We share a weak smile. This is probably the best place we’ll ever get to, and I’m suddenly glad we’re here.

And grateful to Rachel for helping me get here.

“Bye, little dude,” I tell Justin, who has quit being mad about my leaving and buried his face in his mom’s shirt. That was quick. Luckily, babies are resilient.

Back at the truck, I say, “thank you,” to Rachel.

“What for?”

“For making me do the right thing by Justin instead of sulking about how Zoë screwed me over. I still wish Justin were mine, but I’d rather be his fun uncle than no one in his life.”

She smiles at me. “You’re a really good fun uncle.”

I think of what she said earlier, that I would make a good father. When she said it, I let myself, for a split second, imagine a different scene. The two of us, on a boat, with a child. Our child. And then I pushed it out of my head.

I start the truck. “I’m going to take a spin by the farmer’s market and pick up a few things for dinner.”

“Can we make a stop first? By my house? There are a few things I want to grab. If you’re doing dinner, I want to be in charge of dessert.”

“Sure.”

We make a quick run by the Perez homestead, and she emerges with a plastic shopping bag from Rush to Read Books, which she tucks into the side map pocket.

I eye the bag. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re making?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just going to say that I know you’ll like it.”

“Okay.”

We stop by the farmer’s market and I grab a bottle of local wine, a six-pack of my favorite local brew, and some salad makings. Then we head back to my place.

I unload the vegetables onto the kitchen counter, pull out a stool for Rachel to sit on, and pour her a glass of wine.

She’s obviously not used to watching someone else cook, because she can’t stand to not be helping. She keeps reaching for the knife, the measuring cup, whatever I happen to be holding. “Let me do that.”

“Just sit there and look pretty,” I say, and she blushes. “All those times your mom or your grandmoms cooked for me? This is nothing.”

She smiles at that.

“They came for those long visits in the summer.”

“Months.” Her smile turns wistful. “That was after they retired. Those were my favorite times of year. But you and Connor hated it.”

“Because there were three times as many adults riding our asses and catching us doing destructive shit.”

She laughs. “Too true.”

“But your mom always seemed happier when they were here.”

She nods. “Totally. And also weirdly more frazzled.”