Toby would have said Reggie couldn’t surprise him anymore, but he would have been wrong. In the thirty-six hours since she’d called him stupid and told him he was still in love with her, he’d been dealing with the ramifications of her verbal landslide, alternating between knowing her head injury was worse than the doctors thought and wondering if maybe she was right about him and them.

After dinner, Harrison went into the media room for his twice-a-week two hours of online games with his friends. Toby looked in on him to make sure he was playing the allowed game, then retreated to his office, where he told himself he was going to pay a few bills but knew instead he would be staring unseeingly at his computer screen while thinking about Reggie.

Had she nailed the problem? Was she the reason he’d never fallen in love with anyone else?

He thought about how he’d felt after leaving Wishing Tree and Washington State behind. He’d moved to Texas because it seemed like the kind of place where an eighteen-year-old running from his life could get lost. He’d made friends, he’d hooked up and he’d dated, but he’d never fallen in love. His relationship with Harrison’s mother had lasted nearly four months, and then he’d moved on without looking back.

He didn’t think there was anything wrong with him, nor did he not believe in love. He’d expected to find someone and settle down, but that hadn’t happened. He’d picked what he’d assumed was a safe choice instead. Lori.

Once he’d realized what she’d done, he’d vowed to never get involved until Harrison was old enough to take care of himself. A decision that had seemed sensible at the time but now felt more like...what? Giving up? Hiding? He didn’t have an answer. Worse, he didn’t like the question. He would rather think about Reggie. About her smile and her laugh. How even as she’d been fighting a head injury, she’d taken care of Harrison and Belle. He knew her. He’d always known her.

“Toby?”

He looked up and saw his grandmother in the doorway to his office. He was immediately on his feet.

“Judy, you don’t have to climb the stairs to talk to me. Just use the intercom. I’ll come right down.”

She smiled. “I try to take the stairs at least once a day. It’s good for me.”

He ushered her to the sofa and sat at the other end, angled toward her. As always, he could see that she was getting older. There were more wrinkles, and her hair was pure white. There was something about her walk these days. It was slower, and she was a little more bent.

“I’ve been going through old pictures,” she said, smiling at him. “Sorting them and labeling them.”