“No more love for you, Mr. Masters,” I replied. “You know he looked Will up online, right?” That would get Grayson back on my side.

He swore, and I lifted a corner of my lips in a slight smirk. It felt good to be right.

“If he’s that into you, I can’t really blame him. If I’d thought someone stood between Sam and me? I wouldn’t have stopped at a Google search.”

“Traitor.” My eyes narrowed.

“That’s my man.” Sam’s smile was contagious, and I found myself shaking my head with a slight scoff of a laugh.

In truth, the only reason I hadn’t googled Jackson’s ex was because I didn’t want to know anything about her or anyone who could walk away from their family the way she had.

The creak of a door opening sounded from the laptop, and a muffled voice came over the speaker.

“Shit. I have to go, baby. I love you.”

“I love you,” she replied. “Be safe, okay?”

“Always,” he answered.

Then he was gone.

Sam shut the laptop, then held it to her chest as her head fell to the back of the couch. “I miss him so damned much.”

“I know you do. I’m sorry.” I closed my book, then scooted so that I sat next to her. “What do you want to do today? We can do anything you want.” I’d already listened to this week’s recording of the Will story and rewarded myself with a trip to Christina’s shop, where I’d spent an hour looking at all the gorgeous sea-glass necklaces she had, so my day was wide open.

“Anything?” Sam asked, her eyes sad as she stared up at the new, swirling ceiling fan.

“Anything,” I assured her.

She sat up and put the laptop on the coffee table. “Good! Because I want you to stop wallowing and go talk to Jackson.”

“Anything but that.” I got off the couch and abandoned my copy of To The Lighthouse on the table.

“Come on, Morgan. You’re miserable. You’ve been miserable for the past week! I’ve given you time to process, but now you’re just stewing, and I’m not going to sit here silently while you push him away.” She followed me as I headed toward the kitchen. It was the next major renovation.

“News flash. I’ve been miserable for the past two years,” I fired back. Next week it would be exactly two years, and though I tried not to think about the approaching date, it lingered in my mind every possible minute. “And it’s not like we have some relationship that I’m losing. He’s just a guy who lives next door.” I got out two glasses and set them on the counter. “Tea?”

“Only if it’s sweet,” she replied, leaning back against the Formica.