I’m able to be still, drifting between the past and present, not allowing any one thing to stick with me other than the visceral sense of my surroundings then and now. It is a quiet, peaceful place, but only briefly. Heavy thoughts soon creep in, and I must get up and move once again. It’s okay, though. I’m getting things done, building myself back up with each little accomplishment.

After May died, I spent weeks doing nothing. I wasn’t sure I would ever feel the will to get out of bed and get back to life. I didn’t know how to live without my sister. It was as if the moon had suddenly disappeared from the world and I was expected to create my own orbit cycle, control the tides, and know when it was night and when it was day. Being back here has given me new purpose and in a way has brought me back to May. I feel closer to her here, as though she’s all around me.

Standing in front of the open fridge, I peer in at the limited collection of food I’ve curated. For the first time in a long time, I’m actually hungry. Hard work and a day outside are good for the appetite, my mother always used to say, even though I rarely saw her consume more than cocktails and cigarettes.

There’s not much to put together for a nice dinner—just cold cuts, cheese, some raw vegetables, and a tub of dip. It looks like I planned for a picnic, not multiple nights at the cottage. I’ve just resigned myself to a tuna fish sandwich for dinner when I hear footsteps on the verandah.

“Hello? June?” Ezra calls through the screen door.

“Come in,” I answer, leaving the kitchen to greet him.

As he steps into the cottage, I’m again shocked by his good looks. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to grown-up Ezra. He’s wearing worn jeans with a brown leather belt and a blue T-shirt that glows against his tanned skin and deepens the color of his eyes. His dark hair is messy from the boat ride, and he clearly doesn’t make shaving a priority, but on him it works—really well. I have to force my mind not to be illicit just looking at him.

He has a six-pack of beer in one hand and two grocery bags in the other. “I brought dinner.” He holds everything up and smiles. It’s that same open, up-for-anything smile that he had as a kid, and it makes me laugh. “Some steak, fresh bread, and salad.”

“Sounds delicious, albeit quite presumptuous of you. Who says I haven’t just finished a lovely meal myself?”