I pinch the bridge of my nose, anxiety pounding in my skull. “Bea said we needed to take a break, yes, but she had no sense of when that break would end. I told her that was a breakup. And when I pressed her to refute that, to make it make some kind of sense, she didn’t have an answer for me. So I left, and we haven’t spoken since. Which means . . . That is, I don’t think . . .” Sighing, I scrub my face. “We broke up. She didn’t tell you that?”

“I think she told me what she wanted me to hope for . . . perhaps what she’s still hoping herself.” Her hand lands softly on my arm, its heat seeping through my sweater. She’s so different from my mother. So warm and maternal. She tips her head again, as if reading my thoughts.

“Whatever’s happened between you two, I think you should talk,” she says. “I’m no expert, but I’ve picked up on a few things since marrying Bill. He and I are very different people who don’t often communicate the same way, and we used to let that come between us. But we’ve learned it’s the things that went unsaid, rather than the things we did say, that have hurt the most over the years. Once we talked, every time, it was always better, even if it took a little while.”

I nod somberly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“And you know, you can confide in Christopher, too.”

“Ah. Well.” I frown down at my scone. “Yes, I suppose. I’m just not very . . . practiced at that.”

She nods. “Neither is he, but you both would benefit from a good close friendship. He’s an only child, you see. His parents passed when he was younger, so we’re his family. The people he loves, his friends, they’re his family. That’s why he’s hurting so keenly for Juliet. That’s why I think he could use a friend like you. He speaks very highly of you. I know he considers you a friend already. When we’re hurting, we need to lean on our friendships.”

Before I can respond, Christopher rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Hey, West.” He briskly washes his hands, then dries them. I stand and shake his hand when he offers it. “How are you?”

“All right enough, I suppose. And you?”

“Same. And what about you?” he says to Maureen, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling coyly. “You badgering him? Meddling? Making mischief?”

She swats him away. “I’m serving scones and clotted cream, is what I’m doing.”

“Mm-hmm.” He eyes her suspiciously.

“And now that I’ve made my delivery, I’ll be on my way.”

“Stay for coffee,” he says, pointing to the fancy machine behind him. “I can make you literally anything you want.”