“After the day I had, I’m asking myself that question,” Natalie admitted. “I’m heading over to visit Tess for some tea and sympathy.”

“I don’t like tea,” Ollie said. “What’s sympathy taste like?”

Natalie laughed and ruffled his hair, then got back in the car. “Like a melted marshmallow with chocolate sauce.”

“Maybe we’ll have that for dessert tonight,” Jamie said. They stood together on the porch and waved goodbye.

As she regarded Jamie and her child, Natalie couldn’t help but see how happy they were together. Every once in a while, she thought about kids and felt a tug of yearning. All in good time, she told herself.

She and Rick had once talked about kids. Correction: Rick had talked about kids. She’d listened. And doubted. They hadn’t brought it up again.

En route to Tess’s, other doubts crept in. Was Tess her friend, or had she taken Natalie in like a stray cat? After what she’d overheard at work, Natalie wasn’t so sure anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything.

Turning at the signs for Rossi Vineyards and Angel Creek Winery, she followed the long gravel lane. Like Natalie, Tess Delaney Rossi had been raised by a single mother and had been living in San Francisco before moving to Archangel. Yet unlike Natalie, Tess had settled in the small town to marry, following her heart, not a career.

Natalie parked in front of the rustic farmhouse where Tess lived with her husband, kids, stepkids, and two rescued dogs—an aging, pointy-nosed Italian greyhound and a hulking mutt that was part akita and part Wookiee, as far as anyone knew. The dogs were lolling deliberately in the middle of the walkway between the driveway and house.

Tess came out to greet her. She wore her red hair pulled back in a scarf and a grape-stained work apron tied over her clothes.

“Hey, Nat,” she called. “Thought you’d like to join us for happy hour.”

“Sounds heavenly. Thanks.”

“Dominic and the kids are all out back. Big harvest day for our little vineyard.” With a gesture, Tess led the way to a sunny spot beside a large shed. The harvest team unloaded the crates of just-picked grapes and dumped them on the long, stainless steel sorting table. At one end, the table vibrated, eliminating unripe or rotten grapes. At the opposite end, the grapes moved along a conveyor for destemming.

The family gathered around, sorting the grapes by hand, laughing and talking as the juice stained everything it touched.

She took in the sight of kids and dogs running around; Tess’s whistling husband; the older children helping Dominic with practiced skill. It all seemed so normal, a family having fun just being together.

“Hey, everybody,” she said.

“Hey, yourself,” said Dominic. “Welcome to Friday night at Angel Creek.”