Instead, my good mood had everything to do with an early morning email I’d gotten from my boss at Bormon Klein Jacovic, saying my leave extension had been approved through the end of the year, and they’d be sending me forms to sign to make it official.
“Work will be here when you get back,” Rick had written. “Take all the time you need to get healthy.”
If you’d told me last spring that receiving an email from my boss saying “Nah, we won’t need you for three months” would make me happy, I’d have called you a dirty liar. Even now, therewas a definite undercurrent of anxiety underscoring my relief, because I hated being seen as the unhealthy weak link.
But it mostly felt like a stay of execution. That email meant I had three more months to get myself back to a hundred percent mentally. Three months to get my family back on their feet. Three months to remind my siblings that we were all better off with me living a few hours away.
Plenty of time.
Breakfast was already underway when I opened the door from the porch into the back hall, the air thick with the smell of coffee and cinnamon and the sounds of laughter and silverware scraping plates. My whole family—everyone I loved in the world, minus Reed and Porter—was gathered around the big table laughing at something Hawk was saying, and I took a minute to stand there in the doorway and watch it. Aiden, squeezing a thick layer of honey on his oatmeal. Webb smiling over at Em, while also typing something on his phone and pretending not to notice what Aiden was doing. Uncle Drew, dressed in bright blue leggings and an oversized tie-dye shirt, surveying everyone with the loving, semi-bewildered, and semi-paternal air of a guy who’d spent ten years acting as guardian to his brother’s kids and still wasn’t sure what the heck he was doing there.
And then there was Goodman, sitting right in the middle of the fray today, Sally Ann by his side waiting for him to accidentally-on-purpose drop some oatmeal where she could get it. His eyes pinged from one person to the next, that sunshine smile on his lips, as he put away enough oatmeal to feed four Olympic athletes.
It was strange how easily he’d slotted into place here at the orchard, while I was still trying to remember how I fit.
“Poor Cinder-Hawkins!” Em ruffled Hawk’s hair, and tiny sparkles fell like rain onto his shoulders. “Your fairy godmotherdidn’t explain that at midnight you’d turn into a human glitter bomb?”
“It’s not funny!” Hawk groaned. “Nobody explained there was gonna be a confetti cannon! Someone spilled a gallon of apple cider by the refreshment table, so I was kneeling down trying to clean it up, and then freakin’ DJ Tony set off the dang cannon when I wasright there,and now I have glitter in places where glitter doesn’t belong. Not to mention”—Hawk’s voice went louder as he tried to speak over the peals of laughter—“have you ever tried to scrape a mass of congealed sugar cookies, apple cider, and confetti off a floor? I reek of apples, and I have sprinkles permanently lodged under my nails.”
“You do have kind of a scented-candle vibe.” Goodman leaned over to sniff him. “I’d call your flavor… Autumn Dance-Auction Enchantment. It’s very wholesome.”
“Great.” Hawk rolled his eyes. “Just what every boy wants to hear.”
“Have you considered showering?” Drew asked gently as he stirred his tea.
Hawk gave Drew a narrow-eyed, pursed-lip look that was a little like a bunny rabbit trying to look intimidating. “I showered last nightandthis morning. This is what’s left.” He added in a mumble, “Last night, I looked like a human disco ball. And my bed looks like I’ve been fuc— um.” He darted a look at Aiden, who watched the exchange with delight. “Like I’ve beenhaving sleepoverswith a unicorn.”
Goodman laughed so hard he had to clap a hand over his mouth to prevent an explosion of oatmeal, but when his dancing eyes met mine across the length of the kitchen, his expression turned wary like he wasn’t sure whether our cease-fire was still in effect.
He straightened a little, bracing himself. “Heya, Knox.”
I pushed myself off the doorframe. “Morning, Goodman. Everyone.”
“Knox!” Uncle Drew said happily. “I might possibly have unearthed a few more receipts I forgot to give you… by which I mean a few more boxes full of receipts. So… happy Thursday?”
“Lucky me,” I grumbled.
“And more importantly, help yourself to the baked oatmeal on the stove. My assistant helped me prepare three trays of it last night.” He winked at Aiden, who beamed.
“Hey, Gage,” Aiden said, scooping up a spoonful that was at least as much honey as oatmeal. “Can we work on my science project this weekend?”
“Oh yeah,” Goodman muttered around a mouthful of oatmeal. He swallowed and continued. “I already ordered us a treat dispenser that’s supposed to be delivered today, and I had some ideas about how we can program it.”
“With the pressure pad?”
“With the pressure pad,” Goodman agreed.
“Yesss! I’m ready!” Aiden fist-pumped in the air and gave Goodman a gap-toothed grin.
“Morning, Knox,” Em said way too breezily for someone who was up most of the night. It made me feel a little old and a little jealous. I’d been surviving on four hours of sleep a night for a long while, so you’d think I’d be used to it, but I was never that perky. She stood and put her plate in the sink. “Heading back out to the barn.”
“Yeah? How’s the new calf?”
“Brilliant! Gorgeous.” She rocked on the balls of her feet excitedly, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Did Goodman name her yet?” I darted a glance at the man in question.
Goodman endeavored to look very innocent and got busy eating his oatmeal.
