“You had two small sips.”

“I’ve always been a cheap drunk.”

He relaxes against the railing too, and we watch as the tip of the sun disappears behind the hill in the distance, although its color lingers across the sky.

“I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything,” he says. “I won’t always have answers, or necessarily have the right words to say. But I’m here, if you need to talk.”

I swallow hard. “Thanks.”

He looks straight ahead and it seems to take an effort to say his next words. “I may not know what it’s like to be terminally ill…”

“Which is a good thing.”

“Yes. But I do know what it’s like to watch someone you love die.”

I turn my face sideways to look at him, but he keeps staring straight ahead.

“Who?”

“My mother.”

“When?”

“Nearly twenty years ago. I was fourteen.”

I lay a hand gently on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Was it…?” I hold my breath, scared of the answer.

“Cancer? Yes. Pancreatic. She put off going to the doctor for a long time, even though she didn’t feel right. She never said anything to my father or me, though, only mentioned it afterwards. She always put our needs first. Then she was brushed off time and time again, so by the time she was officially diagnosed it was all through her and she went downhill quickly. She died just under six weeks later.”

“Oh my God. James, that’s terrible.” My heart breaks to see the depth of sadness and grief on his face, and I feel a deep, bone-numbing sadness for what he must have been through, losing his mum so young and so horribly. “What was she like?” I ask, then add quickly, “I mean, only if you want to talk about her. I understand if you don’t.”

“She was great,” he answers wistfully. “The best mother I could have asked for. You would have liked her.” He turns his whole body so he is facing me. “She had the same optimism and joy for life that I see in you.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

We are standing so close I can hear him breathing. It quickens, and I wonder if he is feeling as nervous as I am. He leans forward, bending his head, and I realize he is about to kiss me.

There is a polite cough. “Excuse me, sir, are you ready for the next course?”

James squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head sardonically. “This guy has the lousiest timing,” he whispers.

“No arguments here.”

Chapter Thirty

The early sun on my face wakes me. Last night, I fell asleep with the doors wide open, the Milky Way my nightlight. Rolling over in bed, I stretch gingerly, open one eye, and smile. It wasn’t all a dream. I really am here, in this tree house, having the most wonderful experience of my life.

After making myself a cup of green tea with lemon, I wander out to the deck to watch the sunrise. There is a hanging egg chair and a couple of lounge chairs, and although I like the idea of curling into the egg chair, I worry I may have difficulty getting back out, so I choose the lounge chair, curling up on the cream-colored cushions.