‘‘Me, too!’’ Aubrey scrambled up and raced ahead. By the time her mother caught up, she was sprawled on the floor, intently creating a purple giraffe.

‘‘That’s her color this week,’’ Grace commented. Automatically she went to the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of lemonade she’d made. ‘‘She tends to settle on one until she wears the crayon down to a nub, then she picks another.’’

Her hand froze on the glass she’d been about to take from a cupboard. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she said stiffly. ‘‘I wasn’t thinking.’’

Anna set her bag down. ‘‘About what?’’

‘‘Making myself at home in your kitchen.’’

Aha, Anna thought, there was the problem. Two women, one house. They were both a little uneasy about the situation. She took a plump tomato from the bag, examined it, then set it on the counter. Next year she was going to try to grow her own.

‘‘You know what I liked about this house from the first time I stepped into the kitchen? It’s the kind of place where it’s easy to make yourself at home. I wouldn’t want that to change.’’

She continued to unload her bag, setting carefully chosen vegetables on the counter.

Grace had to bite her tongue to keep from mentioning that Ethan didn’t care for mushrooms when Anna set a bag of them beside the peppers.

‘‘It’s your home now,’’ Grace said slowly. ‘‘You’ll want to tend to it your own way.’’

‘‘That’s true. And I am thinking of making some changes. Would you mind pouring that lemonade? It looks wonderful.’’

Here it comes, Grace thought. Changes. She poured two glasses, then took the plastic cup from the counter to fill for Aubrey. ‘‘Here, honey, now don’t spill.’’

‘‘Aren’t you going to ask me what changes?’’ Anna wondered.

‘‘It’s not my place.’’

‘‘When did we get to have places?’’ Anna demanded with just enough annoyance to put Grace’s back up.

‘‘I work for you—for the time being, anyway.’’

‘‘If you’re about to tell me you’re quitting you’re really going to spoil my day. I don’t care how much progress women have made, if I’m alone in this house with four men, I’ll end up doing ninety percent of the housework. Maybe not at first,’’ she continued, pacing now, ‘‘but that’s just how it’ll end up. It won’t matter that I have a full-time job on top of it, either. Cam hates housework, and he’ll do anything he can to get out of it. Ethan’s neat enough, but he has a habit of making himself scarce. And Seth, well, he’s ten, so that says it all. Phillip only lives here on weekends, and he’ll make the argument that he didn’t make the mess in the first place.’’

She whirled back. ‘‘Are you telling me you’re quitting?’’