Page 34 of In a Word, Yes

What mystifies me about my friend is how regularly she bemoans the state of the world yet remains glued to cable news. I mean, I get it. There’s no shortage of stuff to fret about. But how will we ever get better at loving our neighbor if we live in fear?

Besides, if darkness is indeed on the increase, why not focus instead on bringing the light?

And raise up children who can do the same?

I can easily imagine what Nana Lucia would say to this. She’d say love is always an act of courage.

Before I can form a response that isn’t word-for-word the same thing I’ve said to Savannah many times, Ian is at my shoulder looking quite cheery. Even cheerier than usual, which is saying something. “Got your drink, Lucy?”

He’s so close I can feel the warmth radiating off him. Which isn’t a complaint. He smells mildly of spices, and I’d be lying tomyself if I pretended this kind of proximity with a man, and a kind man at that, doesn’t stir in me a longing. But it’s a longing I can’t afford to indulge.

I lift my cup of chocolate chai. “I’m all good,” I say.

“Great! Come on over and join us whenever you’re ready.”

Huh?

“I told Sunny all about you,” Ian continues. “She’s looking forward to meeting you.” In tandem, we turn our gazes toward the red settee, where his neighbor lady sits staring at her lap. She snugs her cardigan more tightly at the nape of her neck, and I can’t help thinking she looks like someone who’d be more excited about a nap than a social call.

“I’m so glad you came, Lucy,” he says. “This totally makes my day.”

I gape at him, wordless.

The front door chimes. “Excuse me again,” Ian says.

Saved by the bell.

The man who enters sports a tweed flat cap and wine-colored scarf. He isn’t much, if any, younger than not-so-sunny Sunny.

“What’s going on?” I stage-whisper to Savannah, who just reappeared. “Some kind of senior citizens group?”

Her flat smile holds an apology. She taps the flyer taped to my side of the register.

Writers group seeks members. Strong tea, gentle critique. Meets Thursday evenings, 6:30 p.m. at Sweet Reads. Bring your WIP.

“Savvy!” I back away from the counter. “Tell me you didn’t ... is this why ... youset me up!”

“I didn’t, I swear. I didn’t set you up. I seriously just invited you because I needed someone to talk me down.”

Fair enough. I mean, inventing a pregnancy just to get me out of the house would be a pretty elaborate ruse. Even so, my heart’s going at a new clip.

When Ian returns, I waste no time before gently informing him that I’m only here at Sweet Reads to visit Savannah. But something pinches my conscience. Never once, not even for a moment, did I entertain the possibility, remote as it may be, that I mightwantto say yes.

My speech draws a brief eyelid flutter from Ian. “Oh, right. Gotcha,” he says, producing a tight smile that doesn’t even begin to connect with his eyes. “My bad. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Fantastic. Now I’ve hurt his feelings. See, this is just it. This is why I’m better off safely sequestered at home with my bottomless to-be-read pile, giving my focused attention togreenliving things. Not humans.

I’ve never unintentionally hurt a plant’s feelings, at least not to my knowledge.

Again, someone’s at the door, and Ian hurries off to play host. The woman he greets this time is closer to my age, maybe a little older. I’m a poor judge of age. It’s impossible to compare myself to elegant thirtyish women who never have to worry about being mistaken for high schoolers. At the moment, what I mean by elegant is that kind of charisma unique to some Pacific Northwest women: self-possessed and outdoorsy. Beautiful without trying.

“Savannah, could you please start a mint tea?” Ian ushers the newcomer into the meeting room. Man. The way that woman works the hip-sway in her black stretchy pants could earn her an influencer gig. And based on how Savannah knows what name to scrawl on her paper cup—Nytasha—she’s a Sweet Reads regular.

Another woman arrives, this one more my mother’s age and with an easy smile. Travel mug in hand, she walks buoyantly, joining the others in the reading room.

I don’t notice Ian approaching. When he speaks, the hope inhis deep-brown Scottie-dog eyes might be the death of me. “Last call. Sure I can’t convince you to join us, Lucy?”

Savannah’s gone in back to start a load of dishes. “It’s just...” I stammer, “even if I stayed, it wouldn’t be for long. I need to—”To what?In truth, my neighbor Nina won’t pick up the kids from tae kwon do for another hour, and even then she’d be thrilled to keep Chase longer if it helped me initiate anactual social life.