Aspen made an expansive gesture. “Here.”
“Hollin Terrace?” Kiersten asked. “That’s where the boys go too.”
“No. I meanhere. At home. We homeschool Felicity Grace and Ella Joy.”
Kiersten felt herself blinking stupidly at these compound names and immediately felt inadequate for unimaginatively naming her children after their uncles and maternal and paternal grandfathers. Matthew. Luke. James. And Johnny. Sometimes she felt like an Uber driver for the apostles.
“Oh wow,” Kiersten said. “That’s impressive.”
“It’s actually so much easier.” Aspen shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted up at the late-afternoon sun. “We used to run around to preschool and dance lessons and all those things. Then we decided to slow down and live withintention, you know?”
Kiersten didn’t know, but she nodded as if she did.
“We summered in Scandinavia a few years ago,” Aspen said, as if this explained it all, “and we sort of fell in love with the culture.”
Kiersten wanted to be the kind of person whosummered.
Instead, she was the kind of person who cleaned the walleye her husband caught at his family’s mildewed lake cabin in northern Minnesota, while swatting away mosquitoes the size of baby flamingos.
“And we just decided, why not live this way all year round?” Aspen continued, eyes wide, radiating a sort of butter-churned earnestness. “You only get one life. Why not live the way youreallywant to live?”
Her question hit Kiersten between the eyes like a rock from a slingshot.Why not live the way you really want to live?
But before she could ponder this philosophy more fully, angry shouts from the minivan pulled her attention away from this prophet in ballet flats.
“You stole my charger,” one of the boys hollered at his brother. Kiersten stifled a sigh. Time to hit the road.
She glanced at her watch. “I have to get going, but it was so nice to finally meet you. And thanks for the muffins when we moved in.”
As she turned to leave, a strikingly handsome man approached and rested his hand on Aspen’s shoulder. He wore a perfectly tailored sports coat with pressed khaki pants and a white shirt with no tie. He looked like a Brooks Brothers model at a party on someone’s yacht.
He turned to her with a charming smile.
And you must be Ken.“I’m Kiersten,” she said instead, extending her hand.
“Trey Davis.” He squeezed her hand in a tight grip and flashed a dazzling smile, exposing arctic-white teeth. “Great to have you in the neighborhood. It’s good to have another family with young kids here on the cul-de-sac.”
“We didn’t even know that house was on the market.” Aspen stooped to adjust her daughter’s flower garland.
“That’s probably because it wasn’t on the market,” Kiersten said. “We met Henry and Myrtle DiLorenzo through a family friend. We did the whole transaction without a real estate agent.”
“Saints preserve us.” Trey spread his hands across his chest in mock horror. “We can’t have any more ofthat.”
“Babe, let it go.” Aspen punched her husband’s shoulder playfully. “Trey and his dad are developers and home builders,” she explained, turning back to Kiersten. “Trey also does real estate. He hates to see a great property sold to anyone but him.”
Trey grinned down at his wife. “True. And if you ever decide to sell, let me know. You have a huge lot. With water views, if you cut down all those trees.” Then his eyes narrowed. “I know how much you paid for it. The very definition of a steal.”
Kiersten felt her face flush. Was he implying that they had somehowdefraudedHenry and Myrtle?
“Grammy, Grampy, come say hello,” Aspen called out, waving to an elderly couple making their way down the sidewalk.
They moved slowly, the husband tall and erect, while his wife, white haired and stooped with osteoporosis, clutched his arm for support.
She reminded Kiersten of a butterfly—fragile but lovely. Wrinkles creased her face, but high cheekbones and wide eyes hinted at beauty in her youth.
“I’m Margaret Davis,” she said, giving Kiersten a faint smile.
The older man beside her didn’t share his grandson’s dimpled chin and chiseled jawline, but his white hair and erect posture gave him a courtly air.
