“We’re going to make it work,” he told her. “We know the problem and we’ll find a solution. We just have to show up and put in the effort. It’ll happen.”

Her smile returned. “You have a little motivational speaker in you. I didn’t know. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

AIDAN PULLED INTO the driveway of the house where he’d grown up. The roof had been recently replaced and the paint was new, but otherwise it looked exactly as it always had.

The property was a few miles outside of town, with plenty of land and a workshop for Ceallach out back. A giant workshop, where the gifted artist created his masterpieces. There was even a separate driveway and parking area for his various assistants who came and went. Because glass blowing wasn’t a solitary venture. Someone was needed at nearly every stage.

Aidan remembered being taken to his father’s workshop as a kid. While the power and heat of the furnace had intrigued him, he’d had no real interest in creating anything. His father had despaired of ever having a son to follow in his footsteps. Then Nick was born. From about two or three, he’d been obsessed with what his father did. Even his very first crude creations had shown talent. From that day, Del and Aidan had ceased to exist. At least for their father.

Different from what Shelby had gone through, he thought idly. But still not the happy childhood from TV sitcoms. He and Del had banded together—protecting each other, talking sports instead of art. The twins—the babies of the family—had been like Nick. Talented and interested in their father’s world. And so they’d grown up—five brothers divided into two camps. There had been affection between them, caring, but no real common language.

Aidan got out of his car, but before he could walk up the porch steps, the front door opened and a happy beagle dashed toward him. Sophie yipped in excitement as she raced forward, her long ears flapping as she ran. He crouched down and held open his arms. Sophie slammed into him with all the enthusiasm one delighted dog could contain.

“How’s my girl?” he asked, patting and rubbing her. She squirmed to get closer, then swiped his cheek with her tongue. Her tail slapped his arm as she wiggled and whined.

His mother stepped onto the porch. “She doesn’t do anything moderately,” Elaine Mitchell said with a laugh. “I’ve always admired that about her.”

Aidan climbed the two porch steps to hug his mom. She hung on tight. Sophie circled them both and barked. Elaine stepped back.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, holding open the door. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the barstool by the island. Elaine collected a filter and tin of coffee, then poured water into the carafe.

She moved with energy, which he liked to see. The previous summer she’d battled breast cancer without telling anyone in the family. After the news had come out, he’d been able to look back and see how she’d been tired, with the strain of her illness showing on her face. Now he did his best to be more observant. While his mother had promised to never keep a secret like that again, Aidan wasn’t sure he believed her. Theirs was a family built on information withheld.

“How’s the business?” she asked after she’d started the coffeemaker.

“Good. I have a couple of snowshoeing trips along with the usual cross-country skiing.” He offered guided tours for those not familiar with the area. Most of his tour guides were college students happy to take a light load in the winter and get paid to ski. In summer he hired the students who wanted to stay in the area over the long break. Either way, it was a win-win.