Kate stepped aside, averting her eyes. “Do you mind?” She pulled her own bundle of clothing into her chest as she passed.

“Nope.” His tone was uncharacteristically sharp.

Kate stopped, ready to return and ask him what was wrong. But when she heard the unmistakable whoosh of the towel dropping to the rug, she darted into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Eleven

Eleven

Every relationship you try on won’t fit. Don’t try to squeeze into it. Put it back on the rack and look for a better fit.

—Excerpt from Finding Mr. Right-for-You by Dr. Kate

Lucas watched his mom and Kate cut across the beach, their bare feet kicking up sand, their evening shadows stretching behind them. He hoped his mom behaved herself.

The warm breeze ruffled the corners of the newspaper in his lap as he thought over the past two weeks. He’d enjoyed having Kate around, grown used to it. It felt good seeing evidence of her presence in his house. Her robe on a hook behind the door. Her toiletries a neat row in the medicine cabinet. Her shoes lined up by color inside the closet. He didn’t see the point in that one, but whatever.

There’d been a learning curve too. Earlier that week, she’d exited the bathroom, a look of strained patience lining her lips. “I appreciate that you shaved, but would you mind rinsing out the sink since we only have the one?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She hadn’t mentioned the wet towels until the third morning and by then they were a knee-high blue pile in the corner.

What was it with Kate and order? It was like a god she worshipped. Why did everything have to be perfect?

Lucas opened the Mirror and shook his head. It did tickle him to watch confusion shadow her face when he cooked. He’d thought everyone dumped the whole package of bacon into the frying pan until he’d seen the way she’d done it, one tedious strip at a time, all neat and tidy.

The woman kept a record of her workouts, for crying out loud. He’d looked at the clipboard one day after she’d exercised, made notes, and disappeared into the shower. She marked the miles, the speed, the incline, and the time she’d walked, down to the minute.

But as much as her librarian ways amused him, he wondered what had her so tightly wound. She lived as if life could be boiled down to one big list. As if by keeping everything in order, somehow she could control things.

You’d think she’d have learned by now that some things were beyond control. If Lucas hadn’t known that before Emily’s death, he knew it now.