“It was,” I say, a smile crossing my face as I remember. I take the tomato and begin to slice, avoiding eye contact with my son. “Soon. I just didn’t want to seem like I was rushing things.” I look up at him. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I know,” he says. “I appreciate that. Don’t get mad at me for asking, but do you think you might be rushing things? I mean, the divorce, the job, the inn, the renovation, the grand opening...and a boyfriend?”

I finish slicing the tomato, thinking of the right thing to say. Nothing comes.

“Probably,” I say, placing slices of tomato on top of the turkey breast. “Believe me, I’ve questioned and second-guessed myself more than a victim in a Lifetime movie.” I stop and look at Evan. “But it feels right. It feels nice to feel good again...to feel young again...to feel happy again.”

Evan nods. “I bet,” he says. “Good for you. And I want you to know I’m okay with it, really. I just want you to be happy.” He grabs his sandwich and shoves it in his mouth, taking a monstrous bite. “I mean, it’s way better than seeing your potential new stepmother on campus.”

“Now that would be a Lifetime movie,” I say with a laugh. I take my sandwich and head toward the patio as Evan polishes his off without a plate. “Grab another one and join me.”

We take a seat and Evan looks around. “This is beautiful, Mom,” he says. “I still can’t believe all that you’ve done in such a short time.” He takes a bite of his second sandwich. “You should be so proud. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, honey,” I say, my heart in my throat. “It’s so good to have you home. I can’t believe you’re going to be here for the summer. I need the help.”

Evan laughs. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, taking a bite of my sandwich. “But it’s true. How were finals?”

“Good, I think,” he says. “I feel like I did really well. Grades should post in a week or so.” Evan finishes his sandwich and downs a bottle of water. “How did your first weekend go?”

I fill him in on more of the details—save for the information about his father—and he leans forward, enraptured by the stories.

“Well, I hope I can take some of the pressure off,” he says. “When do the next guests arrive?”

“I have a few midweek guests, but the inn is booked again for this weekend.”

“Wow,” Evan says, reaching over to pull a piece of crust off my sandwich and feeding it to Sonny. “That’s great.”

“It’s my first women’s weekend,” I say.

“That sounds ominous,” he says with a laugh. “Is it okay for a man to be here?”