Page 42 of Wynter's Second Chance

My throat tightened. “Rory, this is…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Taran passed me a second gift, his own smile turning softer. “Now it’s my turn.”

I opened the small box, the faint scent of leather wafting up as I pulled out a bracelet. It was simple but beautifully made—a dark leather strap with a single silver charm shaped like a pine tree, its delicate etching capturing every branch.

“I thought maybe you could use a piece of Pinecrest wherever you go,” Taran said. “It’s been your little haven since you returned.” He paused, meeting my eyes. “And I’d like to be part of that. Wherever you are, I want you to feel like you’re home.”

I slid the bracelet onto my wrist, the leather snug but comfortable, the charm catching the light. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Taran.”

Rory handed his dad a thin envelope, his grin stretching so wide it seemed like his face could barely contain it.

“You too, Dad,” Rory said, bouncing on his knees.

Taran opened it and pulled out a folded piece of paper. As he read, his expression softened, then crumbled into something vulnerable. He cleared his throat.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning closer.

“It’s a promise,” Taran said, holding up the paper. “Rory’s promised to do all the dishes for a month without complaining.”

Rory burst out laughing. “You’ve got to admit, it’s the best gift I could’ve given you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Taran admitted, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

I reached under the tree for a gift I’d prepared. “Rory,” I said, holding it out to him. “This one’s from me.”

His eyes lit up as he took the package, and I caught Taran’s curious glance. Rory ripped the paper open to reveal a hardcover sketchbook, the cover embossed with his name. Alongside it was a set of artist-grade pencils and markers.

“For me?” Rory asked, his voice rising with surprise.

I nodded, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. “I figured since you’re already a pretty great artist, you might want some tools to take it further. And, uh…” I hesitated, then added, “I wrote something inside.”

He flipped open the sketchbook, finding the note I’d scribbled on the first page:Rory, your creativity inspires me. Keep making the world more beautiful. – Wynter

For a second, Rory just stared. Then he flung himself at me, his arms tight around my neck. “Thanks, Wynter. This is awesome!”

Taran chuckled softly, watching us. “Looks like you hit the jackpot with that one.”

Rory pulled back, beaming.

I reached under the tree again for my gift to Taran, the weight of it heavier in my chest than in my hands. “Taran,” I said softly, holding it out. “This one’s for you.”

His brows lifted as he took the package, his curiosity unmistakable. He carefully peeled back the paper, revealing the hand-bound journal. Its deep green leather cover was embossed with a simple but elegant tree, its branches reaching skyward in quiet strength.

“I remembered,” I said, my voice quieter now, “in high school, you used to journal. I thought maybe…” I trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Taran’s fingers traced the embossed tree, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “I did. I journaled for years, but I haven’t… not since…”

He didn’t have to say it. We both knew what he meant.

He looked up, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “But I’m in a much better place now. And that’s mostly thanks to you. So, it’s fitting that you’re the one giving me this.”

I felt the words settle between us, warm and steady, as he opened the journal to the first page. There, in my handwriting, were the words,Taran, may this hold all the memories you want to keep, the dreams you’re ready to chase, and everything in between. – Wynter

He read it aloud, his voice thick. “Wynter…”

Before the moment could grow too heavy, Rory piped up. “You should write something in it right now!”

Taran blinked at him, his smile returning. “Like what?”

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