early days to get me through, but then he had to go back to duty—and I learned to make do without any support.

Now that he was back, I wondered what our relationship would be like. It wasn’t a vacation for him. He’d be here for good. Then, like all the others, he would get busy with whatever his job would be—and with Lisa. I would hardly see him. The thought of losing him to the everyday grind of life sent a lance of pain straight through my heart, but I quickly pushed it aside.

Five years had passed since Royce died. I’d worked hard to keep my life together, to raise Rory on my own, to create something stable for us. I couldn’t afford to get too close, not like before. Royce was gone, and that part of my life was over. I had to keep going the way I had been, focusing on Rory, the bakery, and the life I’d managed to piece together. It was safer that way. Wynter belonged with Lisa, and I had to remember that. Whatever closeness we once had, it had to stay in the past. There was no place for it in the life I was building now, not without Royce.

Wynter stepped into the kitchen, his gaze immediately taking in Rory and the array of baked goods.

Rory looked up from his task at the counter with wary curiosity. His posture stiffened as he noticed Wynter.

I cleared my throat, trying to bridge the gap. “Rory, you may not remember him, but this is Wynter. He’s an old friend of mine.” I glanced at Wynter, who was observing Rory with warmth in his expression. “Wynter, you remember my son, don’t you?”

He offered a smile, though his eyes lingered on Rory with a searching quality. “Of course, I do. He’s all grown up.”

Rory shifted slightly, a hint of shyness in his demeanor as he fidgeted with the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I guess,” he replied, his gaze darting away from Wynter.

I couldn’t help but smile at my son, a few crumbs clinging to the corner of his lips. “He’s twelve now.” I playfully nudged him with my elbow, earning a playful swat from him. “Pretty soon, I’ll have a teenager on my hands.”

Rory’s grin flickered as his fingers traced the edge of the counter. “Dad says I’ll be baking full-time by then.” There was a touch of pride in his voice, though his gaze was guarded and unsure when it briefly darted toward Wynter.

“Only if you stop burning the cookies,” I joked, hoping to ease the tension. He laughed, but it was subdued, and I couldn’t miss how his eyes kept drifting back to Wynter, sizing him up with a quiet wariness.

Wynter’s smile softened as he watched the interaction, but the tension in the room was palpable. Rory’s shoulders remained stiff, and he seemed uncomfortable with Wynter’s presence—a man who, despite his familiarity to me, was almost a stranger to Rory. Seven the last time they met, Rory’s memories of Wynter would be little more than a blur.

“So, you’re the famous baker now, huh?” Wynter said, attempting to engage Rory. But Rory merely nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Sensing the need to step in, I cleared my throat. “Rory, why don’t you finish up with the batter? We’ve got a lot to do before I leave for my appointment.”

“Okay, Dad.” Rory resumed mixing the batter, focusing on his task with an intensity that was unusual for him.

Wynter shot me a questioning look, but I just gave a small shake of my head. There was no need to force anything. Rory would come around when he was ready, but for now, it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about Wynter being here.

“Is it okay if I stick around for a bit?” Wynter asked, his voice low as he leaned closer to me.

“Of course,” I said, but the words felt heavier than they should have. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing, letting Wynter stay, but I couldn’t turn him away. Not after everything.

Wynter moved to the other side of the kitchen, keeping a respectful distance from Rory, who was engrossed in his task. I could still feel the unspoken tension in the room.

Rory suddenly looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed Wynter. “You knew Papa, my second father, right?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and direct, and I felt a pang in my chest. Rory had never called Royce his “second father” before, and I knew this was his way of testing the waters, trying to figure out where Wynter fit into our lives.

Wynter’s expression softened even more, and he took a step closer, but not too close. “Yeah, Rory. I knew Royce really well. We were best friends.”

Rory nodded, but his gaze remained skeptical. “So, how come you haven’t been around till now?”

The question was blunt, and I could see it caught Wynter off guard. I opened my mouth to intervene, but Wynter raised a hand slightly, signaling that he could handle it.

“I wanted to, Rory,” Wynter said quietly, “but sometimes life takes you places you don’t expect. I’m here now, though, and I’m hoping we can all get to know each other again.”

Rory’s eyes flicked to me, and I gave him a reassuring nod. He shrugged, clearly not fully convinced, but he didn’t press further. “I guess,” he muttered, turning back to the batter.

The conversation lingered in the air, a reminder of the changes that had unfolded over the years. I knew this was just the beginning; Rory would need time to process everything. I’d have to navigate this new dynamic with care.

“Why don’t you grab a seat, Wyn?” I suggested, trying to bring the focus back to something lighter.

Wynter smiled, but I could tell he was still thinking about Rory’s questions. “Sounds good.”

As I went back to icing the cupcakes, I knew the easy, carefree days we once had were long gone. We were different people now, shaped by loss and time. And while I was glad Wynter was here, I wondered if we could ever truly pick up where we left off—or if it was even wise to try.

I resisted the urge to glance at Rory, sensing the tension in his posture. He was always slow to warm up to new faces, especially since Royce had passed. The protective barrier Rory had built around himself was palpable, a shield he had erected out of necessity and loss. He’d become like a mother bear, fiercely guarding our small, fragile world.

I understood Rory's hesitation, and it cut deep. Losing Royce had left a void that was never truly filled. Even before that tragic day, Royce had been deployed for extended periods, leaving Rory with fleeting memories of his father. Those memories were scattered, like fragments of a dream, and Rory rarely spoke of them. I knew he was struggling, but he chose silence over conversation—a silence that weighed heavily on my heart. It troubled me that Rory was so closed off, preferring to keep his pain buried. Whenever I brought up going to see a therapist, he was adamant he didn’t need one, and I didn’t want to force him. Every chance that I could, I assured him I was there for him, ready to listen whenever he opened up.

I cleared my throat, desperately needing a change of topic. “So, how is Lisa?”

Wynter’s smile faltered slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “I haven’t seen her yet,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of discomfort.

Say what? The words hit me like a cold splash of water. “Haven't seen her yet?” I echoed, trying to process the unease in his voice. Something’s off, way off.

“I came directly from the airport,” Wynter said with what would seem like a casual shrug to someone who didn’t know him well, but I knew better. What the heck was going on? “Since I was on my way home, I thought I’d stop by and say ‘hello.’ I’ll head out now.”

I watched him closely, noting the stiffness in his posture and the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, like he was holding back words he hadn’t yet decided whether or not to say. His gaze flickered around the room, never quite settling on anything for long. This wasn’t the behavior of a man eager to reunite with his wife after a long separation. If anything, it hinted at something more troubling, a tension beneath his polished exterior.

A man who hadn’t seen his spouse for over a year wouldn’t make a casual pit stop unless there was more going on. My mind raced with unspoken questions. Was he planning to surprise Lisa? Or, was there something more? Like trouble in their marriage? Did he want to talk about Royce? Well, I didn’t. At least, not now.

I’d never been particularly close to Lisa, and over the years since Royce passed, I rarely ever saw her. Her family was wealthy, originally from California, but they had a vacation home here in Aspen Ridge where they spent every summer and Christmas. Royce, Wynter, and I used to see her during those breaks, and later, her parents had gifted her and Wynter the place as a wedding present. But Lisa and I never really hit it off; she was this affluent, pampered only child whose world seemed far removed from mine. Her air of entitlement always felt like a barrier I couldn’t breach.

In many ways, she was my polar opposite. One of four children, I started part-time work at fifteen. In college, I worked throughout to support myself. There’d never been a time in my life when I didn’t have to earn money.

Mentally brushing away my wayward thoughts, I poured the last batch of cupcake batter into the molds and popped them in the oven. “I bet she’ll be happy to see you. And now that you’re back, you can have a normal life.”

One that I didn’t get enough of a chance to live.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Would you like some coffee? A cupcake?” I offered.

“No, thanks. I just wanted to see you.” He appeared at a loss for words.

I could tell from his expression that he was also sensing the awkwardness of the moment.

Still, he made no move to go. “Are you working?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry. Silly question—I meant, where are you working?”

“Still at Mabel’s. And since—” I cleared my throat before continuing. “And on weekends, I go over to the hospital to work in the cafeteria.” I didn’t need to say it out loud for Wynter to understand that since Royce passed, I had picked up a second job. The look in his eyes was enough to convey his sympathy. I didn’t want it. Sure, I had to work harder, but not so much more than many single fathers I knew who spent most of their time putting food on the table. “The money is good.”

Well, not that good, but enough to meet my son’s and my basic needs with a little to save up.

“And the cupcakes?”

“Just a side order,” I said in a breezy voice. It was for a purpose, however. I wanted to save enough money to buy a new gaming system for Rory. He’d had his eye on it for a long time, but I simply didn’t have enough cash to buy it… Now I would. With this and a couple of other pre-Christmas orders, I would make it work. My son wasn’t going to be deprived of things just because he didn’t have his Papa around anymore. I was willing and able to fill both roles.

“That’s great.” Wynter stood, his gaze landing on my son. “I—well, I’m heading out now.”

Rory shifted uneasily, his eyes darting between Wynter and the nearly empty bowl of batter. I’d asked him to finish up the cleaning, but it was really a tactic to keep him occupied and less focused on Wynter’s unexpected visit. Rory had always had a soft spot for the sweet, gooey leftovers, and it was a simple way to distract him. “Dad wants to open his own bakery,” he blurted out, the first thing he’d said since I asked him to finish the cupcakes.

Wynter raised an eyebrow, as if he sensed the underlying tension in Rory’s voice. “Yeah? That’s great.”

“I’m working on it.” I picked up the plate I’d prepared and held it out to Wynter. “Here, take this with you. And give my love to Lisa. It’s been a long time.”

“Agreed. Now that I’m back, maybe we can hang out again?” Wynter’s gaze lingered on me, as if searching for something unspoken.

I saw the scowl on Rory’s face. Not happening with my son around. He wouldn’t like it. “Sure,” I said easily. As if Lisa would let her husband spend time with a widower and his son. I moved in different circles, but I could tell that Wynter needed to hear it. Was it because he still wasn’t over Royce’s death? I felt a twinge of concern for him. I wanted to reach out, to offer him the support he might need, but the truth was, I was still grappling with my own grief. I didn’t have the energy to help him through this—at least, not yet.

When Wynter reached out to take the plate, his fingers brushed mine. The touch was brief but electrifying, sending a surprising jolt through me. I pulled my hand away quickly, trying to steady myself as a wave of unexpected tension washed over me.

Wynter’s eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something… but the look was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you.” I sensed he wanted to say more, but the words probably eluded him.

“Goodbye, Wyn,” I replied, the finality in my tone clear.

He nodded, and I led him to the door, Rory trailing behind. Once Wynter was gone, I turned back to the cupcakes, but my mind was elsewhere. Wynter’s presence had stirred something in me, but the reality was clear: I had a son to care for and a past to work towards. Wynter and I were bound by memories, and that’s all it was—nothing more.

Still, as I stood there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, something that might change the course of our lives.