Now I could tease. This was easier.
“Yes, one of them,” she said, lips twitching. “And you’ve always been the joker. The peacemaker. The one who smooths everything over with loads of charm.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
“You make things light when we need it. Honestly, you were like that before the fire. Before your dad died.” Her voice dropped an octave, softening with the lingering pain of loss. “And I love you for it. Wealldo.”
I swallowed hard through the emotion tightening in my throat.
“But sometimes…” She trailed off, taking a breath. “It’s okay to be vulnerable, honey.”
That nearly broke me. I looked away, blinking fast. My breath puffed out as I tried to hold back something I didn’t want to feel. I wasn’t prone to crying, but in this moment, I was teetering on the edge of it.
My mother seemed to sense it. She stepped closer and reached for both of my hands, clasping them in hers and giving them a firm squeeze. That was my mom—exuding quiet strength and steadiness. She’d been through her own hell. More than I could wrap my mind around. Losing Dad. Rebuilding the resort from ashes. Losing Bree, her only daughter.
We all shared in that grief, but it was heaviest for her. I knew it. She lost the person who was supposed to help her carry it. And still, she stood here—metaphorically holding me up when I didn’t even realize I was leaning.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted, my voice low.
“Yes, you do,” she said, smiling softly. “You’re just scared.”
I didn’t argue. Hell, Adele terrified me.
“You’re allowed to be scared, Cole. Just don’t let fear stop you from showing up. Not with someone like Adele.”
I nodded, staying quiet for the moment, afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d fall apart.
She released my hands and stepped back, giving me space. Her brief touch had helped me find my balance emotionally.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said finally.
She tilted her head to the side, her warm gaze encompassing me. As her children, we’d lost our only sister, and that was its own kind of pain. A deep, jagged slash across our hearts we didn’t talk about often but felt all the same. But as our mom, she had to carry more. In the aftermath of those compounding losses, at the same time, she’d held us all together when the fire took the only home we’d ever known.
Somehow, she still showed up every damn day. Still loved us, still listened, still noticed when we were off-kilter and wouldn’t let us pretend otherwise.
“I don’t know all the answers,” she added as she wiped down the counter, “but I’ve always known—if you ever let your guard down, you would fall hard. So hard it’d probably frighten you. But you can handle it, Cole. You have so much love to give.”
When a lone tear rolled down my cheek as she glanced my way, she didn’t say anything else. Just lightly squeezed my shoulder, handed me a tissue, and left me alone in the kitchen. When I walked into the staff suite upstairs, the lights were dimmed, and my brothers, along with Elsa, Kendall, and Tommy, were parked in front of the TV. With no space left on the sectional, I eased down to the floor, leaning against the ottoman.
“Whoa, what’s going on?” I asked, watching Tommy gesture animatedly toward the screen.
Tommy loved his cooking and baking shows. “I’m gonna make that for dessert next week.”
I glanced over at Haven, who gave a subtle nod. “He’s been practicing.”
“Well, damn,” I murmured, watching one of the bakers on screen. “We’re all really into it now?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Lincoln said, eyes still glued to the TV.
“Language,” Elsa teased, mimicking our mom’s tone.
“Absolutely,” Lincoln corrected himself, rolling his eyes with a grin. “It does look good, though.”
“It looks complicated,” I offered.
“Yep. That’s why I’m watching. I’m learning,” Tommy replied.
“Look at this man,” Asher said, nudging Tommy. “Culinary genius and future orchardist.”
