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And then Grandma died too. And for the first time in my adult life, no one needs me. And I hate it.

I hate the emptiness of it, the endless choices, the stupid freedom everyone seems to think I should be celebrating.

“His little boy needs someone,” I say.

Josie is quiet behind me.

I keep looking out the window.

“He already has people who take care of him. There’s a woman who’s worked for Maverick forever. Mrs. Mercer. She cooks and helps with Shiloh. He’s not looking for a nanny.”

“What is he looking for?”

“A family.”

The words come out before I think about them.

Something catches beneath my ribs.

I ignore it.

“He wants someone who’s going to be there,” I say. “Birthdays and Christmas and school stuff. Someone who knows what Shiloh likes for breakfast and which pajamas are his favorite and whether he’s scared of thunderstorms.”

“And that’s what you want?”

I turn around.

“I know how to do that.”

Josie’s face crumples just a little.

I point at her. “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“Whatever your face is doing, stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re about to cry.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your nose is red.”

“My nose gets red when I cry and when I’m cold.”

“It’s seventy-two degrees in here.”

“Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t hug me goodbye.”

“Rude.”

There she is.

She wipes beneath her eyes, laughing.