Page 30 of Wynter's Second Chance

The sun had barely started to peek over the mountains, casting a gentle blue light across the kitchen, as I shuffled around making pancakes for Rory. Sunday morning was always our time together—just me and my boy. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be up, wandering in here with that groggy look on his face, grumbling about it being “too early for Sunday.”

I set the plates on the table, complete with a small stack of pancakes for each of us, and couldn’t help but smile. It was moments like these that grounded me, that reminded me of what I’d been blessed with, even after all the losses.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Rory shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. He moved sluggishly, like his body hadn’t fully caught up with the waking world yet, and the drowsy frown on his face made me chuckle.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said, waving him over.

He gave me a sleepy smile, then ambled over and wrapped his arms around my waist in a quick hug. “Morning, Dad. Smells good.”

“Pancake Sundays don’t let us down, huh?” I bent down and planted a quick, affectionate kiss on the top of my son’s head.

Sliding into his chair, he picked up his fork and took a bite of the first pancake, closing his eyes in that exaggerated way he did when he was really happy. We sat together, the quiet between us filled with the warmth of familiarity. I glanced over and caught the soft smile on his face—this was our time, a little ritual we both looked forward to.

After a few minutes, he put his fork down, his eyes flicking up to me with a mix of hesitation and determination that only a twelve-year-old could muster. I felt it then, that familiar pang of instinct that told me something was weighing on his mind.

“Dad?”

His voice was quiet, and I set my own fork down, giving him my full attention. “What’s up, kiddo?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing patterns on his napkin. I stayed silent, giving him time, knowing he’d get there when he was ready.

“Yesterday…” He paused, and his eyes darted to the kitchen doorway, as if he expected Wynter to suddenly appear. “Yesterday was fun. I mean, it was cool… having Wynter here. And decorating the tree and all.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said, keeping my tone gentle, trying to read the expression in his eyes. There was a hint of something there, just beneath the surface. Concern, maybe even a little fear.

“But, Dad…” He swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of his pajama sleeve. “Is Wynter… Is he your boyfriend?”

The question hit me like a gust of cold wind. My heart stopped and then lurched into high gear. Gazing down at my son, I saw the fear flickering in his eyes. He was scared of losing me to another person. Kids with single parents tended to be more possessive, and Rory had already seen more than his share of loss in his young life. “No, buddy. He’s a friend, a very good one.”

“But you like him?”

I couldn’t lie to him, not when it meant this much. “I like him, yes.”

“And you think he likes you too?”

“Yes, he does.” I traced a pattern on the table with my finger, searching for the right words. “But I like you the best. And you’ll always come first in whatever I do.”

He bit his bottom lip, looking a little unsure. “Promise?”

“Of course.” I lifted his hand and kissed it. “I promise.”

Just then, the sound of footsteps on the porch cut through our quiet moment, and before I could get up to see who it was, there was a soft knock at the door. A second later, Wynter poked his head in, cheeks red from the cold, holding three steaming cups.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” He grinned, stepping in fully and placing the cups on the table. “Thought you two could use some hot chocolate. It’s freezing out there.”

I gave him a small, knowing look that said,Thanks. Though, we both know you didn’t come out here just for cocoa.

A quick smile flashed in his eyes. He knew I’d seen right through him. His cheeks flushed deeper and he shrugged, a little sheepish.Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to say hi,his smile seemed to say.

The warmth that spread through me was unexpected but welcome, and I couldn’t help but smile back. The fact that he wanted to be here, that he was going out of his way just to spend a few extra minutes with us—it did something to me, something that made me wonder if this man could really be the one to fill those empty spaces in our lives.

Rory picked up his cup and wrapped his fingers around it to warm them. “Thanks, Wynter,” he said, taking a sip of the beverage. “You should’ve seen last winter when there was ablizzard. It was really cold. We made a huge snowman. It lasted for two weeks.”

“That’s a long time.” Wynter smiled, glancing at me before turning back to Rory. “Maybe we could build one together. I haven’t done that in forever. When I was a kid, my parents and I used to make snowmen every year.”

“How are your parents doing since they moved to Albuquerque?” I asked, curious. They hadn’t visited in a while, not since shortly after Royce passed, when they’d retired and settled into their new lives.

“They’re good and have adjusted to the slower pace, I think.” Wynter smiled, a little wistful. “Dad’s taken up woodworking, believe it or not. Mom’s baking pies for every bake sale she can find. They miss Aspen Ridge, though… and everyone here.”

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