And he doesn’t.
Maybe Aiden from a decade ago does, but that’s in the past. I don’t know the shadow of a man who exists now. He may still be chained to the place that claimed him all those years ago, but he’s changed. I’m sure his loss has a lot to do with it, but there’s something else. I can feel it when his eyes snag on me. Maybe it’s because I want it to be, but it almost feels like regret.
I grab my spare sweater from between my knees and yank it over my head before one last inspection in the mirror. The flickering bathroom light steadies for the first time in hours, like even this cranky old building wants me to get myself together before I go back out there. Storywood Ridge buildings have moods; I swear it.
I miss the person I was yesterday, when my biggest worry was finally seeing Aiden after all this time.
Now? I’m worried about everything else.
I thought I did everything right by going to my landlord and creating band-aid after band-aid. Deep down, I knew it was a matter of time before I landed here, but I thought I had more time.
I’ve been immensely grateful for my over-crowded schedule, and now it’s looming over my head like impending doom. And every hour I don’t decide costs me money.
There’s nowhere else to go, not without sending them out of town to a city studio that’ll eat up my overhead. And that’s considering they’d be willing to be flexible.
Everyone in a customer-facing industry knows that “’tis the season to be jolly” doesn’t extend to impatient moms with a Christmas card coupon burning a hole in their pockets.
I don’t have time for a pivot of this magnitude.
First things first: see what’s salvageable from this mess and see if I can do an in-home newborn session for my next client. They’re tough and require a ton of extra work from me, but I’ll do what’s necessary if my client is agreeable.
I will not panic.
As for the rest? I need a miracle. These sessions pay for both my studio rent and the apartment upstairs. They keep the utilities on, the food on the table, and they were going to put a pretty decent Christmas under the tree. One burst pipe, and the whole cardboard-turret castle I’ve built for us is threatening to crumble.
If this is a fairytale, it’s the kind where the heroine is mostly just mopping. But hey, it worked for Cinderella, so I’ll cling to that fraction of fictional hope like it’s my lifeline until things stabilize.
But I need to get Aiden out of here. He’s got enough on his plate with the farm, and not only will I drag him down with me, but there’s no space in my life for anyone else outside Phoebe now.
I knew better than to jump into something as big as this studio. The deposits and my shopping sprees to fill the space whittled my accounts down to practically nothing, so I’ve worked around the clock to fix that. And now it’s all… underwater.
A knock sounds on the bathroom door. “Chloe, are you okay in there?”
We may have been apart for a decade, but I still recognize the worry in his voice.
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” I admit, giving myself one last glance in the mirror. My hair is in the messiest of buns, but at least my favorite green sweater was sitting on my backup clothing shelf unscathed. “All things considered, I think I’m doing decent.”
The side of me that was ready to tell him to leave when I was safe in the bathroom evaporates as soon as I open it. Aiden is rubbing his neck, his flannel rolled up below his elbows, so I can see his forearm flex as he moves. He looks every inch the lumberjack I used to imagine. Steadier. Older. If the Beast had traded his castle for a tree farm and flannel, he’d probably look a lot like this.
And unfortunately for me, my heart snagged on the Beast at an early age. Which isn’t helpful at this particular juncture of my life.
“I called a friend of mine to come out and help dry the place up. He’s got fans, so once we get rid of this standing water, it’ll help.” He glances toward the door, then back at me, his blue eyes staring a hole right through me. “Thirty minutes. I’ll be back with the Shop-Vac and a trailer so we can get your things out of here.”
“Wait.” I hold a hand up while I try to process everything he just said to me. “I’m sorry. What did you do?”
“It’s called help, Chloe.” A corner of his mouth lifts, and butterflies take flight in my belly at the sight. Broody Aiden is one thing, but a peek at the younger version I fell in love with is someone else entirely.
Focus, Chloe.
I squeeze my eyes shut, sorting through frustration and gratitude. He didn’t ask before helping. That’s the problem and the gift. But only Abby and my parents usually help without expecting anything in return.
You know he’s not like that. He’s not your ex-husband.
If we’d stayed together, my mind wouldn’t even have traveled that road. But then I wouldn’t have Phoebe. And she’s what matters.
Focus on the logical, not the emotional. Shove Aiden back into his little box.
“But this isn’t your problem,” I insist, gesturing to the surrounding mess. “You’ve got the farm to deal with. Next week is opening day?—”
