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“Grrrr.”

Ashby’s smile almost makes it to his lips before fading again. “Laurel won’t ask for help”

I nod. “I know it.”

Rain drips steadily from the porch roof.

Then Briggs says, “Doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have it anyway.”

A tightness eases in my chest then. Because this is the thing people misunderstand about us men; Once we decide somebody belongs to us, we stay.

And Ben’s family has already started feeling dangerously close to that line.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Laurel

At six forty-five the next morning, somebody knocks on the front door with enough patience and restraint that I immediately distrust them.

I’m standing barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Ben’s old sweatshirts while trying to convince Lucy that toothpaste isn't “too spicy” to qualify as proper dental hygiene.

“You liked it yesterday,” I point out.

“Yesterday my mouth was braver.”

“That isn’t how mouths work.”

Lucy shrugs from her position on the bathroom counter. “Maybe yours doesn’t.”

Another knock sounds downstairs.

I glance toward the ceiling briefly, as though the gift of patience might descend from it. It doesn’t.

“Who is it?” Lucy asks.

“No idea. I’ve temporarily lost my power of seeing through walls.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You can see through walls?”

“Sometimes,” I tell her, “so you’d better be good.”

“I will.”

I head downstairs expecting Briggs because Briggs knocks like a man who apologizes to doors in advance in case of unintentional damage.

Instead, Ashby stands on the porch holding two coffee containers and wearing the dark wool coat that makes him look like a responsible banker.

Morning rain beads across his shoulders.

Behind him, his SUV idles in the driveway.

I blink at him. “Why are you here? It’s barely dawn.”

“It’s seven.”

“Tell me about it.”

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. “I’m here to take Lucy to school.”