"Dad. You're amazing."
He waves this off. "You'll need to come and see it properly but from what your mother and I could see, it's got good bones and it’s a good location. Right on the main street."
"That's fantastic. I'm so excited to start this." I look between them both. "You'll both help me get set up and organised? Decorating, the practical stuff? I'm going to need all hands on deck."
They both laugh.
"Of course," Mom says, squeezing my hand. "We are so proud of you, darling. And so happy you're here."
"You might need to hire staff pretty quickly," Dad says. "We've been telling people and half the town wants to switch to you. Some of Dr. Foster's patients have already said they'll move over."
"I don't want to poach his patients. He's been here my whole life."
"He's struggling to handle the workload and he'd be the first to tell you. We'll drop in tomorrow when we do the realtor. He'll be glad you’re here, I promise."
We sit and talk for a while about neighbours and townspeople, the small things, and I wait for one of them to mention Austin. They don't. Not once. I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or more on edge for the absence of it.
An hour later, Dad helps me unload boxes into the barn. We're sitting on one catching our breath when Mum appears with a jug of homemade lemonade, and when I take the first sip it knocks me sideways so fast I don't have time to prepare for it.
It tastes like being seventeen. Like summer evenings on the porch with Austin's arm around my shoulders and nowhere we needed to be and nothing we needed to do and the wholesummer stretching out in front of us like it was never going to end.
"Savannah." Dad nudges me. "You were away there."
"Sorry. The lemonade." I look down at the glass. "It gave me some good memories."
He's quiet for a second. Then, carefully goes on. "Do you think about those days?"
"You mean Austin." It's not really a question.
He nods.
"Yeah. All the time. I try to block it out but I loved him so much. What he did was the last straw though, Dad. I deserve someone who looks at me the way you look at Mum."
"He always did look at you like that, Sav."
I know that. That's the part I've never been able to make sense of.
"I know. I just don't understand how it went so wrong." I set the lemonade down. "Anyway. It was over ten years ago and I'm over it."
Dad gives me the look he's had since I was about eight years old, the one that means he knows exactly what I'm doing and he's going to let me do it anyway. "Really?"
"Really."
"What are you going to do when you see him?"
"Smile and say hello. Like I will with everyone I meet. He doesn't get any special treatment."
"If you say so."
"Dad."
He holds both hands up and says nothing else and we finish the lemonade in peace, but thatif you say sosits in the back of my head for the rest of the afternoon, through dinner and into the night. Quiet and annoying, like a song I can't shake.
The next morningwe're up early. The realtor is warm and congratulatory. They hand me a set of keys that feel heavier than keys should feel, with the weight of a decision made real.
Dr. Foster's practice is next. Nothing has changed inside it. Martha is still at the front desk and she smiles at me like I never left. She goes pink when I tell her I've missed seeing her face. Dr. Foster himself comes out when his patient leaves and pulls me into a hug before I can say a word.
"So," he says, sitting back behind his desk. "I hear you're my competition."
