Knox’s grin twitches. “Thanks…I think.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get in here, both of you. We’ve got sangria, snacks, and gossip. In that order.”
Inside, the house hums as though it had been holding its breath until Millie Palmer’s return.
Two women sit at the round kitchen table, wineglasses in hand, faces lit with curiosity.
They look like trouble in the best way. One wears a sequined visor—the other, reading glasses dangling from a rhinestone chain.
“Those are my roommates and travel buddies. Elena in the visor and Margo with the sparkle specs,” Millie says.
Both women lift their glasses in greeting like Knox and I have just passed some sort of initiation.
Millie motions for us to take a seat, and Knox pulls out my chair before sliding into the one beside me.
“Tropical storm hit the Pacific side earlier than expected,” she explains, pouring us each a glass of strawberry sangria. “So the girls and I packed up early. Easy flights. High spirits. Margaritas flowing.”
Elena leans in conspiratorially. “We made it back with all our luggage and absolutelynoneof our dignity. I call that a win.”
Margo nods, adjusting her sparkle specs. “Just don’t ask about the server named Enrique. What happens in Tamarindo stays in Tamarindo.”
The room almost vibrates with our collective laughter.
“Got room for more travel buddies?” Knox says, grinning over the rim of his glass.
“Of course we do,” Millie says. “Next summer we’re going on a Caribbean cruise. You two are more than welcome to come join the fun.”
She pauses, swirling the wine in her glass before glancing Knox’s way. “Speaking of which…take it you’re not still married to—what was her name—Jenna?”
Knox sets his glass down, expression dimming. “Newly divorced. That’s actually why I’m here for the summer. Needed to clear my head while she moves out.”
Millie gives a gentle nod, her eyes warm but unflinching. “Your grandmother never liked her. Said she wasn’t your person.”
Knox nods. “Wise woman.”
There’s a brief, thoughtful pause before Millie’s gaze flicks between us. “And…what’s the deal with you two?”
Elena perks up, setting her glass down with athunk. “Yes, do tell. We’re excellent secret-keepers.”
Margo snorts. “Lies. We’re excellent storytellers. There’s a difference.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I reach for my wine, buying time.
“We’re…” I start, then glance at Knox.
His eyes meet mine, calm and steady. “We’re figuring it out.”
Millie smiles, satisfied. “Well, that sounds like a damn good start.”
“Knox was kind enough to help rescue a cat that ended up in your attic,” I say.
Millie’s eyes widen. “Inmyattic?”
“Yes, but not for long,” I say, afraid she might recite her no-sand rules.
Knox and I take turns explaining how I heard Wanda’s cries, how we found two tiny kittens, and how, days later, we were roped into fostering both.
Margo lifts the pitcher, pouring us all more wine. “So, basically, you’re now a couple. With babies.”
