“I’m glad you made it. But you should have taken the time to change into something more comfortable,” Bree said, eyeing the uniform I was still wearing and handing me a fistful of skewers as we walked down the hill toward the bonfire I could already see dancing on the beach below. “Your uniform is going to get all smoky.”
As I’d sat in my truck, holding the documents and considering what I was going to do, I’d remembered that Archer and Bree had invited me to roast marshmallows with them and the kids down by the lake. I’d been so wrapped up in Haven that I’d completely forgotten. Perfect timing, I’d thought, tossing the albums and the paperwork onto my passenger seat. And I’d driven right over.
“I’m off tomorrow,” I said. “I have time to wash it.”
“All right. Well Archer’s getting the fire going, so go on and join him. I need to change the baby and then the boys and I will gather the supplies. We’ll be down as quickly as possible.” She paused, considering me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to look at her. She’d be disappointed in me once she found out what I wanted. Oh well. I’d handled it once, and I could handle it again. “I’ll see you all in a bit.”
Archer looked over his shoulder as I approached, raising his chin and using a poker to adjust a piece of firewood. Firewood I knew he chopped himself even though he could’ve easily afforded hiring someone else to do it.
Maybe old habits died hard.
I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs flanking the fire, across from Archer, setting a file folder and one of the albums on a rock next to me.
Archer tilted his head, his gaze flicking over my uniform. Is this an official visit? he asked.
“No. I came straight from work.”
He looked at the items I’d placed on the rock questioningly. What’d you bring?
I cleared my throat, going for the file, but instead, sliding the album out from underneath and handing it to Archer. He took it with two hands, frowning slightly as he held the photo album up and then set it on his knees.
I saw him swallow, the scar on his throat raising as he turned the page slowly. The scar that had taken his voice and submerged him in a world of silence. An odd hollow formed between my ribs. He looked up at me and I recognized the emotion in his eyes: surprised wonder. These are pictures of my mother.
“Yeah. My, uh, mother gave it to me. It was with our father’s things. Alyssa must have given it to him at some point. I’m surprised my mother didn’t burn it.” I attempted a rueful laugh but it petered out.
Archer looked back down to the photos, flipping a few more pages, his gaze moving from one picture to the next. He ran his hand gently—lovingly—over the plastic-covered page. I only have one photo of my mother, he said, raising his hands but not his gaze, seemingly unwilling to look away from the treasure in his lap.
The expression on his face reminded me of the way Haven had looked as her eyes had moved over the antique photographs of someone else’s family. Yearning.
“I know,” I said. I’d seen the picture of Alyssa Hale in a place of honor on the mantel in Bree and Archer’s home. I knew his mother hadn’t had much family to speak of, if any. Archer had his memories of her, good ones, I assumed, and the knowledge that she’d loved him, but no tangible items other than the one lone photograph.
I remembered how beautiful I’d thought she was. I remembered how she’d kneel down to my level when she spoke to me, and that she’d always listened closely to what I had to say, even though I was only a kid. She had loved my father and I was the child of another woman, his wife. She had to have had mixed emotions, and even pain, regarding my presence, but she’d never once treated me as though she did.
And I remembered my mother’s raging fury at her very existence, the woman who owned her husband’s heart no matter how many tricks she deployed or whatever manipulative plans she devised.
I remembered that I wished Alyssa Hale was my mother, instead of the one I was given.
Archer spent a few minutes turning the pages, his gaze falling from one photo to another.
Thank you, he said, and by the look on his face, I sensed the gravity of his appreciation.
“Yeah, of course. It’s yours.”
He closed the book, but kept it in his lap. He nodded to the file folder I’d placed on the rock. What else did you bring?
I began reaching for the folder of papers, but pulled my hand away. I ran my palms over my thighs.
“How long did it take for you to fall in love with Bree?” I blurted out, instead of the, my mother found some interesting documents, that had sat cold and heavy in my mouth like a handful of pebbles from the lake’s floor.
An amused smile twitched the corners of Archer’s mouth. He raised his hands. Five minutes? Maybe less.
I chuckled softly. “That long, huh?” I paused. “I guess it really does happen that way sometimes,” I murmured.
He considered me for a moment, leaning forward. Honestly? You’d probably know better than me. He smiled. I was a special case.
I breathed out a smile, a flicker of sadness causing it to die quickly. I was a special case, he’d said. But by the look on his face, that particular description of who he’d once been didn’t cause him any distress. He even looked more than a little proud of it.
Even more profound—and somewhat gutting for reasons that made me feel deeply humbled—he’d answered my question honestly and without rubbing my nose in the fact that I, the supposed legendary Travis Hale, was asking the once-upon-a-time town hermit for relationship advice, whether he realized that’s what I was doing or not.
How the tables had turned.
In so many ways.
“I think I’m a special case too when it comes to women,” I murmured. And probably regarding many other subjects too lengthy and complicated to bring up at the moment. As far as women though, I either picked the ones who were too available, or not available at all. Apparently. Archer eyed me curiously, but waited for me to continue. “How did you know you were in love?” I asked, more curious about Archer now, than my own situation. We’d never talked about these things, about his story once Bree Prescott had come to town and changed everything for him. “Especially considering you were a special case? How did you trust yourself?”
He tilted his head, his eyes moving to the lake in front of us. At the time, I didn’t completely trust myself. I knew how I felt, but I questioned whether I had anything to offer her. He paused, his eyes returning to me. But she made me want to become the man she deserved. She made me braver, and stronger. Because of her, I wanted to be the best version of myself. And that, I think, is what love does, if it’s really love.
I nodded, feeling strangely choked up, wondering if I even knew who the best version of myself might be. Could be.
He leaned forward just a bit, his gaze unfocused, as if staring into the past. I had this vision of what a future with her might look like . . . He paused, his hands hanging in the air for a moment. Kids. A family. Things I’d never dared dream of before. His eyes met mine. It was so clear in my head, but the reality . . . well . . . I had no idea how we might get there, but I knew I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. And I’d spent my life wanting.
I swallowed, looking away. I’d spent my life wanting.
When I saw Archer raising his hands in my peripheral vision, I looked back at him. He had a teasing glint in his eye. And then there was the sex—
“Don’t tell me about the sex.”
His grin was slow. It was a Hale grin. I saw our father in it. I laughed, the awkward, overly emotional moment ending, something for which we were both—I could tell—grateful.
His smile dwindled, expression going thoughtful. Uncle Nathan told me once that when Hale men fall in love, it’s quick and it’s forever. It was true for me.
It’d been true for our father and uncles too.
And because of it, things had gone so terribly wrong.
The weight of that thought hung heavy inside me.
“Uncle Nate was kind of a nut, though,” I reminded.
Yes. He absolutely was. Archer smiled, but there was deep affection in his eyes.
I chuckled softly. We sat in silence, but it was comfortable.
I should go see what’s taking Bree so long, Archer said after a moment, standing. Do you want anything while I’m up at the house?
“No, I’m good. Thanks. And, Archer . . . thanks.”
He nodded once, turned, and headed toward the cottage where I could hear the distant rise and fall of the boys’ exuberant and constant commentary as Bree did whatever Bree was doing.
The fire had died down a bit. I picked up one of the logs sitting next to the fire pit and added it gingerly, watching as the flame leapt and licked at the new piece of wood, the kindling having no choice but to let itself be consumed.
Things had gone so terribly wrong for our father and uncles.
My brother had offered me insight I hardly deserved from the generosity of his heart. And what I was considering doing would deftly lodge a wedge between us again, reversing any sense of brotherhood we’d gained over these last eight years.
You either lose it all, or lose it all.
Maybe there were many different sorts of losing.
And we each had to weigh our choices.
Choose which hand to discard so that we might win the bigger pot.
Something stirred inside me, a feeling of rightness that I had no way of describing other than that.
Before I could overthink it, or talk myself out of it, I leaned back in my chair and grabbed the file containing the original copy of the amendment to the town bylaws that might have resulted in Archer and me facing each other down in a courtroom. I dropped it on the fire and watched as it curled and blackened and moments later, turned to nothing but ash. Gone forever. Lost.
I swallowed, sensing some form of breakthrough, but feeling the familiar hopelessness too. The feeling that meant I’d given up control, that I might fall—hard—and no one was going to be there to catch me when I did.
A light caught my eye and I tipped my head, watching as a shooting star moved swiftly across the darkening sky.
“Uncle Travis! We got peanut butter cups!” Charlie yelled, running toward me, his hand proudly outstretched, holding forth the candy. If I’d only heard his tone, and not his words, I’d have thought he was rushing forth with the keys to some magical kingdom.
“Let’s make the best s’mores ever!” Connor declared, right behind his brother.
“Ever?” I asked. “In the history of the world?”
“Ever! In the history of the world,” he confirmed, proving that he’d inherited his mother’s enthusiasm for pleasures of the palate.
Bree and Archer were only a few steps behind them, Bree holding Averie, Archer carrying the cooler and a paper bag.
“Sorry we took so long,” Bree said, huffing out a breath. “There was a catering emergency,” she said, drawing out the word in a way that told me the emergency was less than dire, but still needed to be addressed.
Next to me, the boys were busy skewering marshmallows, spilling graham crackers on the sand and generally making a holy mess. Per usual.
“It’s no problem,” I said, turning my attention back to Bree. “From what I hear, these s’mores are going to be amazing.”
She looked over, raising a brow. “And sandy,” she mouthed.
Archer intervened with the boys, rescuing most of the graham crackers and setting things up on a towel near the fire.
Bree sat down and Averie, her solemn eyes on my face, reached her arms out to me, as though she’d just recognized something different about me that she could trust. A feeling not unlike awe wound through me and I reached back, taking her from her mother and bringing her to my chest. I lowered my nose to her hair, inhaling her sweet, pure scent, tenderness rendering me mute. Averie tilted her head back, staring once again into my eyes, gathering the fabric of my uniform shirt in her small fist, claiming me as one of hers.
Finally.
