“She’s down.” Emily appeared in the doorway, baby monitor in hand. “Finally. I thought she’d never stop fighting it.”
“She gets that from you.”
“She gets that from your mother.” Emily crossed to the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and settled into the chair across from him. She was still in her robe, hair piled in a messy bun, and she looked more relaxed than he’d seen her in years. The tight line that used to live between her eyebrows—the one that appeared every time a siren wailed or a car backfired—had smoothed away sometime around February.
She loved it here. Had loved it from the moment they’d driven into town the first time, the lake reflecting a sky so blue it hurt to look at. While Evan had gripped the steering wheel and wondered what the hell she saw in this place, Emily had rolled down her window and breathed deep, like she was inhaling something she’d been starving for.
“You’re brooding,” she said now.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re brooding. You get this little furrow right here—” She reached across the table and pressed her finger between his eyebrows. “Dead giveaway.”
He caught her hand, held it. Her fingers were warm from the coffee mug, and he could feel the slight roughness of her palms. She’d started gardening a few weeks ago, something she’d never had time for in Seattle. Their backyard was now a chaos of raised beds and half-finished plans, tomato cages waiting to be planted, herbs already sprouting in containers on the deck.
“The wedding was nice,” she said. “Your mom looked so happy.”
“She did.”
“Will’s good for her. Steady. I really like him.” Emily sipped her coffee. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Watching your parents start over.”
“Parent. Singular.” The bitterness crept in before he could stop it. His father was probably on a yacht somewhere with yet another young girlfriend—posting pictures of his “new chapter” to social media like the old one hadn’t included three children and thirty-five years of marriage.
Emily squeezed his hand. “Parent singular,” she agreed. “Your mom’s the only one who counts.”
The cardinal flew off, a red streak against the morning. Evan watched it go, thinking about yesterday—his mother in her simple dress, the lake behind her, Will’s weathered face soft with something that looked a lot like wonder. The whole town had turned out, seemed like. Francesca from the bookstore had done a reading, her voice carrying clear across the water. Bo had stood next to her, badge gleaming, looking at her like she’d hung the moon.
And Grace had been passed from arm to arm, cooed over by women Evan was still learning to recognize, until she’d spit up spectacularly on Francesca’s shoulder and everyone had laughed like it was the best thing that had ever happened.
That was the part he couldn’t get used to. In Seattle, a baby vomiting on a stranger would have been mortifying, apologized for endlessly. Here it was just... part of things. Part of the mess of living close to people, knowing them, being known.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
Emily’s hand stilled in his. “Okay.”
“It’s not bad. At least, I don’t think it’s bad. It might be crazy. It’s probably crazy.”
“Evan.”
“Dean Whitfield offered me a job.”
She blinked. “Who?”
“Dean Whitfield. From the community college. He plays poker with Will on Thursdays—apparently that’s a thing here, Thursday poker—and Will mentioned me, and the dean asked if I’d be interested in teaching some business courses.” The words came faster now, tumbling over each other.
“Intro stuff—accounting basics, small business management. The pay is... well, it’s not what I was making. It’s not even close to what I was making. But there’s great health insurance, and he said there’s room to grow, and the schedule is flexible, and?—”
“Evan.” Emily was smiling. “Breathe.”
He breathed. The coffee had gone lukewarm in front of him, and somewhere outside a dog barked—probably the summer people at the other end of the lake with the retriever, the one that went nuts every time a squirrel crossed the yard.
“When did this happen?”
“Thursday. I met with him Friday morning before the rehearsal. I wanted to tell you then, but Grace had that diaper situation, and then Mom needed help with the flowers, and?—”
“You’ve been sitting on this for three days?”
“I wasn’t sure what to think.”
