“Right. Even though J.D. argued with him and told him there was no way he was going to be involved with the company business again, Carlo can be very persuasive when he wants to be, so . . . as the old saying goes, he made J.D. an offer he couldn’t refuse. Not only did Carlo give me the deed to this house free and clear, but he is offering us the farmhouse if we’ll agree to live on the grounds. J.D. will still practice law for other people but he’ll be a consultant of sorts for Santini Brothers.” Glancing around the kitchen, Tiffany added, “It’s probably time I started fresh anyway. I moved here when Philip died and both of the kids hated it. Stephen openly rebelled and Christina suffered from nightmares. All that seems to have gone away, but J.D. and I and the kids need a new start. A place of our own.”

“Sounds great. Too good to be true.”

“Almost. But the problem is I’ll need someone to run this place—you know, manage the apartments and live on the premises. I thought it would be perfect for you and Josh. You could stay here rent free, collect a salary and still work for the Review.”

“You’re kidding!” Katie’s head snapped up.

“Dead serious. You could sell your place or rent it out,” Tiffany said, before draining her glass.

Katie didn’t know what to say. She gazed at the kitchen filled with all of Tiffany’s things—her baskets and shiny pots and hanging bundles of dried herbs. “I . . . I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. Talk it over with Josh.”

“Do. You’ve seen the place, of course, but let me give you the grand tour, show you what you’d be in for. Let’s start at the top.” They climbed two flights of stairs to a studio apartment set under the eaves. J.D. sat at a small table with his laptop computer glowing in front of him.

“Missed me?” he asked, as Tiffany approached him.

“Terribly,” she replied dryly. “I just couldn’t stand it.”

His smile stretched wide and he leaned back in his chair to stare at his fiancée. The silent message he sent her fairly sizzled and Tiffany’s cheeks burned red. “Well . . . uh, this is the smallest unit.” She pointed out the tiny kitchen and bath, then, with a sidelong look at her husband-to-be, led Katie down to the second floor.

“He’s incorrigible,” she muttered.

“Along with a whole list of other things,” Katie teased. When Tiffany eyed her skeptically, she added, “All good. All very good.”