Other than that four-sentence conversation, the night had gone well. Kate’s dad hadn’t drunk too much whiskey. Her mother hadn’t lit a single cigarette. The steak dinner, which Rowan had cooked to impress her family, wasn’t burnt. No one brought up The Future or, for that matter, The Past. So, all in all, a success.

The evening was ending, coffee brewing in the kitchen. Rowan lived in a two-bedroom guest house behind a much larger house in the Bluffton historic district. A landscape designer, he lived there gratis in exchange for taking care of the yard and gardens surrounding the house. His den was crowded with leather furniture—the complete opposite of Kate’s cream and linen slipcovered aesthetic. She wondered how the two of them would ever combine not only their lives but their tastes. His windows overlooked a boxwood labyrinth with a large fountain in the center. The family gathered there as Kate slipped into Rowan’s bedroom to catch her breath.

She sat on the edge of his bed and placed her wine glass on the bedside table. Kate hadn’t yet told Rowan everything she needed to tell him about her history, and she knew it was time. After the parents left, she would tell him everything, all that was getting in the way of their future together.

What future? Kate sank sideways into Jack’s pillow. What would their future look like together? She couldn’t imagine it. She saw their separate lives as scattered remnants, and she wasn’t sure the pieces could ever come together to form any kind of whole. Was wanting to want it good enough?

Dixie, Rowan’s goofy and hyper golden retriever, came bounding into the room. Seeing Kate on the edge of the bed, the dog assumed it was playtime and jumped toward her, knocking the red wine onto the khaki bedspread and across Kate’s pale green sundress.

“Dixie,” Kate hollered, and ran into the bathroom for some towels. Mopping up the spill, Kate shooed Dixie off the bed and watched the wine drip into the top drawer of the bedside table. She yanked the drawer open to shove the towel under the rim of the table when she saw the box: a small white box with two blood-red drops of spilled wine on its top. She opened the box a fraction of an inch to see the ring—a round and brilliant engagement ring.

She jerked back.

“Kate,” Rowan’s voice called from the hallway.

She shoved the drawer shut. “In here,” she called. “Dixie spilled my wine.”

Her parents appeared at the doorway along with Rowan and his parents. Kate cringed. “Sorry. I was coming in here to use the bathroom and Dixie jumped up on me and…”

All gazes moved to the bed, which was of course not a bathroom. “Let’s go have some coffee,” Kate said, guiding the crowd back to Rowan’s den.