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Garrett’s head pokes through the doorway. “I thought I heard you,” he whispers. His brow creases slightly, his curiosity obvious. “Didn’t think you’d be home until tomorrow.”
I shrug, torn between the desire to retreat upstairs and curl up alone, and the pull of the light in the kitchen. “I’m a little surprised to be here myself.”
“Well, come on then,” he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “Get in here and keep me company.”
He disappears back into the kitchen, and I follow. Elise sits in her highchair, her tiny fists waving in the air, the remnants of oat crisps scattered on her tray. Garrett stands by the counter, a mug of steaming tea in his hand. The faint scent of chamomile and mint drifts through the room, mingling with the ever-present hint of baby wipes and lavender detergent.
“Mom always said I’d come around to her way of thinking,” he says, lifting the mug to his lips.
“Remember those aromatherapy bracelets she made us when we were kids?”
“I remember you telling her she smelled like dirt.”
“You have to admit, the scent of vetiver is incredibly earthy.”
Garrett snorts, shaking his head at the memory of Mom’s favorite essential oil. “I fought her so hard on all her herbal concoctions, and here I am, drinking her calming tea because I swear it helps.” He chuckles, the sound soft and disbelieving. “That woman has a way about her.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “She’s in my head big time right now.”
Garrett’s brows knit together as he sets the mug down. “How so?”
I slide onto a stool at the counter and fold my arms, resting them on the cool surface. “I told her about Nick. She gave me this advice about embracing our time together but going slow, keeping my eyes out for red flags. She said we were both vulnerable, and I needed to be sure this was the real deal, not just some way to cover up how hurt we’re both feeling.”
“Sound advice,” Garrett says, nodding. “And it sounds a lot like what I told you.”
I acknowledge his statement with a dip of my chin and flared hands before continuing.
“It’s got me second-guessing everything,” I admit, my voice soft, but heavy with frustration. “When Nick’s anxiety fades, I congratulate myself on the power of love. And then when it resurfaces, I feel like I’m nowhere near enough for him.”
Garrett leans against the counter, his expression thoughtful. “That’s an awful lot of responsibility for one person, Charlie. Being the sole remedy to trauma like Nick’s faced.”
I close my eyes, nodding slowly.
“I’m still not sure how that explains why you’re home tonight,” he presses gently.
I explain the call I had from Mom, the call Nick had from his CO, and the conversation that followed. “He looked so, I don’t know, hurt? Upset? Confused? When I told him he should consider the offer.”
“And that surprises you why?” Garrett asks, tilting his head.
“Because!” I say the word sharper than I intend, my hands flying up to emphasize the point. “The idea of him going back to that job—the one that kept us apart for years and then nearly killed him—it scares me to death! But I’m urging him to explore the option anyway because I love him so much. I only wantwhat’s best for him, regardless as to how it affects me. Shouldn’t I get some credit for that?”
Garrett dips his head in acknowledgement of my feelings but holds up a hand. “Or maybe,” he says softly, “and I’m just putting this out there, maybe in the heat of the moment, what heheardwas you telling him you wanted him to go. That you wanted to buy the studio and pull the plug on your relationship. Go back to the way things were when you first met.”
“Itoldhim that’s not what I wanted, Bear. I told him.”
Garrett’s gaze is steady, his voice calm. “The head and the heart hear things differently, Charlie. How did he react when you told him about the studio?”
“His face was a masterclass in subtlety,” I say, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “He gave away absolutely nothing. His jaw twitched once, barely noticeable unless you know him like I do. His eyes, though…” I pause, frowning as I try to piece it together. “There was the smallest flicker of something. Surprise, maybe? Or hesitation? It vanished too quickly for me to pin down. Was he proud? Indifferent? Worried about what it meant for us? Relieved? I couldn’t tell.”
Garrett watches me for a moment before he asks, “Have you ever heard the story about Nick’s parents and the peach water?”
I shake my head, sighing at the strange conversational turn. “Nope. Should I have?”
“It’s Hutton legend,” Garrett says, smirking. “When Wyatt and Kara first got married, she bought all these flavored waters. Week after week, Wyatt drank the peach ones first, so she figured that meant it was his favorite and eventually stopped buying the other flavors altogether. One day, he got fed up and asked her why the hell she only bought peach. Turns out, he hated them. He drank them first so she wouldn’t have to.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”
“You could start with waiting for me to finish the story,” Garrett says, clearly enjoying himself. “The thing is, Nick’s a lot like Wyatt.”
