9. Taran

CHAPTER 9

TARAN

I parked, stepping out just as a shadow emerged from the side of my driveway. A broad-shouldered figure moved toward me, rugged in dark jeans and a worn leather jacket that had seen better days, but somehow looked even better for it. Wynter.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “God, Wynter! Where’d you come from?” I half-laughed, half-panted, clutching my chest. I took in the faint roughness of his beard, the hint of a smirk lifting one side of his mouth, and that scent—outdoorsy, smoky, something clean, like cedar and winter air. His cheeks red from the cold, slow grin spread across his face. “Didn’t expect me back this soon?” His voice had a playful edge, just like when we were kids and he’d pop out from behind trees to scare me.

I chuckled, rubbing my hands together. “Guess you’ve still got the element of surprise down. Nice jacket, by the way. Trying out for the ‘rugged mountain man’ catalog?”

He gave a mock-serious nod. “This old thing? They should have you in the catalog, actually. ‘Aspen Ridge’s Favorite Pastry Guy.’”

Rolling my eyes, I unlocked the door. “How did you even know when I’d be back? You timing my shifts now?”

“Ran into Rory on his way to deliver half the bakery to your customers,” he shrugged, stepping into the house behind me. “Kid’s got a sense of purpose, that’s for sure.”

I chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing that more lately. Feels like he’s suddenly older. More serious.” I shook my head, amazed and a little wistful. “Last time I checked, he still needed help opening the peanut butter jar.”

We slipped off our shoes and strolled toward the kitchen. “Gave me the whole ‘I can handle it myself’ speech when I offered a hand.”

“I’m so proud of my son, Wyn. He told me he’s working on a super secret mission.”

“I can see it now. ‘Kid saves Christmas—one cupcake at a time.’ The whole town’s rooting for him.”

I gave him a playful punch on his shoulder—his very muscular shoulder.

Wynter’s laugh echoed through the kitchen, warm and familiar. I glanced at him, hesitating for only a second before asking, “Hey, do you want burritos? I’ve got everything to throw some together.”

His face lit up, a grin spreading across his lips. “You’re offering me your famous burritos? I’d be an idiot to say no.”

I smirked. “Good answer. I’ll get started on those. If you want something to drink, feel free to raid the cupboards.”

We moved around my small kitchen like we had a thousand times before. I started layering the burritos while Wynter pulled out ingredients for hot chocolate—cocoa powder, milk, and cinnamon appearing on the counter with careful precision. It wasn’t exactly a traditional pairing, but neither were we.

There was something calming about the quiet rhythm of it all, something that felt a lot like home.

“You still make your hot chocolate from scratch, huh?” I teased, sprinkling shredded cheese on top of the burritos.

“Only way to do it right.” He smirked, pouring the milk into a pot and flicking on the stove. “You wouldn’t understand—you coffee snobs have no appreciation for the true culinary art of cocoa.”

I nudged him, feeling the warmth of his arm. “Coffee people are just more sophisticated, that’s all.”

“Sophisticated,” he snorted. “Sure, that’s one word for it.”

As the smell of green chili filled the kitchen, mingling with the sweetness of cocoa, I took a breath. The warmth, the smells—it all felt like a blanket I hadn’t realized I needed. Wynter reached up into the cupboard for the mugs, his shirt lifting just enough to show a hint of skin at his waist, and I found myself glancing away quickly, feeling a flicker of something unexpected.

Soon, we had the burritos and the hot chocolate laid out on the small dining table. Wynter slid into the seat across from me, and we both dug in, the familiar flavors hitting just right. It felt… safe, like a moment outside of time.

After a few bites, Wynter set down his fork and leaned back, his face shadowed. “You know, Taran, there’s… there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

I looked up, waiting, the air growing a little heavier.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking anywhere but at me. “Things between Lisa and me… I know you probably guessed it wasn’t great.” His voice softened, a bit rough. “But it was worse than I let on.”

A lump formed in my throat as I nodded. “I had a feeling.”

He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “When I got home that day—after months of planning that whole damn surprise—I found out she’d been… with someone else.” His voice wavered, but he cleared his throat, steadying himself. “I came home to a stranger, Taran. And I realized I hadn’t really known her in a long time. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.”

I reached across the table, laying a hand on his forearm. “Wyn… I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine finding that out, especially after coming home like that.”

He closed his eyes, drawing a shaky breath. “I felt like a fool. I filed for a divorce, and…” He trailed off, his eyes finally meeting mine, and in them, I saw a depth of pain.

I squeezed his arm, my chest tightening as I saw just how much he’d been holding back. “You’re not a fool. You loved her, trusted her. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah… maybe.”

We fell silent, the warmth of the kitchen and the glow of the lights creating a cocoon around us. I didn’t pull my hand back from his arm and he didn’t move away, both of us lingering in the quiet, like we needed it.

And then, before I even knew why, I started talking. “You know… there was a time I thought I didn’t deserve to be loved. After Royce… after I lost him.” My voice caught, but Wynter didn’t look away, his gaze steady, patient. I took a deep breath and kept going. “We’d had this stupid argument. I was tired, he was… struggling. I went out to clear my head, and when I came back, he was gone.”

Wynter’s eyes widened, his hand moving up to cover mine now. “Taran… God, I had no idea. You never?—”

“I didn’t talk about it.” My voice cracked, but I forced myself to keep going. “He was everything to me, Wynter. But I could have been more patient. A career-ending injury, plus PTSD and other mental health challenges… I missed all the signs. All the times he’d hinted that maybe he couldn’t keep going. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and Wynter brushed it away with his thumb, his touch gentle, grounding. “I can’t imagine that kind of loss, Taran. But you know he loved you, right? Whatever happened, that doesn’t change the fact that he loved you.”

I nodded, blinking back the tears. “Took me years to believe that.”

We stayed like that for a moment, the unspoken understanding between us stronger than any words could be. And then, without thinking, I leaned into him, my head resting on his shoulder, his warmth seeping into me. His arm wrapped around me, solid and steady, and we sat like that, holding each other in the quiet.

It wasn’t a romantic hug, not exactly, but there was something in it—a connection I hadn’t felt in years. It was like he understood every part of me, the broken bits and the scars, and he wasn’t turning away. I closed my eyes, breathing him in, his cedar-and-smoke scent filling my senses.

After a while, Wynter’s voice came, low and comforting. “We’re going to get through this, Taran. You, me, Rory. We’ve all been through enough loss. It’s time we find something better.”

I pulled back, meeting his gaze, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah… maybe it is.”

Just then, the front door creaked open, and Rory’s voice rang through the hallway. “Dad? I’m back!”

Wynter and I both let go quickly, straightening up as Rory came bounding into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold, arms full of empty boxes from the deliveries. He stopped, looking between us with a curious gleam in his eye.

“You guys okay?” he asked, tilting his head.

I cleared my throat, smiling. “Yeah, kiddo. Just talking.”

Rory gave us a look, like he knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he grinned, grabbing a leftover burrito from the counter. “Well, just so you know, I scored two new customers tonight. Think I might be better at sales than you, Dad.”

Wynter chuckled. “Sounds like you’re going to give your old man a run for his money.”

Rory puffed up with pride, and warmth settled in my chest as I watched him warm up to Wynter, bantering with him. Maybe things were falling into place, just a little.