“Have you been eating like this the entire time I’ve been away?”

There was a pause. “Maybe.”

I heard my mother make a sound of irritation. “Give me that.” More noises followed, including plates and cutlery and the refrigerator door opening.

“This is why you have high cholesterol,” she continued.

“Some of that’s good cholesterol,” he countered.

“Not as much as you think.” The refrigerator alarm started to softly ping. “Do you want turkey or tuna fish?”

“The turkey’s for tomorrow.”

“There’s a ton here, they won’t miss enough for one sandwich.”

“I’m not telling Mrs. Buzzard.”

“Chicken.” She sounded teasing. “And if you say—”

“She’s a Buzzard, not a chicken!”

Oh, Dad.

“Oh, Skip.”

The alarm kept pinging. It carried a surprising distance for something that’s intended to be subtle.

“There,” Mom said. “I covered it up. No one will be the wiser.”

I heard the fridge door close. More cutlery noises.

“Where do you suppose she is?” Dad asked. “Mom said they talked hours ago.”

“Jo told me she wasn’t upset.”

“Like we knew she wouldn’t be.”

“I wish Jo had listened to us earlier.”

“Everyone’s gotta come to their decisions in their own way.”

Mom’s tone dropped. “I agree.” And I knew they weren’t talking about my grandmother anymore.

“Do you?”

“Yes, Skip. I told you so. You’re the one who’s been keeping me away. I had one moment of confusion, of wondering what it would be like to be somewhere else. And then I realized I wanted to come home. I feel like you’re punishing me.”

“I’m not. I promise. I promise.” Quiet for several beats, then Dad said, “It’s really coming down out there.”

“I’ve texted her twice. Did you text her?”

“No. I figured yours were enough.” All sounds of sandwich-making ceased. A long beat of silence. “I’ll text her.”

The text notification on my phone—a bell—went off. Loudly. I bit my lip. Oh, look. I did have two outstanding texts from my mom. And now one from my dad.

“Finley?”

Busted. Dammit.

I came around the corner and plastered on a smile. “Hey.”

Mom was at the center island with, as expected, a loaf of multigrain bread, turkey, lettuce, and tomato. Dad was tidying up behind her. It felt remarkably normal. Except they were in the inn’s kitchen because Dad had moved into a cottage.

“Where have you been?” Mom demanded as soon as she saw me.

“I went for a walk and wound up at Brody’s house.”

Mom frowned. “By yourself?”

Dad scowled. “In the snow?”

I directed my first reply to Mom. “Ayisha drove me back.” And my second reply to Dad. “It only started snowing twenty minutes ago.”

Dad pointed to the window over the sink where thick white flurries of snow flew past, visible despite the interior lighting. “It’s really coming down out there.”