“We should get together. You know.” She shrugged. “Dinner? A movie? An outing somewhere? Let’s hang out. It’ll be good for both of us.”

Her words were a blur. “Okay. Sure. Thank you, Sarah.”

“I have to run. I’m going to Long Island for a conference. I’m presenting a workshop on kinship care. So maybe when I get back.”

He had to drag his eyes off the envelopes. “Um, that’s great. Good for you, Sarah. About the workshop.”

She smiled. “Thanks. See you next week, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. Bringing these to me.”

A wave of grief rippled across her face. “Anything for her,” she said, her voice growing husky.

He hadn’t been much of a friend to Sarah since Lauren died. But she’d been there for him a hundred percent, and for Lauren, too. If he did see her next week, he’d try to remember to ask about the conference, her presentation. He’d try to be a better friend.

He leaned in for an awkward hug, bumping his chin against her cheek. She smelled nice. Clean and . . . outdoorsy. Not like Lauren, but still nice. He didn’t like a lot of perfumes or scented soaps, aside from his wife’s. But Sarah smelled . . . pretty. “Take care. Have a good trip.”

“Thanks,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. Then she turned and went down the stairs.

She was good-looking. He’d never really recognized that before, but she was, and it was . . . it was oddly nice to notice. Blond and tall where Lauren had been a redhead and smaller. Attractive, when Lauren had been stunning. To him, anyway. The most beautiful woman in any room, anywhere, anytime.

Time to read what she had to say.

The past two months had taught him to savor this, because as many times as he might reread the letter, the first time was always the best. He would do it right this time.

First, he took Pebbles out for an easy walk. He came back inside, fed the dog her supper and got himself a glass of water.

Then, because the drizzle had cleared and it had become one of those perfect May evenings, he took the letter up to the rooftop garden, avoiding the edge. A seagull was perched on the post, staring into the distance. The spatters of white on the deck said it was a favorite hangout. “Get out of here,” Josh said. “Shoo.”

The bird didn’t even glance at him.

“Seagull. Beat it.” Pebbles cocked her head, amused. “Do something, Pebs,” he said. She wagged her tail and seemed to smile at the bird.

Fine. Josh wasn’t about to go to the edge, and the bird seemed to know it.

He sat on a chaise longue solidly in the middle of the roof. Pebbles leaped up neatly next to him and curled into a ball.