“Thank you.”
“I mean it.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand in hers, a pained expression on her sweet face. “I’m so sorry, Clara, to hear what happened with Mitch. There aren’t any words. I’m just… devastated.”
Another tear falls down my cheek as I try to get it together. There are people surrounding us under the covered porch, and this isn’t the time to have a meltdown. But being here and talking about Mitch with Willow after all this time, the tears get the best of me.
Thankfully, Willow and Zach don’t seem uncomfortable. They’re more concerned and sympathetic than anything. Zach even pats my arm and offers his condolences as well. “Thank you. That means more than you know, but I’m fine. We’ll be fine in time.”
“I know you will.” Willow holds her arms out for one more hug, then whispers, “You are so strong, Clara, and a fantastic mother. You’ll get through this.”
I smooth her hair down, appreciating her words. I’ve heard many condolences for several months, but Willow’s sound different. They feel different.
Because she gets it.
She understands loss better than most—she and Dax both do.
I kiss her cheek and thank her again, then stand up, clapping my hands. “Now, if you’ll point me in the direction of the barbecue, we can join this amazing party you put together.”
The air smells of tangy sauce and ribs, and my fingers itch to dig in. Wheeling herself next to me, we make our way to the table along the fence. I steal a rib, biting at one end, then grab a plate. “This is amazing. Zach outdid himself,” I say when I swallow.
“He did, didn’t he?” She glances at her husband with pride in her aqua eyes. “He’s practicing for the cook-off next weekend for the Harvest Festival. You’re going, right?”
“Yes, I will definitely be there. And seriously, if Zach goes with this recipe, he’s a shoo-in.” I groan, stealing another bite, then scoop a large helping of pork onto my plate. “I had actually forgotten about the festival before Dax mentioned it.”
“He mentioned this party too, didn’t he? He faked being surprised, huh?”
I fight my smile, not wanting to give him up, but I can’t hide from Willow.
“I knew it! The bastard.”
Cold liquid hits my back, and I jump forward, almost falling on Willow. “What the—”
“I got you, Mom.” Jacob runs off, and another squirt of cold water hits me.
When I turn around, Dax is standing there this time. His shirt is soaked, and his sandy-blond hair is dripping.
“You’re going to pay for that.” I lunge toward him for the gun, but he runs from me.
I chase him around the yard, jumping around people, when Jacob pops out from a bush. I scream as he and Dax gang up on me, to the point that I’m soaked.
And wiped out from laughing so hard.
I don’t remember the last time I laughed this much that I’m clutching my stomach.
I don’t remember the last time my focus wasn’t on hospital visits and funeral arrangements and open houses to sell our house, so we could move out here.
This is what I needed—an afternoon in the setting sun surrounded by people I love mixed in with new faces. A fresh start.
“Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender, then laugh even harder when I notice the dirt smeared on Dax’s shirt and cheek. It’s baffling how he can be so childish, yet so professional in his white coat.
But that’s Dax. In high school, the guy was voted class clown and most likely to succeed.
“I surrender, okay? I’m soaked.” I squeal as I move toward the house to change. I brought extra clothes for Jacob, but I didn’t think to bring any for myself. Shoot.
“You can borrow my clothes,” Willow offers as though she reads my mind. “There should be some in the laundry room to the side of the kitchen, next to the guest room.”
“Thank you.” I start to turn in that direction, but the mischievous twinkle in her eye stops me. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs, but the twinkle is still there as she glances from me to Dax.
“Okay, weirdo.” I roll my eyes.
Once inside, I cross the spacious kitchen toward the laundry room like Willow said. When I come back out, a dry set of clothes in hand, I run into a hard chest, jolting me backward.
“Beep, beep,” Dax jokes, catching me by both arms. “Sorry about that.” He studies my face like he’s checking to see if he harmed me. As if I’m that fragile.
“I’m fine. I barely touched you.”
His hands are still curved around my biceps as he searches my eyes. After a moment, his gaze falls to my lips. With a smirk, he says, “Right. I was just scared for your safety. I’ve been told my rock-hard pecs can cause damage.”
Ah, his ridiculous arrogance.
It would be annoying if he wasn’t the most genuine person I know—the total opposite of self-absorbed.
“I’m going to change.” Chuckling, he steps past me into what I assume is the guest room, leaving behind a smell that is completely Dax.
Woodsy cedar with a hint of disinfectant from his many hours at the clinic.
I idly scratch my chest as I round the counter and set the clothes on top, forgetting what I was doing. I’m suddenly breathless. Has it been that long since I went for a jog? Am I so out of shape that I can no longer chase my son around the yard?
My gaze falls on the closed door, behind which I know Dax is changing. The way he looked at me was different.
Or maybe it’s unfamiliar since we haven’t seen each other in person under positive circumstances in years.
He looks different. Older. More handsome.
He’s always been hot, or so the girls at our high school used to say.
They constantly gushed about him, especially when he made captain of the soccer team. He had his own groupies, all of whom were jealous of me.
Jealous of his best friend Clara.
“Pfft,” I mutter, thinking back
