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"Waiting downstairs."

He checks the time.

"You're early."

"Try not to sound frightened."

"I'm proud of you."

I smile and slip into my coat. Then his expression changes.

"We're still good?"

I know what he's asking.

"We're good."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Julian studies me. We've had this conversation in pieces for weeks, over coffee before service, late at night after the last table leaves, with spreadsheets open between us and questions neither of us wanted to answer too quickly. Now he nods.

"Okay."

I pick up my suitcase.

"Call me if you need me."

"I always need you."

I look at him. He smiles.

"But I can manage."

"I know."

He comes around the desk and hugs me. I hold on for an extra second. Then I let him go.

An hour later, I'm on my way to the airport. By the time the plane lifts above New York, the city is a field of lights beneath me. I watch until the clouds take it away.

For years, leaving New York always felt like stepping away from my real life. Tonight, it doesn't. It feels like I'm going somewhere.

The flight is short. By the time I collect my suitcase and climb into the car waiting outside the terminal, it's late. Less than an hour later, Oakridge appears beyond the window. Familiar streets pass in the dark. Betty's is closed. The town square is quiet. Then the driver turns onto Mom's street.

Her porch light is on. So is the kitchen light. I smile before the car stops. She waited up.

The front door opens before I reach it.

"Hi, Mom."

She wraps me in her arms. For a few seconds, I'm a grown woman standing on my mother's porch with my face against her shoulder, and I don't care.

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

I close my eyes.

"Where's Noah?"