His wet sweater hanging over two chairs.
My feet in his lap.
The way he had watched me when he thought I was asleep.
I gripped the porch rail.
Reid’s hand covered the back of my neck.
“Stay with me.”
“I’m here.”
“Do you need to sit?”
“No.”
The front door opened with the code Marian had sent.
Warm lamplight filled the small room.
The cottage interior had changed more than the outside. Pale walls. New kitchen. Built-in shelves. A broad sofa facing the stone fireplace.
But the old ceiling beams remained.
So did the narrow hall.
The window seat looking toward the cove.
I stepped inside.
My wedding ring flashed beneath the lamp.
A memory took shape with such gentleness I almost missed the moment it began.
Reid and I on the old sofa.
Not having sex.
Not fighting.
Simply sitting beneath a green quilt while rain struck the glass.
He had a book open but was not reading.
I was watching Mercy rise and settle beyond the window.
“You’re quiet,” he had said.
“I’m deciding something.”
“What?”
“Whether I can trust being happy.”
Reid had closed the book.
“What did you decide?”
