Continue reading for a special preview of Nan Fischer’s next novel.

A woman faces an uncertain future when she unearths the story behind the man who designed her antique engagement ring and feels inexplicably drawn to him . . .

I walk into the house with Lucy in my arms and hope Hayden thinks she’s cute and small. “Do you mind?” I ask. We’re already fostering Blueboy, a shepherd mix that occasionally pees on the hardwood floors, and Samson, a blind tabby. “The family that was going to adopt Lucy changed their minds. She has a bad hip and needs a few days of extra TLC.”

“Well then, let’s build a ramp so Lucy can easily get into the yard,” Hayden offers.

I kiss him. “Have I told you lately you’re the best?” We head into the backyard shop and Hayden turns on the table saw he bought at a garage sale, cuts a three-by-six-foot plank from a sheet of plywood then nails on thin strips of wood for cleats. Together we carry the ramp to the back steps. Blueboy bounds out the dog door Hayden recently put in and clatters down the ramp.

I hear the click of Lucy’s nails as she approaches, dig a treat from my pocket and hold it on the other side of the door. A pink nose pokes through the split plastic flap, then her head pops out. Slowly Lucy emerges, perches at the top of the ramp, entire body shaking as she stares down it. I break off a piece of the treat then wait until she creeps forward, repeating the process until she’s hobbled all the way to the grass.

“Way to go!” Hayden cheers then sneezes three times.

Lucy wanders in a yard that was once xeriscaped but is now covered in grass and fenced. Hayden even put in a buddleia bush for the foster cats—they’re always fascinated with the butterflies drawn to the purple blooms. These are the things my best friend, Mars, doesn’t see—that my boyfriend supports my love of animals despite his allergies. He fenced in his yard soon after I moved in and he screened the back porch for Samson, so she could feel like she was outside but stay safe. Plus, he’s refused to sell to the developers who want to build a fourplex on his land, no matter how much they offer. His shop and the yard are more important to Hayden than the money.

“We better get going on dinner,” Hayden says.

It’s game night at Delilah’s, so we’re making a quick pasta carbonara. I’ve learned that this dish is all about timing. Hayden already has the water almost boiling and the dough balls are on the counter. “I’ve got this.” I roll the balls flat like Hayden taught me then run them through the old-fashioned pasta machine to make fettuccini.

“You’re a pro,” Hayden says.

I pretend to be knowledgeable by parroting him. “It’s easy once you understand that the key to great pasta is the right flours. I find that half wheat, half cake flour makes the pasta more delicate.”