I swiveled my head experimentally, relieved to find that the pounding ache had eased quite a bit, though I still felt sludgy and a little green around the gills.

“How is your brother?” Linden’s twin and I hadn’t been close, but I had fond memories of him as a quiet, wiry boy with an exceptionally sweet smile, doctoring sparrow fledglings with bent wings and smuggling barn kittens into his bedroom. “Still trying to heal every fallen bird and stray he can find?”

“Pretty much. He actually took over for our dad as barn vet last year.”

Before she could continue, a baby-faced server raced over with a coffeepot and ice water, thirsty for a tip on a slow morning. A cursory glance at the menu confirmed that Angelina’s offerings hadn’t changed much since I was last here. After he took our order, I pulled the chilly glass closer and took a long sip, raising my eyebrows at Lin.

“Does that mean Aspen’s officially retired?”

“Nah, he’s just pulled back from daily operations a little. Calls it his semiretirement. He still oversees most of the orchard logistics with me, though, what with him being too damn obstinate to actually take it easy a day in his life. Mama and Lark are good, too, always asking after you.”

I smiled at the thought of Linden’s stately mother, Gabrielle, who’d basically been my third parent, and her exuberant little sister.

“And what about you?” I gave her a meaningful look. “The romance updates have grown alarmingly sparse of late. How am I supposed to keep my friendship card current without knowing who’s attending to my bestie’s carnal needs?”

Lin nibbled on the inside of her cheek, giving me an uncharacteristically restrained twitch of a smile. “Not that much to report, really. Just taking a little step back from dating, kind of a break. Focusing on myself instead, and prioritizing work.”

I squinted at her, bemused. Linden was one of the most energetic daters I’d ever met, a devout believer in the idea that the pursuit of love was ultimately a numbers game, a lottery you were bound to win as long as you maximized your entries. The idea of her “taking a step back” from putting herself out there felt fundamentally wrong, as if the entire universe had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

“I find that . . . a little challenging to believe, Lins,” I said, striving for tact. “Seeing as you’ve never taken a break from dating the entire time I’ve known you, which is your whole life. You were dating in the third grade—or must I remind you of Tommy Giacomo, of the Bieber hair and worm-collecting habit verging on life-ruining addiction?”

She laughed a little at that, still avoiding my eyes. “I did start pretty damn early, didn’t I? Guess it was past time for burnout.”

I examined her more closely as she busied herself with her water glass, drawing little doodles in the condensation. There was a new cloudiness to her, a watercolor wash of sadness I couldn’t quite reconcile with the relentlessly upbeat sunrise of a person with whom I’d shared a childhood and young adulthood. It was true that our correspondence had felt a little flat over the past few months, but I’d ascribed it to an organic growing apart. The settling in of a natural and healthy distance, as our friendship evolved by necessity into something less intimate than one based on shared experiences.