Read Chapter 17: The Uneasy Peace

The kitchen smelled of butter and cinnamon, and for the first time in days, the inn felt less like a refuge and more like a home. Maren watched Lily roll out dough with a practiced ease that made her own efforts look clumsy.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Maren asked, leaning against the counter.

Lily shrugged, her hair falling across her face. “Mom’s a foodie. She dragged me to every baking class in New Jersey until I got good enough to make her look good at dinner parties.”

It was the most Lily had said about her mother since she’d appeared on the porch three days ago, shivering in that thin jacket. Maren didn’t push.

“Well, your mom missed out on a career,” Maren said, nodding at the perfect circles Lily was cutting. “These are going to be the best cookies this inn has ever served.”

“This inn has served literally zero cookies since I’ve been here.”

“Exactly. Best. Ever.”

Lily’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. She glanced at the doorway where Julian hovered, pretending to organize the bookshelf in the adjoining sitting room. He’d been doing that a lot—staying close but not entering, a man orbiting his own daughter’s gravity.

“He’s going to wear a hole in that floor,” Lily said, quieter.

Maren didn’t answer. She’d noticed the pattern too. Every time Lily moved, Julian shifted. Every time she spoke, he leaned in, hungry for something—a word, a glance, anything—before catching himself and retreating again.

“He wants to talk to you,” Maren said.

“He’s had six years to talk.”

“He couldn’t. You know that.”

Lily pressed the cookie cutter into the dough with more force than necessary. “I know what he says he couldn’t. I also know what it felt like from my side.”

Maren let the silence stretch. She slid a tray of cookies onto the counter beside Lily, and Lily began transferring her circles onto the sheet.

“Your grandmother’s recipe?” Lily asked.

“My grandmother’s everything,” Maren said. “She was the kind of woman who believed cookies could fix a broken heart. She wasn’t wrong, but she always said you needed to add one extra ingredient.”

“What’s that?”

“Patience. You can’t rush the butter to room temperature. You can’t rush anything that’s worth turning out right.”

Lily’s hands paused. For a moment, Maren thought she’d pushed too far, but then Lily nodded slowly and picked up another cutter.

They worked in comfortable silence until the first batch came out of the oven, golden and perfect. The smell drew Julian from his post at the bookshelf.

“That smells incredible,” he said, a little too brightly.

Lily didn’t look up. “They’re for the guests.”

“There are no guests,” Julian said. “The road’s closed again.”

“Then they’re for Maren.”

Maren slid a cookie off the tray and held it out to Julian. “Taste test. I need a professional opinion.”

He took it carefully, as if it might bite. When he bit into it, his eyes closed for a second. “These are better than anything I’ve had in a decade.”

Lily’s face flickered—a crack in her armor, quickly sealed. “That’s sad, Dad. You should get out more.”

It was the first time she’d called him that. Maren saw Julian’s throat work as he swallowed.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly.

---

That night, the wind picked up again, rattling the old windows. Maren built up the fire in the parlor while Julian and Lily sat at opposite ends of the couch, a careful distance between them. The storm had returned with a vengeance, and the forecast said they were trapped for at least another two days.

The cookies sat on a plate between them. Lily had eaten four.

“So,” Julian said, breaking the silence. “College. How’s that going?”

Lily’s jaw tightened. “Fine.”

“What are you studying?”

“Nothing yet. I’m just taking gen eds.”

“Your mother said you wanted to do—?”

“My mother said a lot of things,” Lily cut him off. She picked up a fifth cookie, examined it, and set it back down.

Maren settled into the armchair by the fire, not quite in their line of sight. She’d learned that disappearing was sometimes the best way to keep them talking.

“I’m not asking to pry,” Julian said carefully. “I just want to know about your life. All the parts I missed.”

“I told you. Fine. School’s fine. I have a boyfriend. His name’s Marcus. He’s a senior. We’re going to get an apartment together next semester.”

Julian’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a big step.”

“It’s not that big.”

“Have you thought about—?”

“I think about everything, Dad. That’s kind of the problem.”

The word hung in the air again. Julian didn’t push. He just nodded and stared into the fire.

Lily’s voice cracked when she spoke again. “He wants me to drop out. Marcus. He says college is a waste of money, and I should just work full-time at his uncle’s restaurant. He says we could get married by summer.”

Maren’s fingers stilled on the blanket she’d been folding. Julian’s face went carefully blank.

“What do you want?” Maren asked softly.

Lily looked at her, startled—as if she’d forgotten Maren was there. “I don’t know,” she said, and her voice was small. “I used to think I wanted to go to college. But it’s expensive, and my mom can’t afford to help, and Marcus says he’ll take care of me. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t need to be wasting money on classes I don’t even care about.”

“Do you love him?” Maren asked.

Lily hesitated. “I don’t know. I thought I did. But lately, whenever I talk about staying in school, he gets this look. Like I’m being stupid. Like I’m—I don’t know, disappointing him.”

Julian shifted, his hands gripping his knees. Maren saw him bite back a thousand words.

“I had a boyfriend like that once,” Maren said. “Not exactly like that, but close. He made me feel like my dreams were just… decorations. Things I could put aside when he needed me to be practical.”

“What happened?” Lily asked.

“I got this inn,” Maren said. “And I realized that the only person I needed to disappoint in order to be happy was him.”

Lily’s eyes glittered. “But what if I’m wrong? What if I drop out and it’s a mistake? What if I stay and it’s a mistake? How am I supposed to know?”

Julian finally spoke. “You ask yourself what you want when no one else is in the room.” His voice was rough. “I spent thirty years doing what other people wanted. Writing books under a name that wasn’t mine because it was the only way publishing would take me seriously. Staying quiet when I should have screamed. I lost everything that mattered because I was too scared to disappoint anyone.”

Lily stared at him.

“The one good thing I did,” Julian said, “the only time I fought for something I wanted—I lost anyway. But I don’t regret it. Because losing it taught me that I could survive it. And that I’d rather fight for a hundred things and lose them all than sit back and watch my life happen to me.”

Lily’s chin trembled. She looked down at her hands, still dusted with flour.

“I’m tired,” she said, and stood. She stopped at the doorway. “The cookies were good. You should write down the recipe.”

Then she was gone.

Maren let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Julian stared at the empty doorway.

“I never say the right thing,” he said quietly. “I’ve written a million words in my life, and I still can’t find the ones that matter.”

Maren moved to sit beside him on the couch. “You did tonight.”

“Did I? She still walked out.”

“No. She went to bed. That’s different.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re not just a writer to her anymore. You’re a father. The kind who shows up.”

Julian looked at her, and something in his eyes softened. “And what am I to you?”

Maren felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t meant for the conversation to turn. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she said honestly. “But I’m starting to think my grandmother knew what she was doing when she left me this place.”

She rose and headed for the kitchen to pack up the leftover cookies. As she passed the hallway to the guest rooms, she saw Lily’s door slightly ajar. Light spilled through the crack.

She paused, listening.

Lily was on the phone, her voice a low murmur. “I don’t know how long this storm’s going to last, Marcus. But when it clears…” There was a pause. “No, I haven’t told her anything. She still thinks I’m coming home after spring break. Just… give me a few more days.”

Maren’s blood went cold. Spring break. The girl was supposed to be at school. Her mother didn’t know where she was.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

“I know what he did,” Lily whispered into the phone. “I have the letters. And I’m not leaving until he tells me the truth about our debt.”

The line went dead.

Maren stood frozen in the hallway, the cookie tin cold against her chest, the world tilting beneath her.