The sound of the front door opening caused all three heads to turn in unison, and Sandra's heart stuttered as Terry appeared in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, and exhaustion etched lines around his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Dad! You were gone all night!" Toby's voice carried across the kitchen as he launched himself toward his father.
Terry's large hand ruffled his son's unruly hair, affection evident in the gentle gesture. "You're right, I was. And since I'm standing right next to you, you don't need to shout, bud. Although your enthusiasm at my return is appreciated."
He caught Sandra's eye and winked, but dad duty called first. His daughter received his attention, and he wrapped his arms around Emma in a protective embrace. "Smells good in here, sweetheart."
Emma practically glowed under his praise. "Just so you know… I wasn't going to have Sandra cook since she's a guest. But Toby insisted because her specialty is French toast."
Terry's gaze found Sandra across the kitchen. She gripped the spatula tighter, fighting the urge to rush to him. Everything in her wanted to offer comfort, to smooth the tension from his shoulders and ask about whatever crisis had kept him away all night. Instead, she remained rooted beside the stove, her eyes drinking in every detail of his face.
Something shifted in his expression, as though he could read her internal struggle. He crossed the kitchen in three quick strides, his arms encircling her with a tenderness that made her knees weak. His lips brushed hers in a kiss that was both greeting and reassurance, warm and brief but full of promise.
"Never want you to feel like you have to cook for us, but I'm with Toby..." His voice rumbled against her ear. "If French toast is your specialty, I'm all in."
She melted into his embrace, her free hand finding the solid wall of his chest. "I know you've got to be exhausted."
He nodded, and she caught the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders carried invisible weight. Frustration and fatigue warred in his dark eyes.
"I'm going to my room to shower and change clothes. I'll be right back out." His gaze drifted to the coffee pot with longing. "If there's any chance I can get a cup of that in a few minutes, that'd be great."
Concern knotted in Sandra's stomach. "Are you sure you want that? If you have caffeine, then you won't be able to sleep."
"That's a nice thought, Sandra, but I'm going to try to stay awake. I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Sandra acutely aware of two pairs of young eyes studying her every move. Heat crept up her neck as she turned back to the griddle, focusing on the golden-brown toast with unnecessary intensity.
"That was really nice of you, Sandra." Emma's voice carried a softness that tightened Sandra's chest.
She turned, confusion clear on her face.
Emma continued. "Caring about whether Dad would be able to sleep or not. That was nice of you to think of that."
Toby nodded solemnly. "It was also nice of you to stay during the night. Dad doesn't mind leaving us for a couple of hours since we're old enough, but he would've been worried if he had been gone all night."
Their words sent curiosity through Sandra. Had their mother not cared about such things? Had Terry faced his burdens alone, without someone to worry about his rest or well-being?The thought sent a protective surge through her that she hadn't expected.
Determined to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere, she forced a bright smile. "I'm glad I stayed, too. After all, we can have Grandma O’Neill’s world-famous French toast."
Toby's skeptical expression returned. "Is it like certified or something?"
Emma's giggles filled the kitchen as Sandra shook her head. "Well, I don't have a document that certifies the world-famousness, but we'll see what you say after you try them."
Minutes later, the four of them sat around the table, plates piled high with golden slices of French toast dusted with powdered sugar and accompanied by fresh strawberries. The first bite brought satisfied moans from all three Bunswicks, and Sandra glowed with accomplishment as they unanimously declared her breakfast specialty truly worthy of its world-famous title.
For the first time since moving to the Shore, Sandra felt like she belonged somewhere and wasn’t just here for work. The realization should have terrified her, but instead, it filled her with hope.
By the time the breakfast dishes were cleared and the kitchen restored to order, the children had drifted into the living room. Emma curled into a corner of the sofa, her book already open and holding her complete attention. Toby claimed the remote control with the satisfaction of someone who'd won a hard-fought battle, settling in for what promised to be a lazy Sunday morning of channel surfing.
Sandra found herself adrift in the sudden quiet, her hands fidgeting with a dish towel as uncertainty crept in.What was her place here now?The morning had felt natural, but with the tasks complete and the children occupied, she wasn't sure where she fit.
Terry stepped closer, his presence both comforting and electric. His eyes held hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken as he reached out and gently pulled the dish towel from her restless fingers. The fabric landed softly on the counter.
Without a word, his hand found her arm, fingers trailing along her skin in a caress that sent shivers racing through her. When his fingers intertwined with hers, the simple contact felt like coming home. A gentle tug guided her toward his room, and she followed willingly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them in intimate privacy. Sandra lifted her eyebrow, waiting. The last time she'd been in this room, she'd escaped through the sliding glass door, her emotions a tangled mess of frustration and longing. But now, with Terry so close and something weighing on his mind, she simply waited. He had brought her here for a reason, and she wanted him to feel safe enough to share his thoughts.
He reached for her other hand, linking both of theirs together in a connection that felt both tender and desperate. "Last night didn't go the way I wanted it to." His words carried the weight of disappointment as he shook his head. "I wanted you to meet my kids but with me around. I wanted to have time to just talk with you after they went to bed. I wanted to make sure that after the last time you were here, you were once again comfortable in my home." His gaze never left her face, regret etched in every line. "And none of that happened."
