He squeezed my mitten hand. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s not—”

He stood, towering over me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ella. I’m glad to have run into you.”

He started to walk away, but that damn curiosity that ate at Jeremiah came from me. “Wait! What are you doing here in Bath?”

He turned back, his brown hair fluffed by the soft breeze. “I’m going to a meeting.”

“Entrepreneurship worked well for you, I hope.” I smiled. It was tremulous but real. It grew as I saw Jeremiah running along the path toward me.

“Quite well. I’ll talk to you more tomorrow. I’m a bit late.”

He turned and skirted Jeremiah, who barreled around him and into my arms. Philip turned back to see me hugging my son, then with a slight smile and a dip of his chin, he disappeared into a growing throng of midday walkers.

“Who was that?” Jeremiah asked.

“An old friend. I knew Philip in school.”

“Oh.”

My father trotted up, puffing from exertion, his cheeks rosier even than Jeremiah’s. “That Philip Wagner?”

I nodded.

“Nice chap. Done quite well for himself, I heard. In those apps you kids favor.” He tickled Jeremiah’s neck, making the boy giggle and swat at his hand.

“He made you smile.”

My eyes rose to Jeremiah’s, but his lacked the accusation I anticipated. Instead, Jeremiah’s eyes turned soft. My heart pounded again.

Was this my life? My child comforting me, worrying over me. Oh, no. That would never do.

“We’re old friends. That’s all.”

And it was—Philip and I spoke occasionally, still friendly, when I met Simon. But I hadn’t given my old love more than a second thought as I followed Simon back to Seattle and built my life there, with him.

“Race you home!” Jeremiah called, turning to take off down the path. I breathed a sigh of relief at Jeremiah’s exuberance. My rambunctious child remained under the new maturity the past week forced upon him.

My father wrapped his arm over my shoulder, our pace much more sedate than Jeremiah’s breakneck sprint.

“Always did like that boy.”

“Jeremiah? I should hope so.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder, a comforting reminder of his presence. Peppermint and cool winter air filled my nostrils, easing the tension in my aching neck.

“No, love. Philip. Smart young man. Good head on his shoulders. English to the bone.”

“I’m not looking for anything, Dad.”

“Never said a word that you were. Just commenting on the nice young man who was here to offer you his broad shoulder to rest your tired head on.”

I stopped walking, aware that Jeremiah was waiting for us at the corner, tapping his foot and fidgeting.

“You don’t like Simon?” I asked. Surprise built in my chest, spread outward and into my tightening neck muscles.