And that I’m terrified of what happens when she leaves in six months, because the twins already adore her, and I’m not far behind?
“She’s temporary,” I say finally. “She’s got a teaching job lined up for the fall. She’s only here until then.”
Jake’s expression softens. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
But I do. I know it because I’ve already been here. I fell for someone who had bigger dreams than Valentine, Montana could offer. Already watched someone walk away because staying meant giving up on the life they really wanted.
I won’t do that again. Won’t be the reason someone sacrifices their ambitions.
Even if part of me —the stupid, hopeful part that I thought died three years ago— wishes things could be different.
“Just... go! Make your deliveries, Jake.” I turn back to the dough, starting over. “And stop trying to play matchmaker.”
“Fine, fine.” He heads toward the back door, then pauses. “But for the record? You deserve tobehappy, Jonah. The twins deserve toseeyou happy. Just... think about it.”
He’s gone before I can respond, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my ruined croissant dough.
The problem is, Ihavebeen thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about it constantly.
I’ve been thinking about how Chloe reads to the girls at bedtime, doing different voices for each character until they’re shrieking with laughter. How she’s already figured out that Ava needs extra reassurance in the mornings and Mia needs space when she’s frustrated. How she cleaned out the trashcansyesterday without being asked, because she noticed they were dirty and didn’t want me to have to deal with it.
How she fits into our life like she’s always been here.
How much harder it’s going to be when she leaves.
I’m shaping the croissants —starting completely over with fresh dough— when I hear it. The soft creak of the Spice Spice Baby’s back door, the one that connects to the alley where I park.
My heart does something stupid in my chest.
“Jonah?” Chloe’s voice, tentative. “You here?”
I wipe my hands on my apron and step out of my nook in the kitchen. She’s standing in the doorway, backlit by the streetlamp outside, wearing jeans and a thick sweater and a jacket that’s too thin for November in Montana.
“Chloe? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Are the girls?—”
“The girls are fine,” she says quickly. “Still asleep. Your mom came over to sit with them— I texted her, hope that’s okay. I just...” She shifts her weight, looking uncertain in a way I’ve never seen her look before. “I couldn’t sleep. And I thought maybe you could use some help?”
My mom lives… next door and is to bed at eight and up at four. Probably where I get my ability to do early mornings. And I had told her that Mom wanted to help me out, but two four-year-olds can be a little much for someone in their late fifties. She prefers the sleeping and sleepy mornings with grandma’s pancakes to the crazy afternoons with screaming and crayons on the walls.
I stare at her. “It’s five in the morning, Chloe. Most people are sleeping and especially those who have to take care of toddlers in the morning.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to be up this early. That’s not part of the job.”
“I know that too.” She steps inside, closing the door behind her. “But I wanted to. Is that okay?”
No. It’s not okay. Because having her here, in my space, at this hour when the rest of the world is asleep and it’s just us— that’s dangerous. That’s asking for trouble.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
Her smile could light up the whole bakery.
And just like that, I know I’m in even deeper trouble than I thought.
