Page 4 of Wynter's Second Chance

I saw the scowl on Rory’s face. Not happening with my son around. He wouldn’t like it. “Sure,” I said easily. As if Lisa would let her husband spend time with a widower and his son. I moved in different circles, but I could tell that Wynter needed to hear it. Was it because he still wasn’t over Royce’s death? I felt a twinge of concern for him. I wanted to reach out, to offer him the support he might need, but the truth was, I was still grappling with my own grief. I didn’t have the energy to help him through this—at least, not yet.

When Wynter reached out to take the plate, his fingers brushed mine. The touch was brief but electrifying, sending a surprising jolt through me. I pulled my hand away quickly,trying to steady myself as a wave of unexpected tension washed over me.

Wynter’s eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something… but the look was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you.” I sensed he wanted to say more, but the words probably eluded him.

“Goodbye, Wyn,” I replied, the finality in my tone clear.

He nodded, and I led him to the door, Rory trailing behind. Once Wynter was gone, I turned back to the cupcakes, but my mind was elsewhere. Wynter’s presence had stirred something in me, but the reality was clear: I had a son to care for and a past to work towards. Wynter and I were bound by memories, and that’s all it was—nothing more.

Still, as I stood there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, something that might change the course of our lives.

CHAPTER 2

TARAN

The December wind howled against the windows, swirling snowflakes in erratic patterns that blurred the world outside. It was the kind of weather that made me question whether the bank would be open today. Still, with the meeting so critical, I didn’t have much choice. I’d already rescheduled once—the day Rory got in trouble in school. Another delay and they might stop taking me seriously.

I sighed, frosting another cupcake while my mind wandered back to Wynter’s sudden appearance earlier that afternoon. His visit had knocked me off balance in more ways than one. I hadn’t seen him in years, and now, after all that time, he just showed up on my doorstep like nothing had changed.

The clinking of Rory’s fork against his plate broke the silence, his watchful eyes fixed on me like he could see straight through the storm swirling in my head. I could tell he was holding something back, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Wynter. Not yet. I needed to gather my thoughts first, but Rory, being the curious kid he was, wouldn’t let me.

“Why did he come here?” I could feel his eyes on me, watching closely like he could read my thoughts.

I hesitated, squeezing the frosting bag a little too hard as I finished the cupcake. What could I even say? I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around it myself. Wynter’s sudden return was a reminder of so much—things I tried not to dwell on too often, but which now seemed impossible to ignore.

“He just wanted to say hi, kiddo,” I replied, forcing a calmness into my voice. “He was your papa’s best friend.”

“Papa’s been dead for five years,” Rory pointed out, his tone sharp, the words cutting deep.

I swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. Five years. It still felt raw some days, the loss creeping up on me when I least expected it. I couldn’t help but wonder how different things were for Lisa—how she must’ve felt seeing Wynter walk through her door after all this time. Probably ecstatic. I imagined them reuniting, and a familiar wave of jealousy swept through me. Lisa had her husband back; Wynter had come home to her. But Royce would never come home to me again.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t fair to think like that, but I couldn’t help it. Seeing Wynter had ripped open old wounds, and now, getting over the surprise of his visit, I was left with more questions than answers.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Rory shifted in his seat, clearly not satisfied with my answer, but he didn’t try to get any more information out of me.

I turned my attention back to the cupcakes, trying to shake the unsettling thoughts that Wynter’s visit had stirred up. There hadn’t been time to ask him anything real. Just seeing him had opened old wounds, and now that the initial shock had worn off, I was left with questions and a deep sense of unease.

“I have to head to the bank soon,” I said, quickly boxing up the cupcakes for my client, another responsibility I had to juggle on top of everything else. “I’ll drop you off at Mathew’s.”

Rory frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “Dad, I’m twelve. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you don’t, but humor your old man, won’t you? With this weather, I don’t want you stuck here by yourself if something happens.”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in that way only a preteen could. “Fine. But I’m not bringing my school bag—it’s winter break.”

I smiled despite myself, grateful for his small concession. “Fair enough. Just grab your coat.”

While Rory got ready, I took a quick glance in the hallway mirror, adjusting my striped navy blue tie and brushing dust I assumed was there off the collar of my coat. The bank meeting was important and I had to look presentable, even if all I could think about was Wynter. The dark gray wool coat I wore was the last gift Royce had given me before he died. I kept it in perfect condition, partly because I couldn’t afford to replace it, but mostly because it reminded me of him. The memory weighed heavily, especially today.

Rory bounded back into the hallway, bundled up in his puffer jacket, a pair of gloves sticking out of his pockets. “Ready.”

I nodded, grabbing the cupcake boxes. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland, the snow covering everything in a soft, white blanket. Aspen Ridge was like a postcard during the holidays—pine trees heavy with snow, wreaths on every door. It was beautiful, but the cold cut through my coat as we stepped outside, making me question just how much more snow we’d get before the night was through. Rory trudged beside me, his boots crunching through the snow as we made our way to the car.

The drive to Matthew’s house was slow, the roads slick with ice. Rory stared out the window, the lights reflecting off his face, and for a moment, it felt like everything had returned to normal.The holidays had a way of doing that—masking the pain with the magic of the season. But as soon as we reached Mathew’s house, the questions about Wynter resurfaced, gnawing at the back of my mind.

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