“Thanks for asking us to come to the wedding,” I said. “You know, just earlier Amanda was saying she needed to move on from the thing with Henry. She’s been trying to work on forgiving and letting go. A lot of it stems from her sister’s death, trying to move on from things and accept them. So I think that might be why she’s trying to see Blake in a different light. It’s healthier . . . to move on.”

“I know,” she said. “And I know her sister’s death still hurts. Why wouldn’t it? That probably makes her even more overprotective of Henry. Right? Besides being a new mom.”

“Sure. New parents are pretty overprotective. I am too.”

Sam leaned against the wall of the foyer and looked thoughtful, her arms crossed. “I remember when Amanda told me about her sister. It was tough for her to talk about, but I felt like we were closer after that. She’d shared something deep and personal with me. It means something when people share in that way.”

“She wouldn’t talk about that with just anyone,” I said. And it was true. Amanda distrusted sentimental feelings. She wouldn’t share something deeply personal like her sister’s death unless she really cared about the other person. “She values your friendship.”

“Ugh.” Sam shook her head. “Then Blake and the baby . . . that derailed everything. He loves kids, Ryan. He really does. He says he wants to have a houseful.”

“He always said that. Even in college.”

“I’ll call Amanda,” she said. “I will. She and I need to talk. I’m so glad to hear that she was open to Blake. That just . . . It makes my heart feel good. It really does. I hate negativity. That’s why I hate my own thoughts being negative. I’m going to shake it off. All of it. At the very least, we can all get together after the wedding.”

After the wedding . . .

To hear her making plans when she had no idea what Blake might have been involved in.

“Right,” I said. “And if you see him—I mean when you see him—will you tell him to call me? I’d really like to talk to him.”

Her smile returned in all its glory. “I will, Ryan.”

She stood in the door, waving, silhouetted by the warm light from inside the house, until I started the car and drove off.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Blake knew I was looking for him—how could he not? Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he didn’t want to talk to me.

Or Samantha.

So I drove home. It was after eleven when I pulled into the alley that led to our driveway, and I expected to see a darkened house, Amanda long asleep with the baby monitor on the bedside table.

What I saw instead made me slam on my brakes.