Chapter 8 - The Morning After
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Raven Hill conservatory.
The room, once a cold, museum-like space filled with rare orchids that nobody looked at, was completely chaotic.
A massive spread of pancakes, fresh blueberries, crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, and three varieties of toast covered the long glass table. Poppy, wearing a bright yellow sundress that Evelyn had ordered delivered by express courier at dawn, was currently using a strip of bacon to demonstrate how an airplane lands on an aircraft carrier.
“And then—*whoooosh!*—it hits the wire so it doesn't fall into the shark water!” Poppy declared, making an aggressive diving motion with the bacon before shoving the whole thing into her mouth.
Sitting across from her was Evelyn Cain.
The silver-haired matriarch was not in her wheelchair. She was sitting in a high-backed wicker armchair, holding a delicate porcelain teacup with both hands. Her face, once frozen in bitter grief, was radiant with an amused, indulgent smile.
“No sharks,” Evelyn said.
The voice was raspy, thin, and cracked with four years of disuse, but the two words were crystal clear.
Poppy gasped, nearly choking on her pancake. “You talked!”
Evelyn chuckled—a low, melodic sound that seemed to chase the last ghosts out of the room. “Only… for good pilots.”
Mara stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the scene with a full, aching heart. She wore a simple sage-green sweater and jeans, her hair falling softly over her shoulders.
Arms came around her from behind.
Ronan pulled her back against his broad chest, his chin resting comfortably on the crown of her head, his hands clasping over her waist.
“She hasn't spoken a syllable since the day the telegram arrived about Caleb,” Ronan whispered into Mara’s hair. “Not one word.”
“Poppy has a way of wearing down defenses,” Mara murmured, resting her hands over his. “She’s very persistent.”
“Runs in the family,” Ronan replied, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear.
Poppy suddenly spotted them. She pointed an egg-covered fork at Ronan. “Big shoes! You’re late! The airplane already landed!”
Ronan released Mara with a quiet laugh, stepping into the conservatory with his hands in his pockets. “My apologies, Captain Poppy. I was detained by business.”
“Did you buy more bacon?”
“I bought the entire pig farm,” Ronan said solemnly, taking the seat beside her and reaching out to steal a strawberry from her plate.
Poppy swatted his hand with her napkin. “Sharing! You have to ask first.”
Ronan looked at Mara over the child’s head, his gray eyes shining with an open, unashamed joy that transformed his severe face into something breathtakingly handsome.
“May I please have a strawberry, Miss Ellis?” Ronan asked.
“You may,” Mara said, walking to the table and taking the chair beside Evelyn.
Evelyn reached out, her thin, warm hand covering Mara’s forearm—right over the exposed falcon tattoo.
The older woman looked into Mara’s eyes, her gaze clear and steady.
“Thank you,” Evelyn whispered, her voice stronger this time. “My daughter.”
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Mara’s throat tightened, but she didn't cry. She simply turned her hand over, interlacing her fingers with Evelyn’s, anchoring the bond that would hold them together for the rest of their lives.
***
