“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if this woman is right for you, then you owe it to Cora, to Matty, to make it work. Get out of your own way, Seb.”

It was the first time she’d ever shortened his name and it hit him almost as hard as her earlier proclamation had. “Muriel.”

“You are going to give that boy a good life. You had one woman who gave you a son, and now, apparently, you have another who’s going to help you raise him. Figure it out.”

With that, she was marching out of the kitchen and Seb was left behind, his mouth open like a fish.

VIA SET HER dishes to dry in the rack and sighed. Friday evening had been on constant replay in her head the entire weekend. She’d thought she would toss and turn with Sebastian gone, heated and uncomfortable. But she’d fallen into a deep sleep when she’d gotten home and woken up starving. She was attempting to distract herself with work.

And even now, Sunday late afternoon, the weak sun rolling sideways in the sky, she had files spread out on the breakfast table in her kitchen.

She’d just eaten a light dinner and was going to settle down to some paperwork. She had work tomorrow, but it wasn’t a full day. Just professional development from twelve to four. It wasn’t so bad.

But she couldn’t stop the sigh as she sat down at the table. She was lonely. It wasn’t a new feeling; it was something she’d lived with ever since her parents had died. The second she was alone, she got incredibly lonely. Time with Fin made it subside, time with Evan used to. And time with Seb and Matty damn near demolished it. But they were in White Plains for the week, and Via was here, with nothing to do but work and make a menu for her and Fin’s annual Thanksgiving.

Her phone gave a buzz and skittered sideways on the table. Via leaped forward and nearly threw it on the floor in her haste to answer it. She tried not to feel guilty at the little bursting bubble of disappointment in her gut when she saw that it wasn’t Sebastian.

“Hi, Fin.”

“I’m gonna pretend you’re actually happy to be talking to me.”

Via couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s intuition and candor. “I’m not unhappy. I was just...”

“Hoping to flirt with your man?” Fin’s smile was very clear in her tone. “I don’t blame you. How’d this week go?”

Via knew, without having to ask, what Fin was referring to. The Sunday night after the wedding, when Via was staring down the barrel of a week with her nosy colleagues, she and Fin had come up with a game plan for how she was going to deal with any of the possibly impending gossip: she was going to tell the damn truth.

We like each other, we’re seeing what happens. What’s new with you? That was Via’s line. To anyone who asked. Via had practiced it in her head forty times on the walk to school and had still had to change into her backup shirt when she’d gotten to her office. She’d been a sweaty, nervous mess the whole day.