“You’re a wonder, Darby.”

After carrying out the tea, Emily sat at the little table with its cheerful striped umbrella. “I’m taking part of our five minutes to repeat what I told you up at Zane’s the other night. I love what you’ve done, and you were right. I do look out the window and smile. Plus, bookings are up.”

With a sigh, she looked around. “I needed to get this place, and myself, out of the rut. You kicked us out of it.”

“And I’ll repeat my appreciation for the referrals. I got two new clients today.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“One of them is the family that lives in Zane’s old house.”

Emily paused, then nodded slowly. “I see. You’re worried that’s going to be a problem for Zane, for Britt, for the rest of us.”

“Yes. Well, I don’t think Britt, as she’s my referral. The client’s Dr. Charlene Ledbecker. She works at the urgent care at the clinic.”

“Good for Britt,” Emily stated.

“It couldn’t have been easy for her to make a connection with the woman who owns the house where so much happened to her.”

“Britt’s got spine. So does Zane.”

“I know it, but—”

“It’s a house, Darby. It wasn’t the house that hurt those children. Do you want my advice?”

“It’s why I’m here.”

“Talk to Zane, get it off your mind.”

“I will. I wanted to talk to you, too.”

“It’s a house.” Emily patted Darby’s hand. “I think of Eliza in it once in a while. Those moments when you can’t sleep, and your mind starts roaming to dredge up every mistake you ever made.”

“I know those moments.”

“I can wish I’d made more of an effort to be close to her, but then, would it have mattered? Would that have changed anything? I think of her now, once in a while, wonder if I should reach out to her. Our parents aren’t getting any younger, and there’s been no contact in nearly twenty years. Should there be? I’m never sure if that would matter or change anything.

“But I know Zane and Britt deserve my unwavering support and loyalty. So I don’t reach out.”

She shrugged it off. “I like seeing him happy. You make him happy.”

“I think we were both ready, both at a point where we were ready to be happy. Being happy with someone’s like a bonus. Now I’m going to go finish your bungalow.”

“I’ll come down and look as soon as I can.”

“Sit,” Darby said as Emily started to get up. She came around behind, rubbed Emily’s shoulders. “Finish your tea, smell your flowers.”

“Five more minutes.” Reaching back, Emily squeezed Darby’s hand. “Stay happy.”

“That’s the plan.”

* * *

Zane wasn’t sure what he was in for when Darby texted she planned to cook dinner. Especially since she put cook in scare quotes.

Still, he figured if it bombed, they had frozen pizza or canned ravioli.

When he walked in after a pretty damn good day, she stood in the kitchen chopping a bunch of stuff he assumed meant salad. And whatever she had in the oven smelled really okay.

A bottle of wine stood open on the counter with two glasses.

“This here’s what I’m talking about. My woman making me a hot meal.” He exaggerated the southern, gave her a light slap on the butt to punctuate it.

When she just rolled her eyes and laughed, he bent down to kiss the infinity symbol on the back of her neck. “What’s the occasion?”

“Besides being Tuesday? We finished the next-to-last bungalow and started prep work for your water feature, and I signed two more clients.”

“Big day. Sounds like I should make you a hot meal.”

“Your turn next. But you sure could pour that wine.”

He liked coming home, finding her there. Maybe he got some twinges about just how much he liked it, but one look at her and they died away.

He supposed he could work up some twinges over how easily the twinges died away, but that edged into paranoid territory.

“So, what are we having?”

“This very healthy salad, which includes some of your own nasturtium.”

“I have nasturtium? What is it?”

She tapped her finger at the bold orange and yellow flowers on the counter.

“Flowers?” That one set him back. “We’re eating flowers?”

“They’re not only edible and pretty, but very tasty—as are their leaves, which are already in the salad.”

“Okay, but you go first.”

“Coward.” She plucked a petal off a flower, popped it in her mouth. “Yum.”

“Uh-huh. What are we eating besides flowers?”

“The amazing mac and cheese I made—not from a box, but from scratch.”

“Get out. How is that even possible?”

“I asked that question when Hallie and Roy started arguing about which of their mamas made the best mac and cheese in the history of mac and cheese. I made some comment about those handy microwave packages of same, and was met with serious disdain. I mean serious. Anyway.”

She picked up her wine, drank, gestured. “After my humiliation came inspiration. I went with Hallie’s because she called her mother right then and there, rattled off the recipe—adding any fool could make it. I am that fool.”

She gestured again, drank again. “And let me point out right now, there was nothing easy about it. You’d think, mac and cheese, how hard could it be? I can’t even talk about it.”

The oven timer buzzed. “Well, here we go.”

She went over, opened the oven door.

“It smells good,” Zane said over her shoulder. “It looks good.”

“It does. It does.” She slid on mitts, took it out to set on the counter, where they both studied it.

She took out her phone.

“You’re going to take a picture of it?”

“Don’t judge me, Walker.” She picked it up again, carried it outside. “Bring the salad, and the wine. We’ll start with the salad while it cools down some,” she told him. “And I’ll drown myself in the wine if the mac and cheese sucks.”

She had flowers on the table again, different ones in a blue Mason jar she must have brought over or picked up somewhere. He looked at her while she served the salad, the short cap of russet—he’d decided to stick with russet—hair, the depthless blue eyes, the diamond-edged cheekbones.

“I could get used to this,” he decided. “Coming home to a pretty woman, a pretty table, a hot meal.”

“I wouldn’t get used to the hot meal. I swear to sweet little plastic Baby Jesus, digging a hole in rocky ground with a pickax is easier than cooking. I can say that because today I did both.”

“Renaissance woman. The salad’s good. Even, strangely, the flowers. So, new clients?”

“Yeah. Patsy and Bill Marsh.”

“I know them. They’re friends with Emily and Lee, serious boat people.”

“That they are. I’m giving them lakeside appeal—versus curb appeal, because lake. And I’ve been promised—or threatened with—a day out on their boat.”

“Don’t like boats?”

“I like them fine. I’ve been out on one with an engine, even kayaked a few times. But I’ve never been on a boat with a sail. I love watching them, the way they just seem to glide along. Like magic. I guess you know how to sail.”

“Yeah. I grew up with boats. I haven’t been sailing in years. Probably a trigger.” Which he hadn’t realized until that very moment. “I should test that out. I could rent one, take you sailing.”

“Seems like I ought to try it eventually, since lake. Are you ready to risk the main event here?”

“More than.”

“Okay, here goes.” With some trepidation, she dished up the mac and cheese. Watching Zane, she took a forkful. “Together, on three. One, two…”

He ate, angled his head, then holding up a finger, forked up another bite. “It’s freaking great.”

With obvious surprise, she studied the next bite on her fork. “It’s really good. Who knew?”

“Got a nice little kick, too.”

“Tabasco. Still harder than digging holes, but ultimately, just as satisfying.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So, what was your plan if it did, indeed, suck?”

“I was working on brutal yet sympathetic honesty with a bolstering hey, you tried, since if it sucked, you’d know, and any attempt to pretend it didn’t would be seen, rightfully, as patronizing bullshit.”

“I think that’s acceptable. I need to tell you about my other new clients.”

“Sure.”

“They moved here last winter, moved into Lakeview Terrace. They bought the house you grew up in.”

He said nothing for a moment, but stopped eating, topped off both wineglasses. “Okay.”

“She knows Britt. They both work at the clinic. Charlene Ledbecker. She’s a doctor. He’s an engineer, works in Asheville. They’re expecting their second child next fall. I wanted to give you a picture of them.”

“All right.”

“I didn’t know, until Charlene mentioned that Britt used to live in the house, what house it was. They want help with the grounds, a couple times a month, and seasonally. They want to learn how to take care of the grounds. They … you don’t care about any of that.”

“Not really. So you made me mac and cheese.”