Page 22 of Shattered Promise

Hazel holds the stare for another beat, just long enough to make her point, then smooths her features with practiced ease. “Let’s eat, everyone.”

We file out of the living room, and I follow Beau into the bustling dining room. The table’s already half full—platters of garlic bread and salad in the center, steam curling from a lasagna pan still bubbling around the edges.

Vivie’s the first to spot us. “Theo!” she squeals, darting over to coo at him like he’s a baby celebrity. Theo blinks sleepily, then offers her the lion clutched in his hand like it’s a peace offering.

Eloise gives me a once-over and a nod from her seat across the table. “You look like you’ve slept about five minutes this week.”

“Four, maybe.”

“Impressive.” Eloise grins.

Hazel waves a hand. “Alright, everyone, grab your spots.”

As I head for the seat I always take—third from the end, just beside Beau—I pause. There’s a high chair already pulled up to the table. One of those nice ones with a cushion and wood legs to match the chairs.

“I found it last week,” Hazel says, appearing beside me, her eyes already on Theo. “Isn’t it perfect? I thought it’d be nice for when you and this little guy come for dinner.” Her gaze crawls to mine, her smile a little wobbly before she looks back at Theo.

Something presses at the edge of my chest—tight, warm, and unwelcome. I shift Theo on my arm, clearing my throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Hazel shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I wanted to. He deserves a proper seat at the table.”

I glance down at Theo, who’s staring wide-eyed at Vivie, his hand zeroing in on a loose curl near her shoulder. She giggles and gently leans away before he can get a grip on it.

A hum rises up around us. Chairs scraping, silverware clinking, voices overlapping in that way only the Carter family can manage without missing a beat. Dinner here is exactly what it always is. Too many voices talking over one another, bowls passed without warning, someone laughing too loud at something half-heard, and Hazel trying to keep everyone fed before it gets cold.

And for a little while, it feels like nothing’s changed.

Like maybe I still belong.

9

MASON

I settleTheo into the new high chair, my hand lingering on his back for a second longer than necessary before I slide into the seat beside him. Beau mutters something about garlic bread being its own food group, and I bump his shoulder as I reach for the bowl of salad. He elbows me right back, the motion easy, automatic.

Across the table, Graham and Francesca talk softly about a fundraiser for the bookstore. Vivie’s wedged between Eloise and Cora, spooning lasagna onto her plate with intense focus, like it’s an art form.

The conversation flows around me, warm and weird and full of inside jokes I’ve been around for most of my life, but still sometimes feel just a few seconds behind. But Theo’s here, wide awake now and blinking at the chaos like it’s the best movie he’s ever seen, and that helps anchor me.

I dig a bib out of the front pocket of the backpack and fasten it around his neck. It's soft gray cotton with a faint grease stain that I can’t get out no matter how much I wash it. He doesn’t squirm, just watches me with big, curious eyes.

“Alright, bud,” I murmur, using the edge of my fork to cut up a piece of lasagna from my plate into baby-sized bites. I nudge a few onto the tray, adding some torn-up garlic bread as well.

Conversation carries on in the background—silverware clinking against plates, Jasper launching into a story about a busted carburetor, Cora pretending not to listen while clearly eavesdropping. I settle into it and let the noise wrap around me.

Then a lull hits. Not a full stop, just a soft dip. One of those quiet pockets that shows up when everyone pauses to chew or refill their glass.

Conversation flows easily around the table. Jasper’s leaning into Cora, his arm slung around the back of her chair, and whatever he’s whispering has her blushing into her napkin. Francesca and Graham are talking with Lucas about some upcoming event at Fiction & Folklore. At the other end of the table, Hazel and Beau are deep in debate about how many more plants she can realistically fit in her greenhouse.

I lean back a little, letting it all wash over me. It feels good. Would probably feel better if Abby was here though. My phone burns inside my pocket, our text exchanges feeling illicit somehow.

Across the table, Eloise and her youngest sister, Vivie, have their heads bent together in a low conversation. Vivie’s eyes flick toward Hazel and Lucas, then back to her sister, her shoulders creeping toward her ears. Eloise must kick Beau underneath the table, because he suddenly grunts and looks directly at her.

“Ma,” Beau calls, wiping his mouth. “Vivie’s got a question for you.”

Hazel shifts her attention without hesitation. “What is it, honey?”

Vivie glances at Eloise, who gives a small nod of encouragement.

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