Tessa settled onto the couch with a quilt tucked around her legs. The house had grown quiet after her father headed to bed early. She’d checked his vitals and made sure he took his evening medication before he shuffled off to his bedroom. Now the only sounds were the occasional pop from the fireplace and the soft ticking of the old clock on the mantel.
She should be tired. Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind refused to slow down. Too many thoughts competed for her attention. Her father’s health. The town’s unexpected welcome. The way Beckett seemed to fit so seamlessly into life here in Sweet River Falls. A life that somehow felt like it should have been hers if she’d wanted it. But, of course, she hadn’t. She’d run away from town as fast as she could after high school graduation.
The front door opened, bringing with it a gust of cold air and the subject of her thoughts. Beckett stomped his boots on the mat before stepping inside, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.
He unwound his scarf. “It’s really coming down now. We might have another six inches by morning.”
She nodded, watching as he hung his coat on the hook by the door. The same row of hooks where her father had always hung his jacket. Where her mother’s raincoat had once hung. It was strange how such small things could feel so significant.
“Stan get to bed okay?” he asked, rubbing his hands together to warm them.
“Yes. He was tired and went to bed early with a fishing magazine.”
He glanced toward the kitchen. “I was thinking of making some hot chocolate to warm up. Would you like some?”
“Sure,” she said after a moment. “That sounds nice.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, and she listened to the familiar sounds of cupboards opening and closing, the clink of mugs, the quiet efficiency of someone who knew their way around her father’s kitchen better than she did.
When he returned, he carried two steaming mugs. He handed one to her before taking a seat in the armchair across from the couch. The chocolate was rich and dark, with a hint of cinnamon that reminded her of her mother’s recipe.
“This is good. Did my dad teach you how to make this?”
A small smile crossed his face. “No. Miss Judy at the lodge showed me. She said it was your mother’s recipe.”
The revelation sent a pang through her chest. “My mother’s recipe?”
“Stan mentioned it once when we were at the lodge for dinner. Miss Judy insisted on teaching me.”
She took another sip, letting the warmth spread through her. Her mother’s hot chocolate. Another piece of her that had somehow survived all these years, passed along to others without her knowing. Passed along to Beckett, not her.
“How long have you known my father?” she asked abruptly.
He seemed to consider the question. “About seven months now. I moved in six months ago, but I met him before that.”
“And you just... moved in with a stranger?”
“Your father volunteered to be a sponsor.”
It was hard for her to fathom. The Stan Grant she knew kept to himself. He didn’t invite people in. He certainly didn’t volunteer to help strangers. “I don’t understand why he would do that.”
Beckett was quiet for a long moment, as if weighing what to say next. “Maybe he was lonely.”
The simple statement hit her harder than she expected. Had her father been lonely? She’d never considered it. In her mind, he’d always been self-sufficient, preferring his solitude. But what if that wasn’t true? What if he’d just never known how to reach out?
“You said reentry program,” she said, latching onto the practical rather than the emotional. “So you were...”
“In prison. Yes.” He said it plainly, without defensiveness or shame. Just a statement of fact.
She’d assumed as much from what Annie had said, but hearing him confirm it was different. She paused, then plunged ahead. “For what?”
“Accessory to armed robbery.”
She blinked, not expecting such a direct answer. “That sounds serious.”
“It was.” He picked up his mug again, wrapping his hands around it as if drawing strength from its warmth. “I made a mistake when I was younger. A big one. I trusted the wrong person, and I paid for it with fifteen years of my life.”
“What happened?” she asked, surprised by her own curiosity.
