“Want to walk a bit?” he said after a minute, tipping his chin up toward the shoreline.

She nodded, grateful for the suggestion, and they both stood—Nora brushing her sand-coated palms across the front of her jeans, Will shaking out his jacket. She was still thinking over what to say when they reached the shoreline, a cool wind blowing off the water that had her crossing her arms over her chest.

“Here,” Will said, and settled his jacket over her shoulders.

And like that—with that warm and perfect weight enveloping her, Will’s scent close and soothing—something inside her eased, shook free. It felt like that night two weeks ago, in her bed: the golden-hour perfection of those first few minutes of conversation they’d had, before things had turned so fraught and sad.

Before he’d gone, and before she’d got to thinking.

“Mostly it’s about the towel rod,” she blurted, which was maybe not that ideal thought to have shake free first. Then again, maybe it was. The towel rod was simple, specific. A change, but nothing drastic. Nonna, she was sure, would support it.

“The . . . what?”

She cleared her throat, reaching up to gather Will’s jacket tighter around her. There, that was better. “The towel rod that you put in your bathroom?”

“Yeah, I remember. But why—?”

“I want one of those. It’d be nice to have one, so I’m going to put one in.”

Even to her own ears, it sounded overly sharp, full of the same strained, nervous conviction she’d needed to get herself to come here today. You’re going to put the address into your phone, she’d told herself. You’re going to drive there, without getting lost, and you’re going to say thank you.

He stopped, and after a step she did, too, turning back to face him. When they’d gotten here, the light was a bright, stunning pink-orange, but now it was nearly dark, the planes of Will’s face lit by the harbor lights in the distance.

“Is this really about the towel rod?” he asked, with his doubtful doctor face on.

It’s about you, she thought, blinking down at the sand, at the soft lapping of the water that stopped short of her feet. It’s about what you told me, and how it made me see things differently. Donny’s apartment, Nonna’s apartment.

Instead, she shrugged and said, “It’s about settling in, I guess. I’ve lived there for a while now, and I’ve been so busy. I think I’m starting to notice that there’s a few things I could do to make things more—”

Mine, her brain supplied automatically, but it felt wrong to say it. Disloyal.

“Convenient,” she finished.