Page 55 of Open Arms

Mason let out a hearty laugh. “Can’t argue with that logic. Chloe’s pancakes put my cereal skills to shame.”

I smiled at Abby’s praise, warmth blooming in my chest. “Why thank you, sweetie. I’m so glad you like them.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. I found myself leaning against the counter as I nursed my coffee, simply soaking in the cozy domesticity of it all. The early morning sunshine streamed through the windows, glinting off the maple syrup bottle and the silverware. The earthy notes of my coffee mingled with the sweetscent of sizzling batter and melting chocolate chips. Moments like this were worth waking up extra early for.

Mason finished off his plate and leaned back in his chair, one hand drifting absently to rub his stomach. “Mm, Chlo those were incredible. You’re gonna spoil us with cooking like that.”

“Good thing I don’t mind spoiling my favorite people every now and then,” I said with a playful grin. I gathered up their empty plates and carried them to the sink.

Abby zoomed by, running up the stairs to get ready for school. I guess I didn’t think about how much all that sugar would affect her, but oh well. A moment later, I felt Mason behind me again, his arms locking me in place. This time, I turned around, looking up at him with what I was positive was stars in my eyes.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Chlo . . . but I hope you know, I’m gonna work like hell to earn it.”

My heart practically exploded.

“Mason . . .” I wanted to tell him he deserved me. That he was the best man I’d ever known, and that I’d fallen so deeply in love with him, I could feel him even when he wasn’t there.

But the words wouldn’t come. So instead, I rose up onto my tiptoes and took his lips in a kiss I hope served as a good enough explanation for now.

He moaned into the kiss, deepening it as he gripped my hip, my face. It was passion incarnate, but at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, we broke apart, reluctantly.

He took a step back, but still held my hand, giving it a sweet kiss. And I knew that I was a goner. Mason Bridges had stolen my heart, and I didn’t want it back.

Sunshine Acres was a flurry of activity. Around lunchtime, I headed to the breakroom to grab a snack. Eryn was there, chatting with one of our new volunteers, an older gentleman named Walter. He reminded me of my grandfather—kind eyes, bushy white eyebrows and a penchant for terrible dad jokes. I smiled as I caught the tail-end of one such groaner, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

“Hey Chloe,” Eryn said. “Everything going okay today?”

“So far, so good,” I replied,

I took a big bite of the apple, savoring the sweet crunch. Things were finally looking up after the difficult morning.

“We’ve got a full schedule this afternoon. Two yoga classes and a meditation workshop,” I said.

Eryn nodded, glancing down at her tablet. “It’s been busy lately. Lots of new faces.”

I was glad to see our retreat thriving. When I first arrived in Whittier Falls broken and adrift, Sunshine Acres became my refuge. Now it felt like home.

Walter chuckled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well, don’t work too hard, ladies. Take time to stop and smell the roses.”

“We’ll try,” Eryn laughed. She gave my arm an affectionate squeeze as she headed out of the breakroom.

I lingered a few moments, chatting with Walter about his volunteer work. He was retired and had plenty of time on his hands to help around town. I loved that people wanted to give back here. It made it all the more special.

After saying goodbye to him, I headed back to the office to grab some of the new student paperwork.

That’s when I noticed the envelope on my desk. Plain white, with my name and the address of Sunshine Acres printed neatly on the front. No return address.

My hands shook as I picked it up, turning it over. It had beenmailed, postmarked over the stamp neatly affixed in the corner. But who would be sending me a letter here? The only people who knew I worked here were people from town, and surely they wouldn’t be mailing me anything. Especially not from Chicago, I thought as I looked closer at the postmark.

I’d never been to Chicago.

The phone call I’d received now replayed in my head.

I slid my finger under the flap and tore it open, my heart pounding in my ears. As I unfolded the single sheet of paper inside, my blood turned to ice.

No. It couldn’t be.

The letter fluttered from my trembling fingers and landed face up on the desk. Two words stared back at me, scrawled in achingly familiar handwriting.

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