Page 38 of Key West Homecoming

“That’s why I don’t want to tell you half the story,” she said. “I need to understand it first.”

Jake looked out toward the street and for a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Emma turned the beer bottle slowly between her hands.

She’d spent most of the last two days thinking about who owned this house. There were wills and property records and signatures that might or might not hold up in court. Sitting beside Jake, another question occurred to her. Ownership was one thing, belonging somewhere was something else.

Jake looked as though he belonged here.

Emma wasn’t sure yet whether she did.

“You’ll be done with the lawyer by lunch?” he asked.

“I should be.”

“Come back after.”

Emma turned toward him.

He was still looking toward the yard.

It wasn’t exactly a question.

“I will.”

The answer came before she’d had time to think about it.

She told herself Jake deserved to know what was happening with the cottage. That was true, but it wasn’t the only reason she wanted to come back.

Emma finished her beer and slipped her flats on.

“I should go.”

Jake stayed on the step.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Emma walked down the crushed-shell path.

At the gate, she turned.

Jake was still sitting on the porch. He raised a hand and Emma waved back.

She walked toward her car thinking about the lawyer she would meet in the morning, the letter Maeve had already read twice, and everything she still didn’t know about Arthur and the cottage.

But when she pulled away from the curb, it was Jake’s answer that stayed with her. I needed the quiet.

CHAPTER 8

The property was still quiet when Emma carried a paper cup of coffee down the winding path to her bungalow. The pools were smooth and empty, and the gardeners hadn’t started work yet. Somewhere behind the main house, a laundry cart hummed along before the sound faded.

She’d been awake since before six, which was closer to her normal Chicago schedule. She was also wearing the linen shirt from yesterday because she hadn’t packed for a week in Key West. None of that mattered. Emma finally felt as though she had a plan.

She pulled a chair onto the patio, set her coffee on the little metal table and opened her legal pad to a clean page.

At the top, she wrote: Rachel Alden, 9:00 AM.