by Shyla Colt
“I’ll do my best, kiddo,” Hart promises. Fiona pulls back. “So. Yoon, this is my sister, Fiona, and my best friend, Ava. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Yoon.”
“You have so much explaining to do,” Ava says with a wide grin.
“Boyfriend?” Fiona squeals.
I nod, proud to hear her claim me properly for the first time.
“If you can deliver presents like this, I want a million dollars,” Ava says playfully.
A YEAR LATER
I hold Hart close as we leave the courtroom. Cameras flash, and reporters call out questions. Keeping our heads low, we wade through them to the black town car waiting for us. Samantha and Sang both got guilty verdicts—her attempted murder in the first-degree, and him in conspiracy to commit murder. The emails and texts between them made my blood boil. He’d known the end was coming, and he wanted to take the one thing from me I’d always miss, my heart. Justice is served, but it doesn’t take away the pain and anguish Hart went through as she recovered. He mental complications were far worse and trickier to heal than what was done to her body. She’d taken a while to get comfortable in crowds, and just being bumped into could trigger her fight or flight reflex. It was a tough time, but with plenty of patience, love, and counseling, we’d come out stronger.
Slipping inside, we both relax as the car pulls away from the curb.
“Finally, we can move on from this chapter in our lives,” she says, snuggling into my side.
“I feel the exact same way.” I’d been waiting for this day for plenty of reasons. “I arranged something special for us.”
“You didn’t know if they’d rule in our favor.”
“No, but I knew we needed to relax either way.” I peck her lips.
“Hmm.” She hums her approval and sucks on my tongue.
My cock stiffens and I pull away. Now isn’t the time. We pull in front of the white hotel with gray roofing I rented out for the weekend. The quaint boutique has stood the test of time and offers beautiful views, and old-world furnishings. Exiting the car, I lead her inside where the people most important are decorating the Christmas tree I had brought in.
“What is this?” she asks, stunned, as she covers her mouth.
“Surprise!” they all yell.
“I thought it was time we had our families all in the same place.” Seeing her hug my parents and my sister fulfills a wish. We’d done plenty of Skyping, but nothing beats one on one. The conversation flows as she chats with everyone. As things die down, she returns to me.
“Thank you.” She wraps her arms around my waist, and I kiss her temple. “There’s a special ornament on the tree to commemorate it.”
“Oh, a hunt?” She claps her hands together, and I nod. I swallow hard as she rushes over to the tree and begins to look. They’ve done a great job of filling it. Even I don’t know where her surprise is hidden. My palms begin to sweat as she continues to inspect the branches. Ava catches my eye and winks. Fiona gives me a covert thumbs-up and my sister beams. The pride in my parents’ gaze means a lot. For my culture, engagements are a more of a family thing. I couldn’t take this step without them present. Her father gives me a respectful nod. He looks good today, dressed sharply in a pair of black trousers and a short-sleeved, white button-down he’s a healthy weight and clear-eyed.
“Yoon?” Her voice shakes.
That’s my cue. I kneel down in front of her as she holds up the one-karat diamond shaped like a heart.
“Hartley, I love you more than I thought was possible. I can’t see my life without you in it. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She throws her arms around me, and I marvel at the way life has set our paths to intersect to bring me the love of my life.
Epilogue
Four years later
Hart
I balance Yeona on my hip as I oversee the displays being arranged in my very first physical store, Hart’s Treasure. It turns out Seoul was the perfect place to develop and launch my skincare line. Once Fiona graduated high school, we both decided to relocate to Korea with my husband. Part older brother, and father-figure, he helped us get through Dad’s bout with the bottle.
Sobriety is an off and on state for him. It tears me up to think about it, but we all have our demons to face. This is his, and it wasn’t the only time he’s faced it. We visit him multiple times a year and stay in close contact via Skype and phone calls.
“There are my favorite girls.” Yoon steps up behind me and kisses me on the cheek.
“Say hi, Daddy.” I wave Yeona’s tiny hand as she giggles happily. The ten-month-old is the center of our world. Fiona is perfecting her Korean while attending a college, taking gen education classes while she figures out what she wants to do. Life looks far different than I expected it to, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.
The End
About the Author
As a full-time writer, stay-at-home mother, and wife, there’s never a dull moment in Shyla’s household. She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.
Sneak Preview
Tough Cookies Coming in January!
Chapter One
Matilda
Who knew a chocolate chip cookie could turn into a coal briquette? I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders as smoke continues to billow out the open windows and front door. Heat fills my cheeks as the fire truck pulls up, lights flashing, and the siren blaring. I wish I could sink down into the two feet of snow I’m standing in beside my noisy neighbor, Gladys. Gladys called the fire department as I waved the smoke outside, even when I insisted it wasn’t necessary. Of course, it was then the cookies ignited, ending my protests.
The hulking heroes scramble down from the shiny red emergency vehicle, and I point lamely inside. “Oven.” Doors open and others drift out onto their porch. I close my eyes and place a hand over my eyes. This was not supposed to be the New Year’s Eve entertainment. Thank God Clem is spending this holiday with her father. It was her big brown eyes that landed me into this mess in the first place. I can still hear her sweet, “Mommy, this year, can we please sign up for the annual bake sale?” How could I say no when it was our first Christmas on our own?
I made it a game, telling her I’d practice while she was gone, so we could choose our favorite recipes together at this rate. I’d succeed in making us homeless before that happened. Did the oven malfunction? I’ve never heard of this happening to anyone else. Of course, when it comes to baking, I’m able to defy reality. In our tiny town, the news will be out by Monday on how that poor divorced girl nearly burned down her house her first year living alone.
“What happened, dear? Did the loneliness get to you?” Gladys asks.
Her boldness loosens my tongue. “Excuse me?”
“It was such a shame, really. That nice husband of yours leaving and showing up too soon after, if you don’t mind me saying, with that little blonde girl half his age.”
I grind my teeth and remember it’ll get back to my mother if I make this woman cry here in front of the rest of the neighborhood and the fire department.
I’d been drug through the proverbial mud in the gossip circles. I’m not shocked about what’s said, just that Gladys is telling me to my face. She’s got a set of steel lady balls. High school sweethearts who were Prom King and Queen senior year, Jackson and I were under heavy scrutiny. People had been waiting for us to fail since the ninth grade. When we both made it through college, sans a baby, got married, and started our respective careers in Sales and the Computer Science world, the vultures stopped circling overhead. Especially when Clementine was born six years ago.
If I were the lying sort, I’d say the divorce blind-sided me. I’m not. I like facts, codes, and equations. Once you learn the rules, the result is always the same. It’s why I excel in the Computer Science field. Parting ways brought intense relief. Jackson and I ran out of things to talk about years ago. Our i
nterests no longer aligned, and over sixty percent of the reasons we stayed together had to do with our daughter.
That’s the danger of marrying young. You might grow up and discover the adult version of you doesn’t want the same things. Untangling our lives had been a long, painful nightmare. He had a starring role in every poignant memory I made for the past fourteen years. On my own, I had a chance to explore my personal likes, choose a home, decorate, and have no one but myself to answer to had been a profound journey to self-love and independence.
I’d lost myself over the years playing the perfect wife and mother to Jackson and his image. Taking over his father’s car dealership, he forced us to remain in the limelight with ads, videos, and a social media presence. His scheming and impossible standards allowed no room to breathe or look anything less than perfect at any given moment. I will never go down that road again. Life under the radar in comfortable clothes, indulging my interests stretched out before me like the prize at the end of a long-distance race. There’s a powerful freedom in being able to let it all hang out.
Neon green and yellow reflective tape flash in the flashing red lights, standing out against his black uniform as the firefighter comes toward me with his helmet tucked under his arm. He looks no worse for wear, and they never pulled out the hose, so maybe my kitchen hadn’t burned down. Thank God for home owner’s insurance and the fact that I live less than a minute from the station. His crew exits behind him.
“Ma’am?”
“Lawson. Mrs. Lawson.” I step away from Gladys.
The dark-haired man nods. “Okay. Mrs. Lawson. We’ve put out the small fire. I don’t believe there was any serious damage, but you’ll have to call out a repairman to inspect the oven before using it. You’re lucky it wasn’t a gas stove.”
I nod my head as I picture my house going up with a boom as a blazing fireball engulfs it.
“Is my kitchen salvageable?” I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“Oh, yes, Ma’am. The smell of smoke will linger, and you’ll have to scrub everything down and maybe put on a few coats of fresh paint.”
“Can you tell me what happened? Did my oven malfunction?” I’m eager to pass the buck on this situation. I swear you can hear a pin drop as he clears his throat and looks away. Shit. It was a user error. “It looks like the broiler was on.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?” My shrill voice rings out.
“No, Ma’am. That’s the only thing we could find wrong.” His sympathetic expression rubs salt in my bleeding wounds of shame—tires crunch over snow, and an engine rumble behind me. I turn to spot a well-known logo on a white vine as Channel Nine News Crew pulls up.
If this is a sign of what the next year will be like, I am utterly screwed. The crew parks a few feet away from the firetruck. A perky, enhanced breasted reporter with flawless make-up, who happens to be a shoo-in for the next Mrs. Lawson, steps out of the passenger seat onto towering heels. I don’t wish anyone ill will usually, but I wouldn’t mind seeing her slip on an ice patch. Her plum-colored wool coat contrasts with her stick-straight glossy blonde hair. She smiles, and the viciousness in her dark blue eyes makes my stomach churn.
Brittany Powers seems to think I still want Jackson. It’s made every interaction we have unnecessarily complicated and tense. As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcomed to him. As my mother likes to say, you’ll lose him the same way you got him if you date a man already invested in another relationship. Brittany will spend their entire relationship looking over her shoulders and second-guessing his late nights and trips out of town for work. That’s a worse fate than anything I could do to her. Her thin lips curve up into a predatory grin, and she sashays her way toward me, a harpy on a mission.
“Ms. Lawson. We got the news that a fire started here. We’re so relieved to see you’re okay, and the fine members of our fire department have taken care of everything. Can you tell us what happened, Firefighter Jones?”
The man behind me clears his throat. “It turns out it was a bit of a false alarm.”
I could kiss him.
“Oh?” Brittany arches her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. I become acutely aware of my gray and white polka-dot joggers and old faded college pull over. I pull my green plaid blanket closer and clear my throat.
“That’s right. Sorry to get you good folks out here at this time of night for no reason,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Kill them with kindness.
“Well, we do follow the stories available in the town. How about a brief comment to reassure all these worried folks out here?” Brittany gestures toward the families crowding the porches, putting me on the spot. Evil bitch.
“Of course.” I force a smile. The bright lights beam into my face, blinding me in the darkness as they’re set up. I have flashbacks to my time with Jackson. My palms sweat, and my heart rate accelerates. Chest tightening, I grip the blanket in my hand to remain grounded in the present.
“I’m here on New Year’s Eve with homeowner Matilda Lawson who’s ringing in twenty-twenty-one in a rather unusual way. Can you tell us what happened?” She thrusts the microphone into my face. I clear my throat.
“Today, I learned that cookies are actually flammable.” I give a self-deprecating smile. They can’t laugh at me if I force them to laugh with me.
“Wow!” She shoots a stunned expression at the cameraman. “How did you manage that?”
“Somewhere in the process of cooking production, the broiler was turned on.” I widen my eyes comically. “You can imagine what would happen to cookies after the recommended fifteen to sixteen minutes in the oven.” I cringe. “If you can’t, I assure you it was nothing good.” The cameraman snickers, and Brittany’s eye twitches. Nice try. I know how to spin things. I learned at least that much from being married to a local celebrity.
The interview takes all of ten minutes, but I swear It equated to an eternity in hell.
“I guess you’ll need us to keep Clem longer, considering?” Brittany gestures toward the house.
“No. It’ll be fine once it’s aired out.” My jaw clenches, but I keep my tone steady and calm.
“Pity. We made cookies for the new year, you know?” Her immaturity keeps her from working with Jackson and me to create a calm, cohesive environment. It’s going to end up being a problem.
I smile and nod.
“She told us how you two were going to enter the Bake sale.” She looks at the retreating fire truck. “Don’t worry. Matilda. I’ll be sure to help Clem, so she’s not embarrassed or disappointed.” My daughter is not a prize to be won. I resent Brittany’s continuous attempts to turn her into one. She might be my daughter’s step-mother one day, but she’ll never take my place.
“I got it, actually,” I say.
“Oh, I’ll be there covering it anyway. It won’t be a problem when you change your mind.” She winks and moves to help her crew pack up.
Oh, hell no.
I’ll do whatever it takes to show up at the bake sale and redeem myself with a smile on my face and cookies that put everyone else to shame. I’ll just need help to do it. Later, on the couch, I look at cookie baking tutorials. I land on a local baker’s channel.
“Welcome to baking with Anders Rivera.” My lady parts tingle as I sit up straighter. The handsome olive-skinned man with facial hair and soulful brown eyes wasn’t what I expected. I can’t look away as his deep voice gives clear, concise explanations. His cookies are beautiful, and his offer at the end of the video seals the deal in my mind. This is the man I need. As the clock turns to twelve, I make a vow—new year, new me. And this version of myself will bake a damn good cookie.
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