“Mm-hmm,” Bunny teased. “Freshen up.”
“She probably needs to fix her lipstick after making out with her fiancé,” Kitty whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Birdy didn't correct them. She didn’t say that she wasn’t sure she even had a fiancé anymore. Instead, she turned and headed toward the back hallway, her heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and a little desperate.
This didn’t make sense. Why would Paul do this? He'd said he wanted to marry her. He'd looked at her like she was everything. She could still feel the imprint of his gaze on her skin—warm, steady, reverent. And then he’d taken it all back.
No. That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t taken anything back. He hadn’t even explained. Because she hadn’t let him.
She’d shut him down. Turned away. Marched off like she always did—before he could finish, before she could hear him. Because it was easier to feel betrayed than it was to risk being broken.
But what if she was wrong?
What if there was more to the story? What if—God, what if he’d done something stupid for a good reason?
What if he was still waiting for her, like he always did?
Birdy straightened slowly, the cold dread in her belly giving way to something sharper, hotter—determination. She couldn’t let Beverly down. She wouldn’t walk away from someone she cared about again without getting the full truth.
A flash of movement caught her eye. A man stood a few feet away, bundled in a thick coat, a hat pulled low over his forehead. His features were familiar in a way that hit her straight in the gut.
The man smiled warmly, the same easy, boyish smile she loved seeing on Paul's face.
“You must be Birdy,” he said, his voice rich and kind.
Before she could answer, he stepped forward—arms wide.
Birdy didn’t think. She moved into his embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms wrapped around her, solid and safe and real. He smelled of fresh snow and wood smoke and soap. Like home.
The tears she’d been fighting pricked harder behind her eyes.
“I'm Paul's father,” he said, his voice rumbling comfort against her ear. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”
Birdy squeezed her eyes shut. She melted into his embrace. A part of her—an old, raw, battered part—soaked up his affection like parched earth drinking rain.
When he pulled back, he cupped her shoulders and looked her square in the eye. “You having second thoughts?”
Birdy tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I've never felt like this before. I'm so confused. I don't know what I'm feeling.”
“You don’t have to feel it alone,” Mr. Winters said. “You can tell Paul. He'll walk through it with you. Or you can tell me. I’m already on your side.”
Birdy’s throat closed. She didn’t just want Paul. She wanted this. This steady, kind, unwavering love.
She opened her mouth to confess—to pour it all out?—
And that’s when she saw it. A blur across the parking lot.
Zeke. Running.
Beverly close behind him, cradling the baby protectively against her chest.
Why was she running behind Zeke?
Because he was pulling her.
Birdy jerked out of her future father-in-law's arms. Her heart leapt into her throat as the picture out in the parking lot grew clearer. Zeke was kidnapping mother and daughter.
“No,” Birdy gasped. “No, no?—”
