"You don’t have to explain. I misread signals that weren’t there."
"You didn’t misread anything—"
"Look, Sara. Let’s just forget it ever happened. No point in stirring anything up when you’re leaving soon."
He gets up, his plate scraping loudly against the table as he walks to the sink.
"Damnit, Jaxon. Don’t walk away when we’re finally talking."
He turns slowly. The way he looks at her—it’s heartbreak and fury wrapped in a stare that could burn a hole through steel.
"Conversation? There is no conversation. I get it, Sara. I was with your sister. I had a daughter with her. You loved her too, I know. We both did. But that ended years ago. She’s gone. And you… you keep pulling me in, then shoving me back like I’m some kind of test you’re not sure you want to pass."
"It’s not that simple—"
"Yes, it is," he snaps. "You want to talk storms? Fine. This house—this porch, these walls—they don’t run from storms. They stand through them. They anchor. They survive. And if you want something—if you feel something—you fight like hell to keep it. You don’t run every time thunder rolls."
And with that, he walks out, leaving Sara frozen, breath caught in her throat.
Her chest aches.
She isn’t crying—but God, she wants to. Because just like he wasn’t really talking about the house, she wasn’t really talking about the storm. And somehow, without even meaning to, he said everything she needed to hear.
The ride to town is filled with just enough small talk to keep Jaqueline smiling, and just enough silence to keep Jaxon and Sara hurting.
But the moment they walk into the Shoppe—into that cozy, pastel-coated world of sugar and innocence—something shifts. Laughter starts to win.
Jaxon holds the door for them like a gentleman from a forgotten time. The owner greets them like old friends. Jaqueline orders first—super chocolate chunk in a waffle cone, same as her dad. Sara settles for a double-scooped strawberry, though she barely tastes it.
Because the real sweetness? It’s not in the cone.
It’s in the way Jaqueline beams up at Jaxon. It’s in the way Jaxon steals a fingerful of Sara’s ice cream and smears it across her cheek. It’s in the way she pretends to be mad, but can’t stop laughing.
For a brief, beautiful moment, they are a family. A messy, imperfect, maybe-just-for-today kind of family.
And for Sara, that might be the most terrifying and perfect thing of all.
70
Towel Drop
Sheliesinbedthat night, staring at the ceiling, smiling to herself. A lazy, content kind of smile. But it doesn’t last. It morphs into a slow lip bite as her mind drifts—straight back to breakfast. The sights. The sounds. The taste of heat curling low in her stomach. She can’t help but let it replay in her head, moment by moment, sensation by sensation. The fantasies she stirred with every crack of an egg, every sizzle of bacon, still echo through her like an aftershock.
But then her thoughts shift—to how the day ended. The tension at the table. The silence. The space Jaxon deliberately carved between them. He spoke, sure, but his voice wasn’t warm. His walls were back up. And she didn’t blame him.
“I want him to know I care,” she whispers to herself.
That’s when she hears the creak of the stairs and the familiar pattern of his footsteps. Jaxon. Her heart kicks. She watches his shadow drift past the light under her door and vanish into his room. A few seconds later, she hears the shower turn on.
And that’s when it clicks.
He’s in the shower. He can’t walk away.
She throws back the covers, her breath catching in her throat as she crosses the room. She opens the door carefully, peeking out to make sure Jaqueline’s door is closed. Then she sees it—Jaxon’s door, cracked open. Just enough.
She walks in slowly, her bare feet silent against the floor, her pulse deafening in her ears.
The last time I was in here, I was sleeping in his bed.
