“And to have this.” She ran a finger over the heart made of sea glass that had been tumbled and tossed by storms and waves until all the pieces had landed safely on this shore, the sharp edges and imperfections scoured away. “And also to have the happy ending they never had.” She motioned toward the small dormer window at the front of the house that looked out over the forest. “This would be perfect in the east window.”

“I agree.” He took it from her, set it against the wall beside the bed, and rejoined her. “We have much to be grateful for today.”

“I agree.”

And not only for themselves. There were happy endings all around.

Beth and Steve had begun adoption proceedings for Noah. Jack’s latest novel was finished and turned in. Hannah had settled into her new life here—even to the point of calling Jack “Dad.” Tasha had her restaurant. The chamber of commerce had created a part-time special events coordinator position for her, and Beth was talking about a partnership in Eye of the Beholder.

Best of all, she had Jack.

Today and for always.

Life didn’t get any better than this.

“So do you want to eat—or delay that gratification a bit while we celebrate our latest blessing?” The gold flecks in Jack’s dark brown irises turned molten.

No contest.

“Why don’t you move the tray and we’ll discuss it?”

He whisked their breakfast away, returned in a flash, and tugged her close as a yellow-rumped warbler outside the window welcomed the new day in song and sunbeams danced across the sheets.

She went to him willingly, no longer in the least hungry. Because she was satisfied at the deepest possible level—in her heart and her soul.

And as he wrapped her in his arms and told her with every lingering touch, every gentle stroke, every tender caress, how much she meant to him, she gave thanks.

For despite the long and winding road they’d both traveled to find each other again in this tiny town on the Oregon coast, they’d at last reached their destination.

It was called home.

Sneak Peek of the Triple Threat Series Conclusion

Someone was in the mortuary prep room.

Someone besides her and the body in the cooler, awaiting tomorrow’s autopsy.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

Forensic pathologist Grace Reilly set aside the police report on seventy-six-year-old Mavis Templeton and cocked her ear.

Silence.

She waited, straining to pick up another out-of-place sound.

Only the drip of the leaky faucet, the hum of refrigeration from the cooler, and the squeak of the desk chair as she leaned forward broke the stillness.

There was no one here.

And she shouldn’t be either.

There were better places for a thirty-year-old single woman to hang out at nine o’clock on Friday night than a funeral home in rural Missouri.