2. Taran

CHAPTER 2

TARAN

The December wind howled against the windows, swirling snowflakes in erratic patterns that blurred the world outside. It was the kind of weather that made me question whether the bank would be open today. Still, with the meeting so critical, I didn’t have much choice. I’d already rescheduled once—the day Rory got in trouble in school. Another delay and they might stop taking me seriously.

I sighed, frosting another cupcake while my mind wandered back to Wynter’s sudden appearance earlier that afternoon. His visit had knocked me off balance in more ways than one. I hadn’t seen him in years, and now, after all that time, he just showed up on my doorstep like nothing had changed.

The clinking of Rory’s fork against his plate broke the silence, his watchful eyes fixed on me like he could see straight through the storm swirling in my head. I could tell he was holding something back, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Wynter. Not yet. I needed to gather my thoughts first, but Rory, being the curious kid he was, wouldn’t let me.

“Why did he come here?” I could feel his eyes on me, watching closely like he could read my thoughts.

I hesitated, squeezing the frosting bag a little too hard as I finished the cupcake. What could I even say? I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around it myself. Wynter’s sudden return was a reminder of so much—things I tried not to dwell on too often, but which now seemed impossible to ignore.

“He just wanted to say hi, kiddo,” I replied, forcing a calmness into my voice. “He was your papa’s best friend.”

“Papa’s been dead for five years,” Rory pointed out, his tone sharp, the words cutting deep.

I swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. Five years. It still felt raw some days, the loss creeping up on me when I least expected it. I couldn’t help but wonder how different things were for Lisa—how she must’ve felt seeing Wynter walk through her door after all this time. Probably ecstatic. I imagined them reuniting, and a familiar wave of jealousy swept through me. Lisa had her husband back; Wynter had come home to her. But Royce would never come home to me again.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t fair to think like that, but I couldn’t help it. Seeing Wynter had ripped open old wounds, and now, getting over the surprise of his visit, I was left with more questions than answers.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Rory shifted in his seat, clearly not satisfied with my answer, but he didn’t try to get any more information out of me.

I turned my attention back to the cupcakes, trying to shake the unsettling thoughts that Wynter’s visit had stirred up. There hadn’t been time to ask him anything real. Just seeing him had opened old wounds, and now that the initial shock had worn off, I was left with questions and a deep sense of unease.

“I have to head to the bank soon,” I said, quickly boxing up the cupcakes for my client, another responsibility I had to juggle on top of everything else. “I’ll drop you off at Mathew’s.”

Rory frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “Dad, I’m twelve. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you don’t, but humor your old man, won’t you? With this weather, I don’t want you stuck here by yourself if something happens.”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in that way only a preteen could. “Fine. But I’m not bringing my school bag—it’s winter break.”

I smiled despite myself, grateful for his small concession. “Fair enough. Just grab your coat.”

While Rory got ready, I took a quick glance in the hallway mirror, adjusting my striped navy blue tie and brushing dust I assumed was there off the collar of my coat. The bank meeting was important and I had to look presentable, even if all I could think about was Wynter. The dark gray wool coat I wore was the last gift Royce had given me before he died. I kept it in perfect condition, partly because I couldn’t afford to replace it, but mostly because it reminded me of him. The memory weighed heavily, especially today.

Rory bounded back into the hallway, bundled up in his puffer jacket, a pair of gloves sticking out of his pockets. “Ready.”

I nodded, grabbing the cupcake boxes. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland, the snow covering everything in a soft, white blanket. Aspen Ridge was like a postcard during the holidays—pine trees heavy with snow, wreaths on every door. It was beautiful, but the cold cut through my coat as we stepped outside, making me question just how much more snow we’d get before the night was through. Rory trudged beside me, his boots crunching through the snow as we made our way to the car.

The drive to Matthew’s house was slow, the roads slick with ice. Rory stared out the window, the lights reflecting off his face, and for a moment, it felt like everything had returned to normal. The holidays had a way of doing that—masking the pain with the magic of the season. But as soon as we reached Mathew’s house, the questions about Wynter resurfaced, gnawing at the back of my mind.

“You’re a good kid,” I said, resting a hand briefly on Rory’s arm as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Did I tell you today that you’re my sunshine and my star?”

“Dad!” Rory groaned, trying to duck out of my reach, but not before I caught the faint grin on his face. He bolted out of the car, his boots kicking up snow as he ran toward the door, his breath visible in the cold air.

I watched him go, my heart swelling with love for my boy.

Within fifteen minutes, I handed over the cupcakes to my client and gratefully accepted the payment. Every little bit helped, though it still felt like a drop in the ocean of what I needed. Once the bakery was mine, things would finally turn around. Sure, the first year would be tight—in new businesses it always was—but I knew I had what it took. My worries wouldn’t vanish overnight, but at least I’d be building something for Rory and me.

As I drove toward the bank, the familiar flutter of anxiety crept in. I glanced at the sign for Mabel’s bakery as I passed, reminding myself that this meeting could decide everything. Mabel had given me first preference to buy, but she wouldn’t wait forever for me. I couldn’t let this slip through my fingers.

Inside the bank, the warmth hit me, though it did little to calm my nerves. I stepped up to the receptionist’s desk, straightening my tie as I gave her my name.

“I’ve got a three o’clock with Mr. Graham,” I said, doing my best to sound confident.

The receptionist gave me a polite smile. “Please take a seat, sir. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I nodded, heading to the waiting area. I crossed my fingers, then chuckled at myself and uncrossed them. It was silly, but I needed this break. This meeting could change everything.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. I picked up a magazine from the table, some glossy home improvement issue, and flipped through it aimlessly. The pictures blurred together as I stared at them, my mind too tangled in its own web to focus.

What’s taking so long? I glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking loud enough to echo in my ears. Fifteen minutes had passed. Or maybe thirty. I wasn’t sure.

I shifted in my seat, my fingers drumming against the armrest. Were they back there, deliberating over my application, or just having coffee and a chat, forgetting I was even here? Maybe they’d already decided, and I was just waiting for someone to come out and tell me, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I set the magazine down, only to pick it up again a second later. I couldn’t sit still. My knee bounced as I stared out the window. The parking lot outside looked calm, snow dusting the tops of cars.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a mistake. I should be home, rolling out dough, timing the oven, doing something productive. Each minute spent here was a minute lost, and for what? A shot in the dark.

But then I thought of Rory, his face lighting up when he talked about the holidays. I wanted this for him—for us. I needed to prove to myself, to everyone, that I could do this.

Still, the waiting gnawed at me. My palms were damp, and I rubbed them against my pants, trying to dry them. Do they know I’m out here? Maybe I should ask. No, don’t do that. You’ll look desperate.

I glanced at the clock again. Another twenty minutes had passed. Or was it just five? Time had become a blur, stretching and folding in on itself.

The door finally creaked open, and I shot upright. My name echoed through the room, and my heart leaped into my throat.

I stood, adjusting my tie again, trying to make myself look as put together as possible.

I followed the assistant into Mr. Graham’s office, where he was finishing a phone call. He held up a finger, signaling me to sit, so I settled into the chair, trying to steady my breathing.

I checked my watch, careful not to be too obvious—it was already past five in the evening. I’d been waiting for over two hours! I could’ve been using this time to make deliveries or prepare my next batch of orders. But I had to see this through, no matter how long it took.

Finally, Mr. Graham hung up and gave me a quick, practiced smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Turner.”

“It’s Mr. Taylor, Sir,” I corrected, forcing a smile and hoping my voice sounded steady. “I appreciate you seeing me.”

This was it—the moment that could decide if my bakery dream would become a reality. I couldn’t blow it.

The burly man leaned forward, his tone all business. “So, what can I do for you?” His eyes flicked over me with disinterest; I was just another client, another poor sap looking for a break.

“I came about the loan,” I said, feeling my shoulders tighten. “We met when I submitted my business plan.”

“Ah, yes. The loan.” He raised an eyebrow as if it was news to him, then shuffled through papers on his desk until he found the file he wanted. He flipped through it, nodding slightly. “I remember now. Your plan was well-presented.”

Well, that’s a good sign?

Hope flared briefly in my chest. “Thank you. I put a lot of work into it. I made sure all the cash flows, costs, projected profits—everything—was calculated carefully.”

“Yes, yes. I could tell you put in a lot of effort.” His smile was thin, and there was something condescending in the way he spoke. “It’s rare to see a man… like you… so organized.”

The pause, the tone—it all felt too familiar. My pulse quickened, an old instinct kicking in. I forced myself to smile, swallowing the frustration burning at the back of my throat. “I’ve always believed in doing things right.”

His gaze shifted over me, lingering just a fraction too long, and I felt the same discomfort I’d felt as a teenager coming out in this small town. Just because I’d been open about who I was didn’t mean it was easy. Living openly gay wasn’t all popsicles and peaches.

Mr. Graham cleared his throat. “There is one issue, though.”

I tensed, already bracing myself.

“I’ve reviewed your application thoroughly,” he continued, his voice taking on a tone that seemed too slick, too rehearsed. “And unfortunately, there aren’t enough assets listed to secure the loan.”

I bit down on my lip, trying to keep my composure. “But I have a car?—”

“A car that doesn’t even cover a quarter of what you’re asking for.” His smile tightened, more of a smirk now. “Do you have any other collateral? Perhaps a partner or spouse who could offer a personal guarantee?”

My throat constricted. “I’m a widower,” I said quietly, my chest tightening at the thought of Royce. “My husband passed away five years ago.”

For a second, the banker’s expression softened, but it was fleeting. “I’m sorry to hear that.” The words rang hollow, like he’d said them a thousand times before.

I leaned forward, desperate now. “I’ve saved up some money and I’m confident I can make the payments on time. I just need this one break to get started. I know I can make this work.”

Mr. Graham’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—dismissiveness, maybe? “We can’t approve loans based on confidence alone. We need something more… substantial.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d worked so hard for this, spent nights pouring over numbers and projections, juggling two jobs, all while perfecting my craft. What more did they want from me?

“Please,” I whispered, the plea escaping before I could stop it. “I’ve worked on this for a long time. I just need a little help to?—”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do,” he interrupted, standing as if to signal the conversation was over. “We have policies in place for a reason. I do have another client waiting.”

I followed his gaze to a man waiting near the door, file in hand, looking impatient. Graham gestured toward him. “Mr. Tucker, if you’ll excuse me…”

Every part of me wanted to fight, to scream, to beg for just one more chance. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My throat felt tight, tears pricking at the back of my eyes as I stood up, not bothering to remind him that my name is Mr. Taylor, because it didn’t matter anyway. I shook his outstretched hand, the warmth of his palm doing nothing to ease the cold emptiness growing inside me.

As I made my way out of the bank, I caught sight of the town Christmas tree, its bright lights twinkling merrily as if mocking the despair gnawing at me. It had been five years since Royce died, five years since Christmas became a reminder of loss and heartache. Each year felt like a punishment for something I couldn’t fix.

But I couldn’t afford to fall apart.

As I neared the exit, I squared my shoulders, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I wasn’t going to drown in that sea of blame and regret. But anger simmered beneath the surface, a low burn threatening to boil over. How dare Mr. Graham write me off like that? How dare he assume I wasn’t capable of building something for myself? I was a man trying to make a life for my son, a man who’d faced worse than this. All I needed was a chance. Someone to believe in me. The rest? I’d handle that on my own, through hard work and sheer grit.

No one was going to stop me.

But what other options did I have? The only other bank in this small town had rejected my loan application too. They’d looked at me—just a man working two jobs with no real assets—and doubted I could make a business work, even with Mabel’s established bakery as my foundation. Mabel’s had a strong reputation, it was the heart of Aspen Ridge. But they saw me as a risk. They’d grilled me on everything from my savings to how I’d handle a slow season, and when I didn’t have every answer neatly laid out, they’d used it as an excuse to close the door on me.

I felt the weight of that rejection, the sting of being judged not for my dedication or experience, but for the things I didn’t have. They couldn’t see that I was the one who kept Mabel’s Sweet Treats running on weekdays, or that I’d saved every spare dollar from my second job for this dream. It didn’t matter to them. They wanted guarantees—assets, credit, things I didn’t have to show them.

Rory was counting on me. I couldn’t afford to fail—not again. The weight of that reality settled like a stone in my chest, but I shook it off. Yeah, I’d figure it out. I had to. For him. For us. No matter how impossible it seemed right now, there had to be a way. I couldn’t let this be the end of the road.

The cold slapped me in the face the second I stepped outside. Snow had piled up while I was in that office. Teeth chattering, I made my way to the car, pulling my coat tighter. The snow that had seemed magical earlier now felt like a reminder of everything closing in on me.

I slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and pressed the button on the dash, expecting the engine to roar to life as it usually did. Instead, the dashboard lights flickered but went dark again. My heart skipped a beat as I checked the parking brake; everything seemed fine, but the damn car wouldn’t start. A cold sweat broke out on my skin, and I exhaled slowly, forcing my nerves to calm.

I jiggled the steering wheel back and forth, hoping to free whatever had it stuck, then pressed the button again. The engine sputtered to life for a moment—just long enough for a brief spark of hope—before it choked and died.

“No,” I muttered, my voice cracking with desperation. “Not now.”

I pressed the button again. Nothing. I tried again. Frustration gnawed at me as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Finally, on the fourth try, the engine roared to life with a shaky cough, rattling like it had seen better days. I let out a jagged breath, but the frustration lingered, heavy and suffocating. This wasn’t just a dying engine; it felt like yet another roadblock in a life already filled with uncertainties.

I ignored the burning at the back of my eyes. I had to be strong, even when every part of me wanted to break. Rory depended on me, and I couldn’t fail him—not like I’d failed Royce. I had to keep pushing forward, even if that meant juggling multiple jobs just to keep the lights on.

When I pulled up to Matthew’s house, I plastered on a smile. His mother opened the door, her face warm and welcoming.

“Thanks, Nancy,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Sorry for the delay.”

“No problem at all,” she said, patting Rory’s shoulder. “He’s a good kid.”

Rory ran to my side, beaming. The sight of him—so full of hope—made the weight in my chest feel heavier. He opened the car door and climbed in, eyes bright with expectation.

“Did you get the loan, Dad?” His voice was hopeful, too hopeful.

I shook my head, unable to hide the disappointment. “No. They need assets to back it up.”

Rory’s face fell for a second, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “We’ll get it next time, right?”

I forced a nod. “Yeah, we will.”

But could we? Doubt gnawed at the edges of my mind. I’d put everything into this plan, hoping it would be our way out, our chance at a better life. But now… what? Was it foolish to believe things could change? My stomach twisted at the thought. Maybe it was. Maybe I was chasing a dream that was never meant for me.

“Dad, you can do it,” Rory said quietly, his voice full of faith.

My throat tightened. I wished I could share his certainty. I wanted to be the dad who could give him the world, who could make everything right. But right now, I wasn’t sure I could.

By the time we got home, the business plan felt like dead weight in my hand. Useless. Without a second thought, I tossed it in the trash. What was the point? I didn’t have what it took to make this work. Maybe I never did. It wasn’t just about the loan—it was everything. Royce. The bakery. Rory. Every single thing I tried to build seemed to crumble, no matter how hard I fought.

I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion settle in. Maybe I didn’t deserve a fresh start. Maybe this was my punishment for not being there for Royce when he needed me most. If I’d tried harder, if I’d done more, maybe he’d still be here. But I hadn’t. I’d failed him, and now, I was failing Rory, too.

The memories of Royce came flooding back—his haunted eyes, the weight he carried after coming home from the army. I should have done more for him. I should have helped him shoulder that burden. And now, without him, everything felt broken, incomplete.

Rory’s soft voice broke through my thoughts. “Dad… it’s gonna be okay, right?”

I turned to him, heart aching. His faith in me was unwavering, and that hurt the most. I couldn’t let him down. I wouldn’t. I had to keep fighting, even if it felt like the world was stacked against me. I pulled him close, my hand resting on his head.

“Yeah, kiddo,” I whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”