Tom studies the mess for a moment.
“Well,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders, “that’s going to be fun.”
I step around the branches and grab hold of one end while he starts cutting through the smaller limbs. The wood cracks and shifts as the pressure changes.
“You and Melanie been here long?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Kids?”
“Two boys.”
“Both gone now?”
I nod. “Out of the house.”
Tom’s expression softens in a way that suggests he expected that answer.
“Empty nest.”
“That obvious?”
“You two have the look,” he says.
“What look?”
“The kind people get after thirty years of raising a family when the house suddenly goes quiet.” I lean beside him and watch a sailboat tack slowly across the bay.
“She keeps busy,” I say. “Clinic. Garden. Volunteering.”
“And you?”
I consider that for a moment. “Turns out peace takes getting used to.”
Tom studies the trail we’ve cleared for a long moment. “You ever notice something about this place?”
“Like?”
“People here don’t seem too worried about doing things the normal way.”
I chuckle softly. “That’s one way to describe Northwick Cove.”
His gaze back to me. “I’ve noticed a few relationships that aren’t exactly traditional.”
“Yeah.”
I huff out a breath and drag a branch off the path, tossing it onto the growing pile. “Plenty of people here make it work. Doesn’t mean I’ve been looking to.”
Tom doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t move either. The quiet settles between us, thick enough that I notice my own breathing, the distant cry of a gull drifting up from the harbor.
“Didn’t ask if you were looking.”
I straighten and wipe my hands on my jeans, grinding sap and sawdust into the fabric. “We’re fine the way we are.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
My gaze flicks to him. He’s still watching me, like he’s got nowhere else to be and all the time in the world. It needles under my skin faster than it should. “Then whatareyou saying?”
