He looks like he wants to climb over the table, but if there’s more he wants to ask, he has the good sense not to. It’s amazing that he knows exactly the pace I need.

Behind us at the bakery door, the bell sounds and someone comes in, but neither of us breaks eye contact.

“How does Chase feel about your sister’s arrival?” He pauses slightly before saying Chase’s name.

Oh, for God’s sake, Alex, don’t start looking for subtext.

“Chase has learned not to ask questions.”

“You mean you taught him?”

He smiles, and so do I. We both know that Chase is easygoing, and I can be headstrong—but relationships are all about balance. It’s one of the reasons I chose him.

“So why is Ruth really here? What does she want?”

“My ‘help,’ apparently,” I say. It comes out fierce and sharp. “She’s pregnant. Again.”

When he reaches across the table this time, he places his hand on mine. His skin is warm, electric. It feels like he’s transferring energy into me, an infusion of love and strength. He goes to speak, but as he does so, his eyes dart up to someone standing behind me.

I turn.

Of course. I should have known.

It’s Ruth.

RUTH

“Hey, sis,” I say, setting my coffee on the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

There’s that face again, that little girl not coping.

I look from the man she’s with, then back to her. “I’m checking out the town. Spied you through the window.” He’s wearing a soft gray T-shirt and is leaner than Chase, although still strong-looking. Brownish-blondish hair, cropped close to his head and sticking up in places like he only just ran a flat palm over it before leaving his house. “You’re not Chase,” I say to him.

“No. Not even a little bit.” Whoever this man is, his face stays friendly and open. He lets go of Alex’s hand, sits back and stretches.

“Sully, this is my sister, Ruth,” Alex says to him. “Ruth, this is Sully.”

“Hi.” He reaches out for a handshake that doesn’t grip or linger. His hands feel like he’s good at camping, like he could build a fire or a shelter.

“That your dog on there?” I point to the picture of a grizzled old blue heeler on his coffee mug. He must have got it made at a mall.

“That’s Gravy. She’s fourteen.”

“Gravy?” I say. “She isn’t brown.”

“I just like the word.”

“Is that my jacket?” Alex asks.

I needed something to wear, and I’d seen it on a hook by the door. “I’m just borrowing it.”

There’s a look that passes between Alex and Sully.