“Here, let me see that now.” Justine took the ice bag, gave Hope’s cheek a study. “That ought to do it.”

“It’s fine. Really. It was just such a shock. And I just stood there. You’d have slapped her back.”

“Oh, honey, I’d have knocked her on her skinny ass. But that’s me. You’re made different. I’m going to make that tea now.”

“Thank you.”

“Part of the package.” Back in the kitchen she put the kettle on, poked around until she found Hope’s collection of tea. She chose jasmine, a personal favorite.

“Now I’m going to apologize.”

“You?” Hope swiped at a few lingering tears. “Why?”

“For my son. He should have been the one to come up here, give you a shoulder, listen, lecture, and make you tea.”

The smile came as a welcome relief. “He’d have hated it.”

“So what? Women have men leaving the toilet seat up, or not watching their aim after one too many beers. We deal with it. He retreats from tears, and always has. The other two handle them okay, but not Ry. If you slice your finger off, he’s your man. But cry about it, he’s gone.”

“I don’t hold it against him.”

“Me, I like a man who’ll sop up a few tears, as long as the woman doesn’t blubber every time she gets that paper cut. I’m not going to ask if you want my advice. You’d say yes even though nobody really wants advice. So I’m just going to give it to you. See that he listens to you. Feelings need to be expressed, Hope. They aren’t always understood the way people like to assume.”

She poured hot water over the tea bag in the cup. “He’s a good man, like I said. A clever one. Smart, hardworking, and he tells the truth whether you like it or not. If he’s not going to tell the truth, he doesn’t say anything. He’s got a sweet side that doesn’t always show, and a surly one that too often does.”

She brought the tea to Hope, angled her head. “And he’s never been serious about a woman in his life. He respects them, enjoys them, appreciates them, and he’s always been careful to keep his feet right under him. He’s slipping some with you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“No, I’m not . . . Do you think so?”

“I do. He’s going to send you flowers, and he’s going to hope the storm’s passed by the time he comes around.” She bent down, kissed the top of Hope’s head. “Don’t let him get away with it. Now you drink that tea, take a little time for yourself.”

“Thanks. Thank you, Justine.”