“Trying to,” he managed. “Not always succeeding, and as much as I wish I could deny it, my mother is the one to thank for how well Trinity’s turned out.”
His voice carried the guilt he couldn’t quite hide. All those deployments. All those missed moments. All the ways he’d failed to be the father Trinity deserved.
Jane stopped walking. Actually stopped and turned to look at him directly, her expression serious.
“You’re here now for Christmas. Trinity knows you love her. That’s everything.” Jane’s voice held a thread of admiration, and her eyes flashed with a moment of pain. “We need to collect every one of those special moments and keep them with us. We never know what tomorrow has in store for us.”
Something shifted between them in that moment. Understanding that went deeper than words. The recognition that they were both carrying their own guilt and grief, both trying to be better than they thought they were.
The moment passed, and they continued walking. The inn was coming into view. The beautiful historic building had somehow become a refuge for so many people seeking healing.
When they reached the entrance, Jane turned to him. She was still carrying his terrible painting along with her beautiful one.
“Keep it,” she said, handing him the canvas.
Gabe started to protest. “Oh no… maybe paint over it?”
“The first time you make a pancake, it usually always burns,” Jane said with a smile. “But you eat it anyway.”
She held out the painting until he took it, balancing it awkwardly against his side while managing the crutches.
“Thank you,” Gabe said, meaning more than just the painting. Meaning the peaceful morning, the quiet companionship, the moment of respite from his own thoughts.
Jane nodded, understanding in her eyes. “See you at breakfast?”
“Yeah. See you at breakfast.” Gabe nodded.
Jane disappeared into the inn, leaving Gabe standing there watching her go, holding his terrible painting of a sunrise.
He looked at it and sighed. The uneven strokes, the muddycolors, the amateurish attempt at capturing something beautiful. It was awful.
But it was also something else. Something that felt like a new beginning. Like hope emerging from darkness. Like maybe healing didn’t have to look perfect. It just had to be honest.
Gabe stood there holding this imperfect painting that represented possibility. The possibility of moving forward. Of opening up. Of daring to try something new.
The painting was terrible. But it was also precious. It was a new beginning.
Gabe tucked the painting carefully under his arm and made his way inside, already looking forward to breakfast.
Already looking forward to seeing Jane again.
3
JACK
Jack had just come back from jogging with Holly, and the tension still sat heavy in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off. The morning run had been awkward and uncomfortable, nothing like their usual easy companionship. Holly had been preoccupied the entire time, her responses to his attempts at conversation clipped and distracted. Her mind was clearly somewhere else, and no matter how hard Jack tried to draw her out, she remained distant.
Usually, their morning jogs were the highlight of his day. They’d fall into an easy rhythm, their footsteps syncing on the beach path while they talked about everything and nothing. Holly’s laughter would ring out over the sound of the waves, and Jack would find himself smiling for no reason other than being near her. But this morning had been different. Holly had barely spoken. When he’d asked her questions, she’d answeredwith one or two words, her gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
Jack entered the house kitchen through the side door, still thinking about Holly’s behavior. He was trying not to read too much into it, but his mind kept circling back to her silence, her distraction. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something to upset her? Or was it simply the stress of Simon and Terry showing up at the inn last night?
“Good morning, sweetheart.” His mother’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Jack turned to see Julie already dressed for the day in one of her elegant outfits, looking impeccable as always. But there was unmistakable disapproval written all over her face, and Jack braced himself.
“The Viper called,” Julie announced without preamble, her voice dripping with disdain.
Jack sighed. He didn’t need to ask who the Viper was. His mother had been calling Pamela that since the day they had started dating.
