Page 6

Chapter five

It’s bribery by browni es all round today

Charlotte - 12 Years Ago

T he campfire crackles merrily as the kids toast marshmallows, sending sparks up into the darkening sky. I sit beside Jake, watching as he skewers a marshmallow and holds it over the flames, the golden glow highlighting his smile. This camp tradition feels so American, something I’d only seen in movies back home.

“You ever had a s’more before, Charlie?” Jake asks as he adds a piece of chocolate and a graham cracker to his marshmallow.

I shake my head, still marveling at the idea. “Nope, first time.”

“Well, I’m about to blow your mind.” He reaches into his backpack, pulling out a small container.

“Brownies?”

He winks, breaking off a piece and adding it to the s’more before handing it to me. “Trust me, this takes it to the next level. I call it a Mega S’more.”

I take a bite, and the combination of gooey marshmallow, chocolate, and brownie melts together in my mouth. “Oh my God, this is incredible,” I mumble.

He chuckles. “Told ya. My gran used to make the best brownies. She al ways said a brownie could fix anything.”

“Smart lady.” I glance at him, touched by the small glimpse into his life.

“Yeah, she was,” he agrees, a bit wistful. “Made these every summer when I was kid. I’ve been trying to perfect her recipe ever since,” he pauses for a moment, then flashes me a smile. “So, what do you think? Are you a fan of the Mega S’more?”

“Officially a fan,” I say, wiping a crumb from my lip. “You gonna share the recipe with me?”

Jake shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Nope, that’s a family secret. Only special people get the recipe.”

I nudge him playfully. “Special, huh? I’m not special enough?”

“Maybe one day,” he teases, popping the rest of his s’more into his mouth. “For now, you’ll just have to enjoy the perks of my secret stash.”

I roll my eyes, laughing. “Fine. But don’t be surprised if I figure it out myself.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says with an easy grin.

***

Charlie - Present Day

It’s Monday, and instead of diving into client work, I’m elbow-deep in brownie batter.

I’m still sorting life admin since our move, especially for the kids. Today, I’m interviewing a nanny, hoping she’s the answer to the stability we need. If she has any reservations about working with my little angels, hopefully these brownies might make her reconsider.

I love my kids fiercely, but they can be spirited. Right now, they’re in the living room watching Frozen, singing “Let It Go” at the top of their lungs while tossing popcorn around like it’s snow. The kitchen smells of rich chocolate and melted butter, mingling with the faint hint of popcorn from the other room.

Sighing, I feel a pang of guilt as I wonder if they’re acting out just a bit because of all the changes. Moving across the world, starting over—it's a lot fo r anyone, let alone a six and three-year-old. I wanted this fresh start for us, but it means they’ve lost familiar faces, familiar routines. It's hard not to second-guess myself sometimes.

“Mama, are brownies ready?” Meadow’s voice pipes up as she scampers into the kitchen, hair tousled and cheeks flushed.

“Almost, honey bee,” I say, smiling as I gently pick a few pieces of popcorn from her hair. “What’s the rule about throwing food in the house?”

She looks at me with those innocent blue eyes. “Only when Olaf sings.”

I try to keep a straight face. “No, the rule is no throwing food, even popcorn. So go tell your brother to help clean up before our guest arrives, okay?”

“Okay, Mama!” She scurries back to the TV room, and I hear her ordering Noah to help clean up, her tiny voice so full of authority that I have to stifle a laugh.

I turn back to the kitchen, the smell of brownies filling the space, a small comfort amidst the chaos. Baking has always been my solace. A way to gather my thoughts, to feel grounded. It’s my space, something Alex never understood. I can still hear him scoffing, telling me I should be spending my time doing real jobs . Probably things like cleaning his laundry.

But standing here now, batter in the bowl and memories of Jake’s campfire brownies in my mind, I feel more myself than I have in years. It’s funny how something as simple as baking brownies can remind me of the girl I used to be and the dreams I had before the kids; before Alex and his indifference.

My phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with Zoe’s name. I quickly grab the phone and answer, setting it on speaker.

“Hey, Charlie!” Zoe’s voice is as bubbly as ever. “Quick question—how’s the brownie situation?”

I glance at the counter where a batch is cooling. “Almost done…” My eyes narrow suspiciously as I try to figure out her motives. “Why?”

"Because I need bribes, girl! I’ve got a marketing meeting with the Storm guys soon, and I need to convince them to get involved in a video idea. Think you could spare some for the cause?”

I smile, knowing full well that Zoe has been parading my baking around since I arrived. Within the first few days of my arrival, I’d baked her a thank-you-for-helping-me-find-a-house cake, some thanks-for-staying-up-late-to-Facetime-me-from-the-other-side-of-the-world cookies and a please-convince-me-I’ve-made-the-right-decision apple pie.

“Alright, fine. How many do you need?”

“Enough to make them fall in love with me—and by extension, you.”

I laugh, slicing the first batch into neat squares. “Consider it done. Just swing by and grab them.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Only every time I bake you something,” I retort. “But I don’t mind. Baking’s my happy place.”

“Yeah, you’re practically a sugar fairy,” she says with a mock sigh. “You should seriously consider doing something with that talent of yours, Charlie. I’m talking bakery, cookbook, the whole shebang.”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I lean against the counter. “Maybe in another life. Right now, I’ve got my hands full with the kids and this new job.”

There’s a part of me that’s secretly pleased at the idea. The truth is, if I wasn’t a marketer, I’d probably be a pastry chef, spending my days creating sugary masterpieces that make people smile. There’s a certain magic in it, transforming simple ingredients into something beautiful, something that brings people together.

“Hey, have you heard from Jake since the game?” Zoe’s voice is casual, but I sense the curiosity.

I hesitate, images of Jake at the game flashing in my mind. His intense gaze, the warmth in his smile. It felt like an echo from years ago, stirring up feelings I haven’t been able to shake since.

“No, haven’t heard from him,” I say lightly, hoping it sounds casual. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Zoe replies, too innocently. “You two just seemed to click.”

I laugh, but it’s forced. “It was one summer, Zoe. We were just kids.”

“Kids with some serious chemistry,” she says.

I brush her off, but my thoughts linger on Jake. That entire summer had been such a whirlwind, but I’d loved every single minute of it. I’d befriended some of the other team leaders too, but Jake and I just seemed to get each other. We shared something, a kind of easy connection I haven’t found since. But life moved on, and we grew apart.

When the news hit about his draft a couple months later, I felt so proud of him for living his dream. We emailed briefly to start with, but the demands of his career coupled by time differences and him forgoing social media back then meant our connection just fizzled out.

Before I can reply, Meadow bounds into the kitchen with a crayon drawing clutched in her hands. “Mama, look! I drew us in snow!”

“It’s beautiful, honey bee,” I say, crouching down to admire her art, feeling a surge of gratitude that I get to be here with her. I may have left a lot behind, but what matters most came with me.

Zoe chuckles through the speaker. “Alright, Supermom, I’ll let you get back to it. See you soon!”

After hanging up, I finish packing the brownies, trying to resist the urge to snag a corner piece. I know they’re delicious—years of perfecting this recipe has made sure of that. Baking has always been my go-to, a stress reliever, a ritual that reminds me who I am outside of all the noise. And these brownies in particular have always been a comfort. A little bit of sweetness amidst the bitterness.

Memories of Alex surface, unbidden. I try to push them away, but it’s hard. Hard to forget how he dismissed moments like these as trivial, how he never truly saw the joy these little rituals brought me or the kids.

I take a breath, nudging away the thought of everything that led us here. I want Noah and Meadow to grow up feeling valued, in a home where love is easy to give and receive.

Alex never understood that. The cracks were always there, and in the end they shattered. I thought Alex was the love of my life, but over time it became painfully clear that I wasn’t his, and neither were the kids.

My heart cracked too many times watching Noah’s sweet face mask his own disappointment when Alex didn’t show, like he needed to remain unaffe cted by his father’s disinterest and soldier on. It was those small hurts, stacking up year after year, that finally gave me the strength to walk away.

Meadow would rain adoration down on him like he was a damn king. I would have thought being on the receiving end of that kind of pure, unconditional love would bring a man to his knees. But not Alex. He never indulged her, never sat for five minutes to play. Never batted an eyelid at the way she’d cling to his leg when he left in the morning. It broke something inside me to see her try so hard for so little in return.

I spent years trying to make it work, trying to be enough for him despite the constant berating and blame. Spent years hoping he’d notice us, only to realize he’d been doling out all that love to flings on his business trips.

Leaving him was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but I did it for us. We deserve better—deserve to be seen, loved, chosen. My kids deserve to grow up in a home where they’re valued, where love isn’t just an afterthought. And I deserve to be with someone who sees me, who wants to be here, who isn’t going to put everything else before me.

I pack the brownies into a container, giving myself a small, quiet nod. Today is just another step forward, another piece in the life I’m building. And thanks to Zoe, I’ve got a friend who keeps pushing me to see the possibilities, reminding me that there’s more ahead than what’s behind.

Zoe arrives a moment later, her energy filling my home as she breezes in. “Speak of the devil,” I murmur, approaching the foyer.

“Charlie, my love, my light, my angel . These look amazing!” she exclaims, peeking into the box. “You’re a brownie genius.”

I shrug a shoulder, waving off the compliment. “They’re just brownies. It’s not rocket science.”

“Yeah, well, these just brownies are about to make me a hero, so thank you.”

“Zo Zo!” Meadow appears from the living room doorway, looking chaotic and excited to see her new favorite person. She slides in her socks across the polished wooden floor as fast as she can, barreling into Zoe’s legs.

Zoe passes me back the brownies so she can pick Meadow up in her arms. I watch as she presses her nose against my daughter’s in the cutest form of greeting I’ve ever seen.

“How’s my favorite three year old today? Being good for Mama?”

Meadow beams with a nod, her hair swishing around her shoulders as she does so. “We gonna have brownies!”

Zoe grins back. “Me too! We are pretty lucky to have your Mama’s brownies, aren’t we kid?”

“It’s bribery by brownies all round today,” I mutter as I watch Meadow wriggle out of Zoe’s arms and scuttle off again. I hand her back the box of brownies.

“Bye guys!” Zoe yells down the hallway. “Don't make the nanny run for the hills!”

I follow her to the door, suddenly feeling a bit nervous about where she’s going and who might be eating the brownies. “Hey… don’t tell them I made them, okay?” I struggle for an excuse. “I don’t want to be that girl trying to impress the hockey team.”

Zoe snorts. “Your secret’s safe with me. But seriously, be proud of these.”

With that she’s gone, leaving me to clean up the kitchen and trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Jak e.