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I released a shuddering breath and shot Art a wan smile.

“I’m sorry. I’m super out of sorts. But I’m fine. Or I will be just as soon as I figure out where to stash this thing.” I grabbed the pan’s handle and jiggled it a little, though I wasn’t even sure if I was making a final attempt at fitting it in the too-small space or illustrating what I meant.

“Can I hug you?” Art asked softly.

“No,” I said, shaking my head firmly, but something inside me bucked wildly in protest. I did want him to hug me. So why had I said no? Because if he hugged me, I might cry? Art had held me the night I’d been missing Mac so much I’d cried. He hadn’t judged me or been dismissive. He hadn’t even tried to fix what was wrong. My shoulders fell another inch. “Yes. Please.”

In the space of a breath, he was on his knees, pulling me awkwardly into his arms.

The tears I’d expected didn’t come, but Art held me anyway as I buried my face in his shirt and breathed in his slightly musky, woodsy scent.

He kissed the top of my head gently and squeezed me closer. “Ready to admit everything’s not fine?”

I shook my head against his chest. “No.”

“Wanna go for a walk on the beach instead?” he asked, as though it didn’t bother him at all that I’d rejected his offer to talk.

I pulled back to look at his face, but he really didn’t look upset. “You’re not mad?”

Art frowned. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

Feeling as bewildered as he looked, I frowned back. “Because I got upset? Because I won’t tell you what’s wrong? Because you probably have better things to do than coddle me while I get bent out of shape over something trivial? Take your pick.”

He chuckled softly. “You’re allowed to get upset, Meg. I get upset all the time. So do the kids. It’s a normal part of life. As for not telling me, I figure you’ll tell me when you’ve sorted out how you’re feeling and are ready to share. And no, I don’t have a single thing to do that’s more important than being here for you if you need me. Any other reasons I should be mad?”

The anxiety wadded up in my chest unfolded into a dark film of grief that spread out to coat every nook and cranny vacated by the evaporating tension. Not trusting myself to speak, I shook my head.

“Walk?”

Reaching for the counter to hoist myself to my feet, I nodded. Art got there first. He took my hand in his to help me up, then pulled me into his arms for a better hug, smiling into my hair when I snaked my arms around his waist. I hugged him closer, pressing myself into him to remind myself that he was real and solid, not a figment of my imagination or an illusion. Not some perfect, patient, compassionate man my subconscious had dreamed up to keep me company as I slowly unraveled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into my hair, misreading why I was holding on to him for dear life, but somehow still saying the right thing to help me relax enough to loosen my grip.

“Sorry, was I squeezing you too tight?”

He laughed. “You squeeze as hard as you need whenever you need. I can take it.”

“You big manly man, you,” I teased, bumping my fist into his bicep, which he flexed.

He lit up like a firework and grinned proudly when I laughed at his antics. Then his grin grew even brighter when I tucked my hand into his arm and told him to lead the way.

At the apartment door, he grabbed my jacket and held it as I shoved my arms into the sleeves and called up the stairs to the kids as he put his on.

“Hey, rugrats! We’re going for a walk. Viv, you’re in charge. Please don’t maim your little brother. Merry, please don’t do anything that would require Viv to maim you.” Both kids groaned, presumably for different reasons. “We’ll be back in a half hour or so. Please, don’t burn the place to the ground. If you need anything, Mrs. MacDonald should be home.”

I laughed as he pulled me into the stairwell and spun me around to pin me against the wall after closing the apartment door. Keeping a tight hold on my hand, he lifted it above my head and leaned in for a gentle kiss that turned into something a lot more passionate when I slid my free hand into his jacket and around to his back.

My knees were a little wobbly when he pulled away with a reluctant groan. “Walk. We’re going for a walk,” he muttered mostly to himself. “Because Meg is upset, and when she’s upset, the ocean makes her feel better.”

I jerked my head back to look at him. He wasn’t wrong. The ocean did make me feel better when I was out of sorts. But I’d never mentioned it, and I was surprised he’d noticed.

Blinking back the tears suddenly pricking my eyes, I smiled.

“Why are you grinning like that?” he asked, looking up from zipping his jacket.

“I’m just…”—I slipped my arm back into the crook of his—“happy, I guess. Grateful too.”

“I tell ya. Ya ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” he said, winking at me.