“She’ll have me,” Ellen said. “Plus Coop’s like her brother. And all the guys are scared of you, so no one will bother her.”

“Damn straight they’re scared of me,” he grumbled. “If I catch any of them with my daughter, I will let my fists do the talking.”

She tsked. “Violence? Is that the best you can come up with?”

“When it comes to Lissa, yes.”

They finished dinner and talked for another hour before he helped her clean up. Close to eight, she walked him to the front door.

“Thanks for listening,” he said, hugging her.

“Thanks for the info on Stanford. I’ll sleep easier tonight knowing I just might be able to pay for college.”

She looked up at him as she spoke. As always, her bangs were too long, almost touching her big eyes. She looked impossibly young—as if there was no way she could have a seventeen-year-old son. Only she’d been Lissa’s age when she’d gotten pregnant.

“You did a great job with your kid,” he told her.

“Thank you. Back at you.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t still in high school when she was born. And I had a wife.”

“I had my parents.”

“Hey, I’m trying to pay you a compliment here.”

“Sorry.” She smiled. “Thank you, Coach Kinne.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Fox.”

She laughed. “See you tomorrow.”

“Always.”

He walked toward his extended cab truck. Despite the hour, the sun still hadn’t set. This time of year, there was a ridiculous amount of daylight in the Pacific Northwest.

As he got behind the wheel, he glanced at the duplex where Ellen lived. She’d told him how when her parents had sold their house and moved to Palm Desert to retire, they’d given her enough money for a down payment on a house. She’d impressed them by buying a duplex instead, so she would have steady income to help her pay down the mortgage.

She’d confessed that she would have preferred a single-family home, but she’d known the duplex was the smarter decision. That was Ellen—always sensible and doing the right thing. She was a good friend, one he could depend on. In some ways, not counting Lissa, Ellen was the best relationship he’d ever had.

“Peter, my youngest, called last night,” Howard said, as he checked his toolbox. “His divorce is final. Maybe you’d like to meet him.”

Unity Leandre stared at the big dry-erase board mounted on the wall of her garage. It was divided into five columns, one for each day of the week. The jobs were listed on the day they would be done, with an arrival time next to them. Every morning she went over the jobs with her team and decided who would do what and how long it should take.

“She doesn’t want to go out with Peter,” Jerry said. “He’s what? In his forties?”

“Forty-five.”

“That’s too old for her. How old are you, Unity?”

“Thirty-four.”