“That would be great. Thank you so—”
A vigorous clanking interrupted their conversation. Aspen stood at the head of the table, next to Richard and Margaret Davis, ringing the cowbell. She set it on the table as silence fell over the cul-de-sac.
Chip and Trey pushed their chairs away from the table. “Excuse us,” Chip said. “Time for a little presentation.”
Trey looked at his daughters. “Girls, you need to help Mommy, remember?”
They scampered to the far end of the table, where they stood beside their mother.
Aspen stepped back, allowing her husband and father-in-law to stand beside Margaret and Richard in the place of honor at the head of the table. Trey put his arm around Aspen and pulled her close. She rested her head against his shoulder, while their little girls stood beside them.
“What an extraordinarily picturesque family,” Rosamund whispered.
Kiersten nodded, examining the three men at the head of the table. It was remarkable, almost like looking at photographs of one man over the span of a lifetime.
Richard Davis represented the final phase, his face creased and spotted with age, likely in his eighties, but retaining a full head of white hair and a pleasant smile, still handsome in aLion in Wintersort of way. It was easy to imagine him as the charming politician he’d allegedly been sixty years ago.
His son, Chip, stood to his right. He looked like central casting’s version of the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, managing to preserve his good looks as he entered his early sixties. She wondered if he used Botox. His jawline had blurred, and there was a hint of gray at his temples. But otherwise he remained tall and vigorous, obviously still in excellent shape.
And then Trey. Mid-thirties. Strikingly handsome. Dark hair neatly parted on the side. Preppy. Perfect. Ken to Aspen’s Barbie.
She chewed her lower lip as she examined them. But that was too glib. There were depths here, beneath the surface. Trey was smart, ambitious. And given what she’d accomplished thus far in her young life, sowas Aspen. It was a mistake to assume they were shallow and unintelligent just because they were both so good looking.
Chip raised a mason jar filled with iced tea. “I’d like to propose a toast to an extraordinary couple. My parents, Margaret and Richard Davis, who’ve been married for fifty-nine years, all of those years happy, and spent here on Beaverbrook Lane.”
Everyone raised their mason jars in the air.
“Let’s drink a toast to strong marriages, strong families, strong communities, and wonderful neighbors. Here’s to another fifty-nine years of happy families on Beaverbrook Lane.”
Everyone raised their glasses and drank, including the kids. She glanced at her boys, their young faces glowing. They obviously felt very mature and dignified being included in a real toast. Caitlin grinned at Matthew and threw her arm around Guinevere. Her little sisters gleefully clunked their plastic cups together.
Aspen handed her daughters two small bouquets of flowers, which they presented to their great-grandmother. Margaret bent in her chair so the little girls could kiss her wrinkled cheeks as the photographer leaned in close to snap pictures.
Kiersten’s eyes began to sting, and she brushed away a tear, surprised by the genuine emotions generated by an event created by an influencer.
“Happy?”
She glanced up at her husband, who slipped into the empty seat beside her. He smiled, taking her hand.
She looked around at her neighbors and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Down the table, Piper caught her eye and grinned.
When they first moved here, she didn’t know a single person. And now, just a few months later, she had friends.
Not acquaintances. Not internet friends. But real friends. Three a.m. friends, the kind of people you could call in the middle of the night, and they’d be there.
“You did a great thing today,” Garrett said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
“So did you. How did it feel to be back on a tractor?”
“Good. Normal.” He looked out across the cul-de-sac. “But this ... this community that you’ve created for us, for our kids. This feels good and normal too. It feels ...” He paused.
She looked into his eyes and smiled. “It feels like home.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Kiersten
