She didn't answer, just held me tighter, face buried against my chest. And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 14
Ruby
The sky hung low and oppressive, a blanket of steel-gray clouds pressing down on the cemetery with the same suffocating weight that sat on my chest. I stood at the edge of the gathering, my black dress whipping in the cold wind, while Cristox remained solid and steady beside me. He held Teddy against his shoulder, one large hand splayed protectively across our son's small back. Teddy's face was tucked into the crook of Cristox's neck, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of his father's shirt as if afraid to let go.
I felt the weight of curious eyes on us—dozens of them, maybe more. The whispers were subtle, barely audible over the wind rustling through the bare trees, but they were there. I caught them from the corner of my eye. Heads turning, gazes lingering on Cristox and Teddy with barely concealed fascination. I didn't need to hear the actual words to know what they were thinking, what conclusions they were drawing. The resemblance was impossible to miss. Teddy had inherited Cristox's eyes, that same striking color that seemed to capture and hold the light, making them sparkle like polished gemstones. The shape of his face, the set of his jaw—even at such a young age—the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking. It was all there, written in his features like a genetic signature.How could anyone not see it? How could they not realize Cristox was Teddy's father?
My gaze swept across the gathered mourners and landed on Charlene. She stood rigid near the front, her body angled toward us, and the moment our eyes met, I knew. She'd figured it out. The realization was written plainly across her face—in the tight set of her mouth, the flare of her nostrils, the way her eyes had gone cold and hard as flint. Her stare was pure venom, hatred radiating from her in waves so palpable I could almost feel them against my skin. Her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides.
I forced myself to look away, my heart hammering. My eyes found Peanut standing beside her, his large frame hunched slightly, expression vacant. For just a second—maybe less—our gazes locked. Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked almost like a flash of recognition or emotion that seemed impossible given his condition.
I noticed Farris Clegg and several of his cronies standing at the outer edges of the crowd. They were slovenly, dressed in jeans and dirty shirts—not showing near enough respect for a man like Craig.
Farris caught my gaze, and I watched his eyes travel deliberately from me to Cristox, then to Teddy, taking in how the three of us were standing close together. Like a family. His lip curled in disgust, and he made no effort to hide it. The sneer that spread across his face was full of judgment, full of that particular brand of venom reserved for women like me.
I lifted my chin. Let them look. Let them wonder. Let them whisper and speculate and draw their conclusions. Let them hate. I was done hiding, done pretending.
Cristox wore a dark navy suit that fit him like it had been tailored for his powerful frame, paired with a pale-yellow shirt that somehow softened the severity of the funeral attire. Itwas more dressed up than I'd ever seen him, more formal than the casual clothes he usually favored. He looked devastatingly handsome. The dark fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, emphasizing his strength and the way his body moved with predatory grace even standing still. He'd left the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of furred skin at his throat, and even in mourning clothes, there was something undeniably striking about him. Something that made my breath catch. The way he held Teddy so carefully, so protectively, with such obvious love and devotion, only made him more attractive.
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything else—the minister's droning voice, the flowers arranged around the casket, the sound of someone crying softly behind me—but my treacherous mind kept drifting back to the other night. To his hands on my body, reverent and possessive. To his mouth on my skin, hot and demanding. The way he'd touched me, like nothing else in the world existed or mattered but my pleasure. The way he'd made me come apart completely, reducing me to nothing but sensation and need. And how he'd held me afterward, stroking my hair with infinite gentleness, whispering soft reassurances in that deep, rumbling voice until I'd finally fallen asleep feeling safe and cherished.
He'd been affectionate since then—gentle touches that lingered, soft kisses pressed to my temple or the back of my hand. Smoldering looks that made heat pool low in my belly, his hand finding mine whenever we walked together. But he hadn't pushed for more. He hadn't tried to take things further, hadn't made any demands or expectations. Part of me was grateful for the space, for his seemingly infinite patience. But another part of me, a part that was growing harder and harder to ignore wanted him to. I wanted desperately to feel his hands on me again, wanted to lose myself in him the way I had that night, wanted to surrender to the desire that burned between us.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and heat crept up my neck, flushing my cheeks despite the cool air. This wasn't the time or place for those thoughts. Craig deserved better than me standing at his funeral thinking about sex, fantasizing about the male standing next to me.
But I couldn't help it. Cristox was solid and real, and I didn't know what to do with the wanting that had taken root inside me, growing stronger every day.
Almost the whole village showed up for Craig’s service. The crowd stretched back from the graveside in waves, a sea of somber faces and dark clothing that seemed to go on forever. Craig had been well-liked, beloved even, by nearly everyone who'd known him. He'd been the kind of man who knew everyone's name, who remembered birthdays and anniversaries, who'd help fix a fence or deliver medicine in the middle of the night without being asked or expecting anything in return. The kind of man who made a place feel like home, who held a community together through sheer force of kindness.
My throat tightened as the minister began to speak, his words washing over me without really registering. My heart was still broken that Craig was gone, shattered into pieces that I wasn't sure would ever fit back together properly. Craig had been my friend, who'd accepted Teddy and me without question or hesitation. He'd been there when I needed someone most. And now he was gone, taken violently and suddenly, leaving a hole in this community that would never be filled.
And I couldn't help but think his death had something to do with me.
The fire was meant for Teddy and me. The timing was too convenient, too deliberate. And Craig had died in the ruins of my burned bakery. It had to be connected. The logic was inescapable, no matter how much I wanted to deny it.
Guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp and unforgiving, like a knife turning slowly.
Cristox shifted beside me, and his free hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine with a gentle squeeze that somehow conveyed understanding and support without words. I glanced up at him, and his honey-brown eyes met mine, steady, unwavering, full of understanding. He knew what I was thinking. He always seemed to know, reading me with an ease that should have been unsettling but felt comforting instead.
I squeezed back, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me anchored, preventing me from floating away on a tide of grief and guilt.
After the service ended, people began to disperse slowly, reluctantly, murmuring condolences and sharing memories of Craig in hushed tones. I stayed close to Cristox, drawing strength from his presence, while Teddy pressed against my other side, his small hand clutching my dress with white-knuckled intensity. He'd been so quiet today, his usual boundless energy dimmed by the weight of loss he was too young to fully understand but old enough to feel.
Mei approached us, her expression grave but kind, her usual composure showing cracks around the edges. She'd aged in the past few days, new lines etched around her eyes and mouth, her shoulders carrying a burden that seemed to weigh her down. As mayor, she'd taken Craig's death hard. Not just as a loss to the community, but as a personal failure to protect one of her own.
"Ruby. Cristox." She nodded to each of us in turn, then looked down at Teddy with a soft smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey there, sweetheart."
Teddy looked up at her but didn't say anything, just pressed closer to my leg.
Mei glanced back at me, her expression shifting to something more serious. "Bartholomeus is taking the kids for ice cream at the general store. Would it be all right if Teddy went with them? I think the children could use some time together, something normal, and..." She hesitated, her gaze flicking between Cristox and me with obvious meaning. "I need to speak with you both. Alone."
My stomach tightened. The way she said it—careful, measured, weighted with unspoken implications—told me this wasn't just a casual conversation.
I glanced down at Teddy, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "Would you like that, baby? Ice cream with the other kids?"
He nodded slowly, though his grip on my dress didn't loosen.
