Chapter 199: Mill Creek

NORA’S POV

The mountain wind rustled softly through the pines, filling the quiet space between us.

Knox sat completely still on the wooden bleachers, his gray eyes fixed on mine.

I held my breath, waiting.

I could see the exact moment the realization clicked in his head and the lazy smirk faded from his lips. He knew who was waiting down by the water.

He didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t make a joke.

Instead, Knox reached up with his right hand and slid off his leather glove, letting it drop into his lap.

He reached out and rested his bare palm against my cheek. His hand was warm against my cold skin, his thumb gently wiping away a stray snowflake that had landed under my eye.

"I’d be honored, Nora," he said quietly. "Lead the way."

A tight knot in my chest loosened all at once.

Knox stood up from the wooden bench, his tall, broad frame blocking the pale winter sun. He held out both hands, catching mine to help me up.

When my boots hit the cleared wood, Knox pulled me forward against his chest for a quick, solid hug. He pressed a warm kiss to the top of my knit hat before reaching down to grab his glove.

Then he laced his fingers through mine. "Come on," he said softly.

We walked down the bleacher steps, our boots crunching against the fresh snow on the walkway. We crossed the back of the football field, stepping past the rusted chain-link gate at the edge of the school grounds.

The moment we walked through the gate, the cold wind died down.

The pine woods closed in around us, tall hemlocks and white pines arching overhead with thick blankets of snow resting on their branches.

The old dirt path wound between the tree trunks, almost buried by yesterday’s storm.

Knox took the lead, using his long strides to pack down the fresh powder so it was easier for me to walk behind him.

The deeper we went into the trees, the quieter the world became.

Pretty soon, the only sounds left were our breath, the steady crunch of our boots, and the low rumble of rushing water ahead.

"My dad and I used to come down here every Sunday morning when I was little," I said, breaking the quiet. "Before the bakery opened for the church crowd."

Knox glanced back over his shoulder, listening to every word.

"He’d wake me up at five," I said, a small smile finding my face. "We’d pull on our big coats and head out into the dark with a thermos of hot cider. Back then, I thought these woods went on forever. I thought my dad was the toughest guy in the world because he could walk this whole trail without a flashlight."

Knox smiled, pulling my hand into his warm jacket pocket. "Sounds like an amazing guy."

"He was," I said softly. "The best."

We rounded a sharp bend in the trail, and the trees opened up into a bright, wide clearing.

Mill Creek cut straight through the rocky valley in front of us.

The water was fast and freezing, tumbling over gray boulders and kicking up white spray in the morning sun. Jagged shelves of clear ice lined the riverbanks where the current slowed down along the rocks.

The air down by the bank smelled sharp and clean, full of cedar, cold water, and damp stone.

Right beside the water, nestled under the wide branches of an old cedar tree, sat a weathered wooden bench.

It was built from sturdy cedar planks, with wide armrests and a high back. Bolted right to the center of the wooden backrest was a small bronze plaque that caught the morning light.

We walked through the untouched snow of the clearing until we were standing right in front of it.

Knox stopped beside me, giving me room as I looked down at the familiar spot.

I stepped forward and gently brushed a thin layer of frost off the bronze.

The engraved letters shone against the dark wood:

Thomas Bennett

1968 – 2021

"Bread feeds the body, but love feeds the home."

A tight lump rose in my throat and I had to blink hard to keep my eyes clear.

The last time I stood in front of this bench was late August, the day before I packed my bags to head back to Briar.

Back then, the bakery was buried under overdue bills, the bank was threatening foreclosure, and I was terrified that everything my dad had worked for was going to slip away.

Now, three months later, the whole world looked different.

Knox stepped up beside me.

He didn’t make a big speech. He just placed a warm hand against the small of my back, anchoring me right where I stood.

With his other hand, he swept the snow off the cedar slats until the seat was clean.

"Sit with me?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Always," he answered.

We sat down side by side, the steady roar of the creek filling the air around us.

Knox wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the calm, even beat of his heart through his flannel and coat.

"Whenever things got tough at the shop, this is where he came," I said quietly, watching the rushing water. "If flour prices jumped, or if a mixer broke down and we didn’t have the cash to fix it, Dad would walk down here with a yellow legal pad. He’d sit on this bank for hours, sketching new loaf shapes, trying to figure out how to stretch our budget without cutting corners on the bread."

I took a slow breath, my voice wavering just a little.

"He never once complained," I whispered. "Not even when he got sick and had to stay in the hospital at the end. He’d still look up from the bed and ask if someone fed the sourdough starter on time."

Knox tightened his hold on me, resting his chin lightly against my knit hat.

"After he died," I went on, "I sat on this bench and made him a promise. I promised him I wouldn’t let the bakery die with him. I told him I’d save it, no matter how hard it got."

A warm tear slipped free, running down my cold cheek.

"And that day... when Mom and I stood in the bank with that tournament check and paid off the mortgage... I felt like I could finally breathe again."

I looked down at the plaque, my lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

"Dad," I whispered into the cold air. "This is Knox."