It’s so homey. And so unexpected. It would make more sense to my broken heart if the place had crumbled down to its foundations.

I make the mistake of glancing up at a long shelf that runs toward the kitchen. Dad built that shelf to display my mother’s pottery.

Now the shelf is bare. Every piece of pottery is gone.

I knew it would be, but it still hurts to see it.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I’m seated at the kitchen table with a cup of mint tea in my hand and two lavender shortbread cookies on a plate in front of me. There are purplish flower petals visible in the shortbread.

That isn’t even the weirdest thing about this moment. It’s like I’ve entered an alternative universe. The kitchen has all new lighting. The appliances gleam. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the air smells like butter and sugar.

Melody sits across from me, studying me with bright green, curious eyes. I’m trying to carry on a conversation, but I’m not doing my best work. She’s distractingly smiley and probably too young for my father. I can’t imagine what she sees in my grump of a father, except for his wealth.

Selling Madigan Mountain was probably her idea.

“Do you, um, have any children?” I ask. The question sounds polite enough, but I’m actually fishing for more details about her life.

“No, I don’t,” she says. “And I’m fifty-five years old, so that ship has sailed.”

She’s not too young for him, then. My mother would have been fifty-seven this year, and my dad is sixty. That’s not exactly scandalous.

“I have a horse named Baylor and an ex-husband who’s a waste of space. That’s it for me. And I signed a prenuptial agreement, Reed, so you don’t have to worry about the future. Your dad is right to protect his children’s legacy.”

Well, fuck. I rub the back of my neck and try not to appear flustered. “That’s not a cheery topic, is it?” I break off a corner of a cookie and shove it into my mouth, flowers and all.

She shrugs. “The older you get, the more frank you become. I don’t want money or anything else to get between us, Reed. I hope you’ll come to visit often, wherever we end up.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound like I mean it. “Do you have plans to leave Colorado?”

“We’re going to travel the world,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Our first destination is Australia, by way of Hawaii. We’re planning to go in January.”

“That’s soon,” I say stupidly.

She shrugs. “We haven’t booked it yet, because your father isn’t quite sure how long it will take to negotiate with the buyer. But we’re very excited. I have a whole binder full of articles about the places we’re going to visit.”

I struggle for something to say. “This cookie is really good.”