He appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and dining area. “Thanks for the dessert,” he said to Tess, lifting one of the cookies she’d brought. “These are awesome.”

“You’re welcome,” Tess told him indulgently, followed by a loving sigh.

Dylan skulked out of sight, and Leah could hear him gathering his keys and wallet. Their kitchen ended in a door that led to a small mudroom containing their washer and dryer. Leah had cajoled him into using the mudroom as a dumping ground for his backpack, athletic bag, water bottles, spare change, wallet, and keys. Thus, he always came and went through the back door.

“Be safe!” Leah yelled. “Love you!”

Muffled grunt. The door closed behind him.

When Dylan was younger, he’d been challenging because he’d been wounded by Mom’s abandonment, hungry for attention, in need of constant supervision, full of energy, and not in the least independent. But he’d been good company.

Now he didn’t want attention, didn’t require much supervision, had low energy, and was very independent. And Leah really, really missed his company.

Why was it so easy to focus on the difficulties that came with a specific phase of a relationship? As soon as that phase ended, you mourned the benefits.

“And you?” A roll in one hand, Rudy stretched his knife toward the butter dish. Tess moved the butter dish out of his reach. His attention swung to Leah. “Are you interested in dating any of the young men you know?”

“I’m not. No.”

“None of them has been tickling you?”

“Not a one.” Rudy wanted her to fall in love. Unsuccessfully, she’d explained to him that she was already married to her goal of achieving her PhD. That was the only thing she needed to keep her warm in bed on a cold night.

Tess and Rudy stayed for coffee, cookies (of which Tess allowed Rudy two), and a speed round of Scrabble (since Rudy’s bedtime was ten).

When they left, Leah waved them off from her dark front lawn, Rudy’s question echoing in her ears. “Are you interested in dating any of the young men you know?”

She’d thought about Sebastian Grant often over the past few days, because thinking about him caused delight to rumble within her like kernels of corn about to pop. At the Colemans’ party, he’d been very composed and controlled. Yet she’d felt the energy in him, pulsing under his skin. Behind his bland expressions, she sensed a tremendously sharp, alert mind. He was focused, but remote. Intelligent, but not open. Determined, but difficult for her to read.

There’d been a moment when he’d looked at her so directly that sensitivity had bloomed across her skin. When he’d told her about his mom’s death, she’d had a wayward, but powerful, urge to comfort him.