while before deciding whether to eat it or not. Felix holds all the cards. He knows it. The whole family knows it. “I know you’re taking care of her. I’ve seen you with her. That night here.” For some reason the memory of sharing hot chocolate with Ellie tugs at my lips, but I refuse to smile. I can’t risk allowing the memories to bombard me. “I won’t say anything to her. I just need to see her. Please.”
“I’m trusting your word on that. Ellie is fragile since her au...since Adair left. She needs stability, not more adults using her,” he says. “Adair has always looked out for her—as best as she could. Her family hasn’t made that easy for her.”
“But Ellie doesn’t know?” Is it so bad here that without Adair around, only Felix notices her?
“A child always knows,” he says meaningfully. “So let me ask you one more time, is this all you came for?”
I don’t know what answer Felix is looking for, but I know one thing. I promised Adair I was all in. I didn’t know then how much more that promise would demand of me, but somehow I not only know that I’m all in, I know that I have no other choice. “For now.”
“Wait here.” Felix disappears from the kitchen, leaving me to my thoughts.
There’s so much I don’t know. I don’t know why Adair did it. I don’t know why she hid things from me—from the world. I don’t know who else knows, but I suspect no one outside the MacLaine family. But despite all of that, I know her better than I ever have before.
I know why Adair MacLaine stayed in Valmont.
I know why she put up with her father and her brother.
I know why she gave up every dream she ever had.
I know why, after all these years, I came back to find her heart still broken.
Because she’s had a walking reminder of what we lost when we gave up on each other—and I know now that Adair MacLaine never gave up on me. She never stopped loving me, and she sacrificed herself to protect the last unbroken piece of our love.
“Where are we going?” a small voice floats into the kitchen from the hall.
My knees threaten to buckle, but I remember what Felix said. She needs stability. I can give her that much for now. Maybe it will be enough.
He rounds the corner, and then she comes into view.
And she is her mother and she is me.
She is everything.
Her coppery hair is plaited into braids, and when she turns an appraising look up at me, I see my eyes staring back at me. “You again? Auntie Dair isn’t here. Neither is my dad.”
But I’m right here. I want to say it. I want to throw her over my shoulder and take her away from this place before it can hurt her like it did Adair. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to stop myself from doing it. My eyes flicker to Felix. He’s watching me carefully. Does he know what I’m thinking?
Would he stop me?
“Me again,” I say, my mouth going dry. I clear my throat. “I actually popped by to check on you—for your aunt.”
“Okay.” This seems to satisfy her. She shifts to look at Felix. “Are there cookies?”
“What do you think?” he asks.
“We have a guest,” she says seriously. “We should probably be hospital.”
“Yes, we should be hospitable,” Felix corrects her gently.
“Yes, hospital,” she says stubbornly, and in that moment, I know that I’m not in love with the idea of her—of a family. I just love her. In a way, it’s like she’s always been there. No conditions. No fears. No walls. She has all of me.
“Shall we?” I flinch at how my voice cracks, but my little hostess doesn’t notice.
She climbs onto a barstool and I join her. “Felix makes the best cookies.”
“I’ve had them,” I admit to her.
“Was your heart broken?” Her eyes are blue saucers and she reaches for my hand. “Felix says these cookies cure heartbreak and hang-somethings.”
I fight a smile at the same time my whole body soaks up the feeling of her tiny soft hand on the back of mine. “Something like that.”
“Felix made me these cookies because my heart is broken,” she confides.
I resist the urge to carry her off again. “Who broke your heart?”
“Auntie Dair. She left,” Ellie says sadly. “Dad made her. He called her a no-word.”
“A no-word?”
“You can’t say no-words or you get in trouble,”