Page 45 of Cascade

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Opal

INDIGO SENDS A massive group text to all the Crawfords, inviting us all to the Inn for Christmas breakfast. Since the Bakers are all staying there, it’s become the new headquarters for updates on Abigail and Louie. Daniel and Rose seem a bit out of their element not playing host. Daniel sends a series of emojis with different facial expressions, and I laugh as Archer’s phone chirps with each new incoming message.

“Did anyone ever find Fletcher and set him straight?” I’m not ready to stand up yet and I’m pretty sure my entire body will seize up if I try to move. Between the stress of my sick cat and helping Abigail, my muscles are aching. Pam has pointed out that I tend to carry a lot of worry in my shoulders. I make a note to hop in to another silks class with Ivy as soon as I can.

“My brother was a better Claus than me,” Archer murmurs, pulling a pillow over his face to block the morning sun that starts peeking through the kitchen window.

Oscar perks up at the sound of his voice and makes his way toward us, licking at my hand and making my heart race with excitement. “Are you feeling better?” I purr at him and reach for the wheatgrass, seeing if I can tempt him to eat a bit of it out of my hand.

“Archer!” I yell, as the sandpapery tongue dips out and laps at the vet-approved plants. “This is hands down the best Christmas present I could have ever asked for.”

“I usually get to sleep until noon on Christmas,” he murmurs, still not pulling the pillow from his face. I yank it away from him and kiss him, unaccustomed to waking up feeling fully content, but reveling in the moment while I can.

“Come on, lazy bones,” I tease. “It’s not like you were up all night doing good deeds like your brother or anything. He wrestles me onto my back and pins my arms above my head, nipping at my neck.

“Take it back,” he says, but before he can carry out whatever he had planned, Oscar climbs in between us and settles himself on my chest.

By the time we make it to the Inn, we’re the last ones there by a long shot. Sara and Indigo are circling the room passing out pans of freshly made cinnamon rolls and bacon. “I’ve got turkey bacon for Asa,” Indigo yells. “Let me just go and grab it. Oh!” She spots us as Archer helps me unravel my scarf. “They’re here!!”

The din in the room halts and everyone turns toward us. Abigail’s mother leaps off the bench and nearly knocks me over as she wraps her arms around me. Mr. Baker starts to cry and twirls his coffee cup uncomfortably amid the din in the room. “Opal,” Rose says, her voice carrying above the noise until everyone quiets down.

“This family,” she gestures around the wide web of people in the room, not all of whom are related to one another. “Owes you a great debt of gratitude.”

“Hear, hear!” Daniel bangs his mug on the table.

Rose clutches at her chest and continues. “Not only did you sense something wrong with our Abigail, but you followed through and you helped all of us understand. Through the whole process, we all knew what was going on.” Her voice catches and Archer walks over to her, squeezing her hand. “I’m just so grateful that my son brought you into our lives.”

The pressure in my head swells at that notion, and I’m not entirely sure what happens next, to be honest. Someone hands me a plate of food and bustles me into a chair. Someone else pulls out a package of English-style poppers, and before I know what’s happening, I’ve got a paper crown on my head and a slice of bacon in my hand.

A newcomer, who must be Fletcher—my memory is hazy from the stress of yesterday—pulls out a Santa sack and clears his throat. “I want you all to know that I’m never doing that Claus gig again.” The Oak Creek residents burst into laughter, while the Bakers and I just stare at him in confusion as he hurls the bag into Archer’s lap, fake beard and gloves and boots all tumbling out of the drawstring sack.

As we work our way through breakfast, people start passing around the pictures they’ve received of Louie. I had told Abigail I’d come in to meet with her early this afternoon and make sure she’s getting attentive care. I have no reason to be concerned that she isn’t. Miraculously, Louie is the only baby in the postpartum unit for Christmas. The OB told me they had a big wave of babies a few days ago during the full moon.

I manage to snuggle up with Archer on the couch next to the giant, intricately decorated Christmas tree that Gavin seems bound and determined to destroy as he crawls around tugging at the lights and ornaments his mothers hung so carefully. I smile as Archer pulls me into a hug. His scent envelops me and I feel the steady beat of his heart through his sweater.

Every half hour or so, I feel the sneaking fingers of self-doubt start to creep in to color this experience as something it is not. But just as that happens, another Baker or Crawford grabs my hand and thanks me for my work, reminds me that I am loved and appreciated and surrounded by good people.

“I could get used to this,” I whisper to Archer.

“I sure as hell hope so, Precious.”

Later, Archer drives me to visit his brother and new nephew in the hospital. I look over Abigail’s stats and am delighted to see how her blood pressure has come down since she delivered Louie. He’s nursing contentedly when we arrive and Hunter is describing his early diapers to a flabbergasted Archer.

It’s still foreign to me, family life with easy banter, teasing instead of belittling, genuine affection for one another. Watching Archer scoop up the baby from his brother’s arms, a look of awe and admiration transforming his features, I feel calm wash over me instead of fear.

Archer extends his finger toward Louie’s small hand, murmuring words of affection. “You’re going to be so expensive,” he coos. “Your parents just have no idea.”

He looks up at me and grins, and I feel the room light up when he smiles just for me. I don’t feel scared of his love right now. I tuck Abigail’s chart into the holder at the foot of her bed and walk over to Archer and Louie. I tested the waters of his trust and he came through for me, for his family, for this entire community. I lean my head on Archer’s shoulder and just stand still with him, basking in the love and hope and joy rippling through this room.

When I close my eyes and imagine my future, I don’t shiver in fear of a black and lonely disaster. I rock and sway alongside this patient man, who knows how to wait out my fears. A future with Archer feels reckless and wild, sexy and emotional. But above all he feels like home.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Fletcher

EPILOGUE

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