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Molly

Damn, it smells good in this kitchen.

I stride inside and find Hudson’s mom standing by the stove cooking up a storm.

Onions sizzle in a pan, the bread is in the oven, and the unmistakable scent of homemade tomato sauce bubbles on the stove.

“Can I help?” It’s the same question I’ve asked every day since we’ve been here, and just like every other time, Mary doesn’t turn around, too busy sautéing. Instead, she points at whatever she wants me to do.

A cutting board with carrots already on it. Great, I can do that.

With a smile on my face, I make my way over and start chopping.

I love this.

I feel so at home here.

Which is kind of nuts.

But it’s the truth, nonetheless.

Hudson’s family farm has brought me comfort.

The pace here is slower, the expectations lighter, and for once, I feel like I can breathe.

It’s a bit brisk today, and I’m happy I packed my old letterman jacket to keep me warm. I haven’t worn it in years, but I’m thankful I did, ’cause I’m cold.

“Where’d you get that old thing?” Mary’s voice cuts through my inner rambling. I turn toward her to see her glancing over her shoulder from where she’s stirring the sauce with a peculiar look on her face.

I pause mid-slice, looking down at the jacket. “Oh, um, I’ve had it for a while,” I say casually, though my heart does a little flip.

Mary wipes her hands on a dish towel and then squints at me. “You found Hudson’s jacket?”

I blink. What is she talking about? “What do you mean, Hudson’s jacket?”

She gestures toward the sleeve. “That’s his high school hockey jacket. He loved that thing. Wore it everywhere.”

My heart starts pounding. “This . . . this was Hudson’s?”

Mary picks up the edge of the sleeve and inspects it. “Yep. See this little stitch here?” She points at it. “I sewed that up for him when it tore one day after a game.”

The room tilts slightly, my mind racing. “What happened to it?”

Mary scrunches her nose, like she’s trying to remember. “If I remember correctly, he came home one day and said he lost it.”

My legs feel unsteady, my chest tightening. “How long ago was that?”

“Oh, must’ve been years now.” Mary turns back to the stove. “Before he graduated from high school, I think. Why?”

High school.

Holy shit.

Could it really be . . . his ?

My mind flashes to that day. I can still feel the heavy weight of the jacket being draped over my shoulders.

The warmth and comfort I needed.

It was Hudson.

All these years, the stranger who saved me, who gave me something to hold when I was falling apart . . .

It was him.

“Molly?”

I swallow hard, my pulse racing. “I-I need a minute,” I stammer, backing toward the door.

Mary nods. Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t press. “All right, but come back soon. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

I barely register her words as I push open the door and step outside.

The next thing I know, I’m striding toward the barn.

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I need to see him. Now.

When I reach the barn, I push open the door.

“Hudson.” My voice is shaking.

He turns around to face me. “Hey, Hex. What’s—”

I close the distance between us, and before he can utter another word, I grab his face and kiss him.

He freezes for half a second, then kisses me back.

“Not that I’m complaining.” His voice is low and husky. Freshly kissed. “But what was that for?”

Tears prick at my eyes, and I take a shaky breath. “It was you,” I whisper.

His brow furrows. He has no idea what I’m talking about. It’s clear as day that he thinks I’ve lost it. “What was me?”

“The jacket,” I say, stepping back slightly and gesturing to it. “You gave this to me.”

His eyes widen, then his mouth drops open. “That was you?”

I nod, tears filling my eyes. “I was about to have a panic attack. I had just seen my uncle. I was sitting there, trying to hold it together, and then you—” My voice catches, and I press a hand to my mouth, trying to steady myself.

Hudson takes a step closer, his hands reaching out to rest on my arms. “I didn’t even see your face,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I just . . . I saw someone who looked like they needed it more than I did.”

My chest tightens. My heart is ready to explode. “Do you realize what you did for me that day? This jacket. I held on to it every time things got bad back then. And now . . .” I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “Now I know it was you.” He pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly as I bury my face in his chest. “Fate,” I whisper against him.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

“Fate.” I pull back to look at him. “Fate brought you to me that day. And it brought us back together all these years later. Don’t you see? Every time I’ve needed someone, every time I’ve been on the edge, you’ve been there . . . Even when we didn’t know it.”

He cups my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “You’re right. It’s fate. It’s always been fate.”

“This is just . . .” I can’t think of the word I want to say. This moment feels too much for simple words.

“Proof.”

“Proof of what?” I raise a brow.

“That you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere, Hex. Not now, not ever.”

A laugh bubbles up, and I rest my forehead on his chest. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And you’re my favorite bad luck charm.”

I laugh again, the sound light and free, and for the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. With him. Always with him.