“Swim bladder?” I asked, not sure if he was making this up.
He nodded. “It’s a thing. I put him in a shallow bowl, fasted him for three days, then gave him a single cooked, skinned pea.”
I blinked. “A pea?”
“Fiber,” he said with a shrug. “He pooped. Then swam upright again. Full recovery.”
For a second, I just stared at him.
And then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “You treated a constipated fish?”
His grin was sheepish. “I saved his life.”
“Of course, you did.”
I was laughing, yes—but inside, I was melting. Smitten. Ridiculously charmed. This man. This man had once nursed a dying fish back to health with a vegetable and a hospital tank.
I wanted to kiss him for it.
“I always knew he’d end up in medicine,” Mrs. Grady said, clearly proud. But then she added, more pointedly, “By the way, did you ever talk to that doctor Courtney mentioned? About the private practice?”
Her words slid right past me, like I was invisible again.
Noah’s jaw ticked. “No, Mom. I told you?—”
“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand. “I just want you in a better place. That way…”
She didn’t finish. But the silence that followed said plenty.
We didn’t talk about his job—or his ex-wife—for the rest of the ride. Instead, I made a conscious effort to lean in, to bridge the gap between us stitch by stitch.
I helped her frog out a hopeless tangle in what was supposed to be a granny square. Showed her one of my gran’s favorite cheat stitches—double half-something-or-other she used to call it—and watched as her hands relaxed and her rows evened out.
She asked me about my favorite yarns; I asked her about commercial real estate. She lit up when talking about buildings she’d sold, deals she’d salvaged, the time she closed on a downtown Boston property with a broken heel and a migraine. She was sharp. Witty. Still wary—but less so with every mile.
And by the time we pulled into Silverton, I let out a quiet breath of relief.
She wasn’t just Noah’s mom anymore.
She was someone with stories. With her own pain. With a surprisingly sly sense of humor.
And maybe—possibly—we could be friends?
Even though I couldn’t miss the way she stiffened when Noah gently suggested she spend the afternoon shopping with Marla and Josie.
He’d said it kindly, but firmly.
Because he wanted to spend the afternoon with me.
And she let him.
But she didn’t look happy about it.
FUN, BUT NOT TOO MUCH FUN
The excursion was longer than I’d expected, and by the time we returned to Durango, the sun was low on the horizon, staining the mountains gold. But the day? It had been one of my favorites yet.
Once we reached Silverton, the town looked like it had been plucked out of another century, with its brightly painted storefronts and wooden sidewalks. It was nice being able to see it up close this time, at our leisure, instead of just driving through.
