They were quiet again for a moment. Sutton stared at the ceiling of the porch. “We need to repaint those boards before the baby comes. In a couple of weeks, we’re going to be up all night and day and—”

Ethan leaned down and kissed her. Ran his hand along her palm. Kissed the scar, white now, thick and twisted and shiny, from where the knife had slipped that horrible night. She’d been marked, in so many ways.

“The ceiling will wait. I’ll need something to do to get me out of tour.”

“You can’t get out of tour, and you know it. The book is too important. It’s too good. It’s going to change lives, Ethan.”

“It’s changed ours, and that’s all that matters to me.”

They’d talked about it before, his book, the one that would change lives. She truly thought it could. It was searing, honest, real. The reviews were already insanely good. There was talk of Pulitzers and National Book Awards.

To his credit, Ethan had done his best to ignore them. Oh, a spark of pride popped up now and again, but Sutton knew—hoped—it was more a function of profound relief that he’d managed to write another book, and that she had loved every word.

Ethan set aside the novel he was reading. “How is your book coming? You haven’t said much about it this week.”

She sighed, a happy sound. “I finished the last scene this morning. I think I can move to the epilogue now.”

Ethan’s smile was huge. “Honey, that’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Holly called and I got sidetracked. I’ve only remembered now. Pregnancy brain.”

“What did our favorite detective want?”

“She’s going to stop by tonight. Said she has a surprise.”

“I hope it involves wine.”

“I hope it involves food.”

Holly Graham, their new best friend. She’d nearly died for them, had spent two weeks in a coma, her frightened parents hovering over her like birds on the nest. When she’d woken up, all of Middle Tennessee had cheered. It took her a solid month in the hospital, multiple surgeries, and setbacks, but when she was cleared to leave, she insisted on doing it under the cover of darkness, ostensibly so no one could see her limp. Sutton and Ethan knew the truth. She didn’t want to be lauded as a hero. She loved her job, and was grateful she’d be able to return to it.

It didn’t matter. Word leaked. She’d walked out of the hospital, hand on her cane, to a massive crowd of well-wishers and media. When she waved to the cameras, the crowd shouted in happiness.