"Ronan." He stood up, the soaked paper towels in his hand. "Welcome to Blossom Springs."
"Is it always this friendly?"
He thought about the question. About the town he'd come to dismantle and the life he'd built instead. About the people who'd become neighbors without him noticing.
"Yeah," he said. "It is."
Mitch DeMario was coming out of the fire department when Ronan walked past.
"Cross. Heard you finished the dock."
"News travels fast."
"Sid told me. He's unreasonably proud of himself."
"He should be."
They fell into step together, heading toward Main Street. The square was busy with tourists taking photos of the restored lighthouse. The centennial bunting had been replaced by planters full of spring flowers.
"Izzy wants to know if you and Lila are free Saturday," Mitch said. "Flower arranging class at the shop. Mostly an excuse to drink wine."
"I don't arrange flowers."
"Neither does anyone else who shows up. That's not the point."
"What's the point?"
"Community." Mitch shrugged. "You show up, you drink the wine, you pretend to care about dahlias. Next thing you know, someone's bringing you casseroles when you're sick."
"I don't get sick."
"Everyone gets sick eventually."
They stopped at the corner of Main Street and First. The hotel gleamed white in the midday sun. Warren Caldwell's name had been scraped off the plaques months ago.
"My wife has a theory," Mitch said. "About people like us. She says we spend so long learning how to survive that we forget how to live."
"Smart woman."
"Smarter than me." Mitch checked his watch. "Saturday. Seven o'clock. Izzy will text Lila."
"I didn't say yes."
"You didn't say no." Mitch was already walking backward toward his truck. "That's progress."
Lila found him on the dock at sunset.
She'd changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a sweater, her feet bare. She sat down beside him without speaking, her shoulder warm against his arm.
"Long day?" he asked.
"Patricia wants to rename the community center." She pulled her knees up. "The one Warren built. She says we can't keep calling it the Caldwell Center."
"What do you think?"
"I think she's right. But I also think it's complicated." She was quiet for a moment. "That building was funded with dirty money. My father died because he asked questions about a survey. I don't know how to stand in there and give speeches about resilience when I know what it cost."
"Then don't give speeches about resilience."
