Chapter 92
She wasn’t as little as Nova is now, but even at eleven, it feels far too young to know how to manipulate people.
Another reason I was drawn to her was because, like me, she was there on a scholarship. Our school was built for the filthy rich, so finding someone who felt a little like me was comforting.
“You remind me so much of your mom, Nova,” I say softly. “And Nolan, you remind me of your father p>
“Dad says I remind him of Grandpa,” Nolan chimes in.
I laugh. “I can see why he’d say that. But remember, your dad and your grandpa are almost the same person when it comes to character.” (1
Nova leans forward, eyes shining. “What else can you remember about Mommy p>
“Well…” I smile, letting the memory wash over me. “She loved purple. And anything pretty. While I lived in baggy t–shirts and trousers, your mom adored pretty dresses and skirts. And makeup.” I chuckle. “One time, she insisted on doing mine. It turned out so terrible because we were eleven and barely knew anything about makeup … but I lied and told her it looked good p>
The kids burst into laughter, and for a moment, I let myself drift in the memory. Sometimes we focus so much on the bad that we forget there was good too.
Most of my fond memories of Chloe, I know now, were just her playing her part well. Still, sometimes I wish they had been genuine. Because as much as she hurt me, I did love her. Just like I loved Lilly.
From there I tell them all the good I can remember about Chloe, while the twins dive into baking and listening with full energy.
Nolan insists on measuring the flour like it’s a science experiment, while Nova sneaks sugar into the bowl with dramatic flair. Their giggles fill the kitchen as I guide their little hands, showing them how to crack eggs without getting shells inside.
They share their memories about Chloe and in that moment, I get glimpses of who Chloe truly was, not who she pretended to be. To the kids and Noah, she was a caring, loving mother and wife. 1
Laughter fills the kitchen as I guide their little hands, showing them how to crack eggs without getting shells inside.
The first egg shatters in Nolan’s grip, yolk sliding down his fingers. He freezes, horrified, while Nova bursts out laughing so hard she nearly falls off her stool.
“Don’t worry,” I say quickly, handing him a towel. “Happens to the best of us p>
He grins sheepishly, and soon, the mess doesn’t matter. We stir and mix, the batter thick and lumpy but perfect in their eyes. Then Nova dips her finger into the flour bag and flicks it at Nolan. He gasps, glaring at the tiny white spot on his shirt.
“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he warns.
Before I can stop it, flour is flying. Nolan throws a pinch back, Nova squeals, and somehow, I end up in the middle of it, dusted head to toe. My hair, my shirt, and even my cheeks are coated.
I don’t even understand how we got from talking about Chloe and baking to this.
“Truce!” I laugh, coughing through the cloud of white. “You little troublemakers p>
But they’re too busy laughing to hear me. Blackie watches from the corner, tail flicking like this is the most excitement she’s gotten in a while. By the time the cookies are in the oven, we’re all breathless from laughter, the kitchen a war zone of flour, sugar, and icing.
Nova licks icing off her fingers, her face smeared like she’s been in battle, and Nolan leans back proudly like a chef who’s conquered the world. For the first time in so long, my chest doesn’t ache. It feels light. Everything about being with them here and now feels right.
I don’t understand it, but honestly, I won’t even try because something like this? It’s beyond what makes sense.
Then the doorbell rings. “Stay here,” I tell them quickly, my heart jolting back to reality. “I’ll get it p>
They nod, still giggling as they sneak another spoonful of dough. I hurry to the door, wiping my hands on a towel, though it’s no use.
Without thinking, I swing it open. Noah stands there, tall and broad, his storm–grey eyes cutting right into me. For a moment, he just stares. Then his lips twitch–half disbelief, half something else.
It’s only when his gaze drifts up and down, lingering on my face, that I realize what’s wrong. I’m still covered in flour and icing. 1