Page 115 of In a Word, Yes

Also, who knew that spending time with these people I’ve come to know and accidentally bonded with over a common goal would be such a charming way to spend an evening?

George Strait’s voice reverberates through the frigid October night. “Bonus question! Triple points! Ready? Here it is. How manyStar Trekmovies are there to date?”

Wyatt slaps the table, throws his head back, and whoops. “I can’t believe I know this!”

“Take it away, Wyatt,” I say, laughing.

It’s not enough to propel us out of last place, but as I look around the table, I’m struck with a deep sense of peace and belonging. Writers are weird. But we’re anything but losers.

On their way out, Tony and Dot stop by our table.

“What’s this I hear from Chase?” Dot says. “Your parents are moving back to Oregon?”

“It’ll be a process. Dad’s working on selling his business. But yeah, can you believe it? They’ve still got Nana’s house in Salem, and lots of family on Dad’s side there. And good old friends.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt the cause that they’ll be in driving distance of you and Mister Man.”

I’m sure too. The thought of being back in my parents’ proximity warms me through. “Mom and I will be able to work moreclosely together on this new book of hers. Dot, this project has got its hooks in me. I’ve been writing a ton.”

“Attagirl. Well, your son sure seems excited. And speaking as someone who just found out she’s going to be agrandma, I’m so happy for—”

I explode into a grin. “What? Dot! Congratulations!Gah.You’re going to make the best grandma.”

She giggles. “Aw, thanks. Yep, Grandma Dottie. Does that sound too unhinged? Hey, what say Tony and I drive Chase home and give you a little, you know,time?” She smiles her juiciest, peachiest smile at Wyatt, leaving no doubt as to her meaning.

Wyatt’s smile starts in his eyes, and here comes that sensation of helium beneath my ribs again.

I cock my head at her. “Oh, I don’t know if—”

Chase suddenly stands between us, crowding me. “Mom, can Tony and Dot come over for a little while?”

I look between him and Dot. “Mm-hmm, I see what’s happening here.”

She side-hugs me. “Well. It’s just nice to see you’re bouncing back.”

I give one of Dot’s pigtails a tug. “It’s not my first rainy-bow.”

***

Giving our writers group the slip, Wyatt and I stroll downtown.

There’s a bluish haze over the mountains and a misty halo around each of the old-fashioned streetlamps that portends rain. Perhaps even an early snow flurry? I snug my jacket collar closer.

Wyatt draws to a stop and stands facing me in a pool of soft, diffused light.

Over his shoulder I spy the lone yellow larch two streets away, rising pale and luminescent in the mist, and I’m carried back to the day it first caught my eye. The day this man before me, now sliding his warm fingers through mine, showed up at the TradingPost instead of Ian. The day he didn’t squirm away when he learned about Chase.

Was that the day I fell in love?

Gratitude warms me from the inside out. And wonder. For the one tiny uncomfortable yes that kept me in my chair, sipping Amy Carmichael’s words with my tea. A writer who leveraged yeses of all sizes for purposes greater than herself and more gratifying than seeking her own comfort.

“You know,” I say, “C.S. Lewis suggested that comfort is the one thing we can’t get by looking for it.”

Wyatt lifts my hands to his lips. “Sounds about right.” Ever so gently, he kisses the backs of my fingers.

They probably smell like cotija cheese, but whatever.

“What if I told you I threw the spelling bee?” His voice is a low rumble. “Let you win?”