For the Girls' Sake

chapter FIFTEEN

EYES BLINDED BY TEARS, Lynn stumbled up the stairs. At the top she waited, listening, for a moment that stretched until a sob tore its way from her chest.

He wasn’t coming after her.

She ached to crawl into bed with the girls and hold their small warm selves close, but waking them would be selfish. Instead she slipped as quietly as she could into the spare bedroom. She wanted to disappear; she wanted him not to find her, if he decided from guilt to offer awkward apologies and excuses. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it and let her legs collapse.

In a small ball on the floor, she cried silently so that Adam wouldn’t hear her if he passed in the hall. His pity she couldn’t bear. Anything but that.

I...care. She heard his stiff voice again, the faint hesitation, as if even such a tepid word required thought.

When had she decided she couldn’t bear to go on living with a man who only "cared" for her, when she loved him desperately? The knowledge had crept up on her, though it terrified her. What would it mean to her daughters, who were so happy in a real family?

But they would be unhappy if their parents were, she convinced herself. Mommy and Daddy didn’t have to be married for them to feel secure and loved.

Tonight Lynn had looked around at Adam’s friends and their wives, heard mention of Jennifer, and thought, They all know he doesn’t love me. They know he married me for his daughter. They feel sorry for us. Perhaps for him, especially.

She would have felt pity for someone in the same situation, once upon a time. Imagine, being married to a man you didn’t love! Putting up with his foibles, sharing housekeeping and memories, friends and family. Worse yet, accepting him into your bed.

Lynn remembered the years of rooming with other women, the small irritations that added up to resentment despite an initial spirit of cooperation and friendship. How would she feel when she first saw Adam hide exasperation? When she first heard suppressed annoyance in his voice? When he didn’t reach for her at night? It was all inevitable. Even desire didn’t last when it wasn’t founded in true emotion.

She had been determined to stay away from him tonight. Especially when during dinner she had realized she would have to suggest a separation, have to let him out of a bargain he couldn’t have wanted to make. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. Just once more didn’t seem like too much to ask, did it? She wouldn’t let herself think about later, about morning, about never feeling his mouth against hers again, his big warm hands circling her waist. Just once more, she could know they were a whole.

A last memory. It would be her consolation. That, and the knowledge that at least she would never have to hide her tears when he didn’t want her anymore.

Now, curled on the floor, Lynn wiped at her wet cheeks and longed for a tissue to blow her nose. Bed, she thought. She would crawl into bed, and maybe find the oblivion of sleep.

She did creep between the crisp, cold sheets of the guest bed. As the night inched on, what fitful sleep she found came with dreams of grief and loss. The gray light of a rainy dawn awakened her to a pounding headache and a yawning chasm where her heart should be. Shivering, she wished for another blanket but made no move to get up and find one. Any other morning, she could have scooted closer to Adam, borrowed his warmth. But he was alone in their bed, and she was alone here, down the hall, all because she had followed him downstairs in the middle of the night and found him poring over photographs of his first wife.

Her shivers spreading, Lynn gazed sightlessly at the rain droplets running down the window. Had she made a terrible mistake? He did care, she knew he did. They were friends, closer all the time.

But not so close, she realized with a wrench of sadness, that he would talk about his Jenny with her. Oh, no. That part of his life stayed behind a barred door. She was not a real wife, who was entitled to admittance. They had a deal, and it didn’t include letting her know the real woman he had loved.

Lynn’s teeth chattered, but still she didn’t move. He had wanted her, she thought, but the comfort was too cold to help. He was a man, she was available. He found her "attractive," he had said once. "Attractive" was as chilling as the knowledge that he "cared."

She should go home, she thought. Take both girls, if Adam would let her, and heal in a place where she belonged. There she could plan the future. Advertise for a buyer, put out feelers for a job, talk to Shelly and Rose and hope she could make them understand. She needed some time before she could face Adam again.

Eventually she heard the shower down the hall. After the water stopped, she imagined him dressing. She had loved to watch the muscles in his back flex as he bent to put on socks and shoes, as he rifled the contents of his closet in search of a favorite shirt. Then he would look so serious as he bent over to use the mirror to adjust his tie and impatiently rake a comb through his hair.

Had he slept easily? she wondered. Lynn tensed as the soft sound of his bedroom door closing came to her. Footsteps approached down the hall, paused outside her room, and finally continued downstairs. She lay shivering in the cold bed she’d made for herself until she heard the purr of his car pulling out of the driveway.

At last she dragged herself out of bed and went to their—no, his bedroom—where she grabbed clothes and toiletries before returning to the guest bath. His presence wasn’t as strong here.

Warmer on the outside after a shower, she began packing as she waited for Shelly and Rose to wake up.

She was making breakfast for them an hour later when she found the note Adam had left propped against the counter backsplash.





Lynn, I meant what I said last night. I don’t want to lose you. We need to talk, but maybe we both have some thinking to do first. I assume you’re planning to go home this morning. Take Shelly and Rose if you’d like, or drop them at preschool. Let me know. I’ll be in touch.



Adam





To the point, offering her room to hope, if she’d been so inclined, and gracious. Typical of the man she loved.

Lynn crumpled the note in her hand, fought back tears, and turned to face their children.

"Girls, we’re going to Otter Beach today."

* * *

HOW COULD HE NOT HAVE KNOWN he was in love with his wife?

Feeling like death after a sleepless night, Adam asked himself the same question over and over without getting a complete answer. Yeah, he felt guilty because Jennifer was dead and he wasn’t. He’d felt like a scumbag because his love wasn’t going to last for all eternity, because he could apparently transfer his affections in the blink of an eye. Maybe he’d been bothered because loving Lynn was so convenient he didn’t believe his own feelings.

And maybe, it had just happened so gradually, he hadn’t noticed the moment he slipped from liking to love.

Midmorning, he checked his voice mail and heard Lynn’s voice say unemotionally "Adam, I’m taking both girls with me. I guess we do need to discuss a visitation schedule, but they’ll be fine with me until this weekend. I’ll call then."

Click.

He stabbed number one on his phone and listened again. She didn’t sound distressed, sad, angry, hurt. Nothing. Back to square one. He’d pick up the girls, drop them off. Lynn would be pleasant, remote, well organized. He and she would have a relationship as cozy as the one he had with Ann. Post-it notes passing in the night.

"No!" The sound of his own voice, feral, hoarse, shocked him. He shot to his feet and paced.

He wouldn’t have it.

She loved him. He’d heard her say the words I love you.

No, Adam had no intention of letting his wife get away. He’d go after her.

As soon as he could figure out why he had been so slow on the uptake, and why she was so ready and eager to run.

Had his determination to give her and Shelly everything left Lynn feeling bought and paid for? He tried to remember the expression on her face when she told him the silk dress had gone on his credit card, but all he could see was how glorious she looked. Maybe she’d sounded a little rueful, but not resentful. He’d swear she hadn’t.

Was it because he’d pressured her to sell the store and move to Portland? But if that was the problem, why was she now agreeing to do just that? No. It didn’t equate.

He stared out the window at the rhododendrons budding for spring and groaned.

Who was he kidding? He’d held Lynn in his arms and then sneaked downstairs to moon over photos of his first wife. What woman wouldn’t be deeply hurt? If he’d said his goodbyes to Jennifer, not left his loss festering, Lynn wouldn’t have walked out.

He hoped.

"Mr. Landry..." his secretary said behind him.

"What?" he snapped as he turned, then scrubbed a hand over his face and said repentantly, "Sorry, Lydia. I’m running on empty today."

"Your three-o’clock appointment canceled." His middle-aged secretary eyed him warily. "I could reschedule the four-o’clock appointment. I thought perhaps..."

"That the office would be better off without me?"

She smiled faintly. "That you might like to leave early."

"Yeah." His eyes felt dry and gritty. "I would. Thanks."

When she left and quietly shut the door behind her, Adam tugged his tie loose. He had the afternoon free. He could head for Otter Beach.

And what? Hand Lynn a dozen roses, say, "The words just wouldn’t come fast enough last night, but I do love you?" and expect her to invite him in?

He was still incredulous at the discovery he had made last night, long after Lynn gave him a last look so full of hurt he’d never forget it and walked out of the room with dignity.

His lips had formed the words I love you before his brain caught up. He loved her? This pretty, quiet woman he had once believed he would never have noticed if they met casually? The woman who frowned in fierce concentration as she read about investing money she didn’t have, who asked earnest questions so she would be able to understand his life? The woman who loved both girls effortlessly, had endless patience with them, who could play dress-up as if she were still three years old herself?

The woman who kissed him with incredible innocence and sweetness, who could still blush though she’d been married and divorced, who made him feel like someone special?

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. How could he not have known?

He left the office without any desire to go home. An hour of aimless driving brought him where he’d probably intended to go in the first place: the cemetery where Jennifer had been buried in a gleaming mahogany casket. He shuddered at the memory of the casket. He would rather be cremated, himself, than be shut into a satin-lined box for eternity, but he’d let Jennifer’s parents make the decisions. They were the ones having trouble dealing with their daughter’s death, he had thought. He knew she was gone.

Now he laughed hollowly. None of them had known she was gone. Him least of all.

It was the way of her going, Adam thought, that had made goodbyes hard. Jennifer was dead, they told him, but she lay there in that hospital bed for another four weeks looking as if she’d open her eyes any moment and smile. Dead, but she was breathing, her heart beating, a life growing in her womb. He still had trouble understanding: how could she give life, when she was dead? So when had she died? When was he supposed to understand and accept that his wife was gone?

He parked on the shoulder of the asphalt drive that wound through the cemetery, and walked across the springy grass to the flat marker with Jennifer’s name and dates of birth and death. He was ashamed to have to hunt. The fragrant paperwhites in a pot must have been left here by her parents. Gestures like that would be important to them. Adam didn’t often come. His laughing Jenny wasn’t here, only the casket that held her earthly remains.

Perhaps, Adam thought slowly, he had known she was dead. The only place she still lived was in his memory. Those memories he had edited, he saw now. His young wife was charming, funny, beautiful, good-hearted, but also spoiled and a little selfish. He had made her a saint and dared anyone—Lynn—to touch her place in his heart.

He finally let himself admit what part of him had known for a long time. The truth was, his feelings for Lynn went deeper, were based on more than youthful attraction. Lynn was shy but gutsy. He admired her brains, her warmth, her taste. He loved her as a mother, a woman, a friend and a wife.

Maybe what he and Jennifer felt for each other would have matured into something similar.

Maybe not. Maybe they’d be divorced, like some of his friends. Maybe they would live in brittle silence, because she wasn’t really interested in him.

He would never know. She was gone, and he would always remember her with love and sadness for what she’d lost. Not what he had lost.

"Goodbye, Jenny," he said softly, but she was no more here to answer than she had ever been.

Adam turned and strode across the grass with new energy and purpose. He had to see his wife. This time, he’d find the right words.

If only she would listen.

* * *

SHE HAD EXPECTED HOME to be a haven. Lynn walked through the dark bookstore, finding her way between tall bookshelves and the dark bulk of chairs and tables by familiarity and with the help of the night-light left on in back.

She’d tucked the girls into bed an hour ago. Their whispers and giggles didn’t last long. Impulse had drawn her down here, where her dream had come to life. The dream she was about to give up.

Tonight, she found only wood furniture and books without color and life. A business. Not very important, compared to the people she loved.

In the grip of a terrible restlessness, she gave in to another impulse and picked up the phone behind the counter.

"Hi, Frances," she greeted her teenage baby-sitter’s mother. "Any chance Alicia could come over for an hour or two? Rose and Shelly are asleep. I’m desperate to go out for a little while. Maybe just for a walk."

"Of course she can come. All she’s doing is watching Titanic for the thirtieth time. Just a moment." Lynn heard her muffled voice; she must have covered the phone. Then, "She’s finding her shoes. She’ll be over in a minute. Are you okay, Lynn? Is something wrong?"

"No, I...it’s just been one of those days."

"I can remember a few when I thought I’d scream if I didn’t get away from the kids, and I had a husband to take over once in a while," her friend said indulgently. "Alicia can stay all night, if you need her. But, if you’re going out by yourself, be careful, won’t you?"

The teenager lived only a block away. Lynn met her at the top of the back staircase. Hearing the TV go on quietly behind her, she pulled on a heavy wool sweater that had been Brian’s—she would have been lost inside it if she hadn’t rolled the sleeves up several times—and hurried down the stairs and across the street, toward the rhythmic boom of the sea.

She’d left the rain behind in Portland, an unusual circumstance. Here at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, torn bits of cloud drifted across the face of the full moon and a wind with the bite of winter whipped her hair back from her face.

The boardwalk was deserted, the stores dark and closed. Laughter and voices drifted from a restaurant, but nobody sat outside the way they did in midsummer. She took the concrete stairs two at a time, wanting to lose herself on the dark beach, with only the moon and the surf for company.

She wished Adam had never been part of her life here. That they hadn’t raced across the beach with the girls shrieking in delight. That he hadn’t gotten wet rescuing the Japanese float for Shelly. Sat at the table every Saturday in her bookstore, reading contentedly. Bought her a new couch, cooked in her tiny kitchen, hung his toothbrush in the equally small bathroom.

Absorbed in memories, Lynn stubbed her toe on a half-buried boulder and fell painfully to her knees. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she shook them away, angry at herself.

I...care.

Couldn’t he have tried? she thought pitifully. Pretended, just a little bit?

Lied? she asked herself harshly. Was that what she wanted? Give him credit. At least he was too honest for that.

She pulled herself to her feet and kept walking. White fingers of foam led her to the water’s edge. Lynn walked parallel to the crashing surf, her way better lit now by moonlight. The wind bit through her wool sweater, stung her eyes, tangled her hair, but she reveled in the solitude and the cold, and the steady throb of the surf.

Hugging herself, Lynn kept thinking, I could be home in Portland. Debating with Adam, laughing with him. Is this really better?

Couldn’t she have loved him in silence? He might have come to love her in turn, mightn’t he? Why had she given up hope that he would?

I...care.

Couldn’t that be enough? she begged herself. Was that so terrible? Didn’t the greatest of passions often age into something no more exciting? So what if he still thought about Jennifer. She was gone, and Lynn was here. With time, he would think about his first wife less.

She stopped and faced the breakers as wisps of cloud raced in front of the moon. Why wasn’t I patient? she thought miserably. Why couldn’t I...settle?

Wasn’t having something better than nothing?

How could she convince Rose and Shelly that she’d made the right choice if she didn’t even believe it herself?

Lynn found a boulder to provide a windbreak and backrest. Huddled against the night and her own unhappiness, she remembered every moment of her married life, every word Adam had spoken, every touch. She tortured herself with full knowledge of what she had thrown away, and began to see that she was a coward.

She had been so terrified of losing Adam slowly, she had brought on a quick, clean break. She knew she’d be okay on her own. She’d done this before. What she had no idea how to do was coax a man into loving her, or how to endure his indifference when he made it plain.

Burying her cold face in the scratchy wool of the sweater sleeves, Lynn heard herself as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. She’d be okay on her own. She’d done this before.

She had told Adam once that being a single mother came naturally to her, that it was the pattern she knew. She was comfortable as a mother, but not as a wife.

In her fear, she had made no effort to fight for Adam. Being a wife was too scary. Run and hide.

Her tears soaked the sweater sleeves, her nose dripped. If only she hadn’t told him she loved him! Lynn thought wretchedly. Bitter, angry words could be taken back, but not her naked declaration.

I don’t want to lose you, he’d said, but how could they go on as they had before, when neither of them would be able to forget that one of them loved and one didn’t?

For the girls’ sake, would he agree to live that way? Was she brave enough to try, if he would give her the chance?

The rags of clouds were knitting together into dark masses and the wind smelled of rain. Chilled to the bone, Lynn started back along the beach, the wind shoving her from behind. She was so cold! Her feet were numb and blockish in thin sneakers. Dressed so inadequately, she shouldn’t have stayed as long as she had.

The first icy shards of rain came as she turned her back on the ocean and picked her way carefully between rough rocks and piles of driftwood toward the steps up to street level.

She was almost there when she saw that a man leaned against the railing only feet from the opening to the beach. With the lamplight behind him, he was dark, anonymous and imposing. She hesitated. Probably he only wanted his solitude, as she had, but it was awfully lonely out here if he were to threaten her. Still, there was no other easy way up the concrete and granite bulkhead, and she was very cold.

Taking a breath for courage, she bent her head and hurried toward the stairs. She had set foot on the bottom one when he spoke.

"Lynn?"

"Adam?" she whispered. The wind whipped his name away, unheard.

"I’ve been waiting for you." He didn’t move.

Slowly she climbed the few stairs. Hip against the railing, he faced her. His expression changed when he got a good look at her in the yellowish light from a sodium lamp.

"You’ve been crying." He sounded angry. Gruff.

"My eyes watered. The wind..." Why was he here?

He stepped forward. The relief was overwhelming. Right this second, it hardly mattered why he’d come. Oh, how easy it was to let herself be enveloped in his warmth and strength.

"I’m sorry," she tried to tell him, but had no idea if he heard her.

He was growling something against her hair. It seemed to be an echo. "I’m so sorry. You’ve got to forgive me, Lynn."

"Forgive you?" What was he talking about? She tried to pull back, but his arms tightened, binding her to him.

"How did you find me?"

"The baby-sitter." At last his grip relaxed. "Can we go home, Lynn?" His hand, cold enough, caressed her frozen cheek. "You need a hot bath."

"Yes. Okay."

I...care. Of course he did. That had to be enough.

Her legs were reluctant to move. Adam had to steer her along the sidewalk, stop her with one hand from stepping out into the street in front of a lone car passing through town. Even her thoughts were sluggish now.

His Lexus was in its usual spot in the gravel lot. Adam is here, she thought, amazed.

The staircase seemed to go on forever. At the top, Adam bundled her inside. She stood in the kitchen, beginning to shake, and was distantly aware that he was paying Alicia and seeing her out.

When she heard water running into the tub, she shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. Still in his own heavy sweater, he was on his knees, testing the water temperature. When he saw her, his expression brought to life an ember of warmth inside her.

His jaw muscles flexed. "Shall I help you get undressed?"

The glow spread. "No. I’m okay. Just chilly."

"Lynn—" He bit off whatever he’d been going to say. "I’ll boil water for tea. I’ll get you something to put on."

He started to brush by her, but paused, his body touching hers from thigh to chest. She felt the vibration when he spoke. "I hope you did all the thinking you intend to do."

She nodded dumbly.

"Good." He touched her cold cheek again, then left the bathroom, returning a moment later with her ugliest, most voluminous flannel nightgown and her old wool bathrobe.

He was obviously not setting the stage for seduction.

Lynn had plenty of time in the bath to worry anew as she thawed. Why was he sorry? What did she have to forgive him for? If anyone needed forgiving, it was her!

When she’d quit shivering and her skin glowed pink, she got out, toweled herself dry and put on her old gown and robe. Her hair. Lynn groaned, glimpsing the tangles in the mirror. If only she’d corralled her curls instead of letting the wind whip them into a frenzy. She took ten minutes to bring her recalcitrant hair to reasonable order and assemble it in a simple braid down her back.

Hope had thawed along with her flesh, but so had old fears. Adam might be here to talk about a divorce. Or to ask her to stay in their arrangement, while explaining gently how much he had loved his Jenny and why he would never be able to love her the same way. He might even be angry and planning to fight her for custody of the girls.

No, even terrified, she knew better. He would never do that. Not to her, not to Shelly or Rose.

He waited in the living room, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, holding a steaming mug in one hand. Although she had made no sound, he looked up the moment Lynn appeared in the doorway. His gaze not leaving hers, he stood. "Here’s your tea."

"Thank you." She held her head high as she ventured into the living room and took the mug from him. "I was cold."

"You’re lucky you didn’t die of hypothermia." He sounded angry again.

"I was on my way home."

"Were you trying to commit suicide?"

"I was walking on a cold night!" she fired back. "I wanted to think! You told me to. I had to be alone."

He rotated his shoulders as if they ached. His tone was almost conversational. "What did you think about?"

Her tongue touched her lips. "You. Us," she admitted huskily.

"Your conclusion?"

She wrapped both hands around the mug, willing its heat to give her courage. "I was wrong. I..."

His expression was shuttered, just like that. "You don’t love me."

"I shouldn’t have told you I do," Lynn corrected him. "I was pressuring you. We had an arrangement, and it was working fine. I..." She bowed her head. "I got scared."

"Scared of what?" Adam asked, voice gritty.

"I know you like me and...and want to be with me. At least I assume..." She stole a look at him and hurried on. "I was afraid after a while you wouldn’t. That I wouldn’t be able to stand it."

"You must have known I was falling in love with you," he shocked her by saying.

Afraid to grasp the hope that she had been nursing all along, Lynn looked up. "No," she said just above a whisper. "No, I had no idea." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But you don’t. You couldn’t make yourself say the words. ‘I care.’ That was the best you could get out."

He touched her at last, his hand cupping her chin. In a slow, deep voice, he said, "I love you desperately and passionately. I was just idiot enough not to know it."

“Not to know..." This felt surreal. A too-easy ending to a daydream. She didn’t dare believe him.

Adam’s mouth twisted. "Sit down. I need to tell you about Jennifer."

She obeyed, watching the expressions on his face, the anguish, the regret, the rueful awareness of how blind he’d been, as he talked about his young wife and their brief marriage.

"They kept saying she was dead. Wanting me to sign papers so that her organs could be harvested." He scowled. "What a word. Harvested. I signed, but deep inside I didn’t believe she was dead. She’d open her eyes suddenly and smile. Only she didn’t. They cut Rose—no, Shelly—out of her, and then the surgeons took Jenny away. I didn’t see her after they pulled the plug. I didn’t want to at the funeral home. I always thought an open casket was macabre."

"You never said goodbye," she said, understanding.

"I thought I had. But I dreamed about her. I missed her like crazy," he said simply. "I felt guilty when I met you and stopped missing her."

Somehow Lynn had set down the mug and was gripping Adam’s hand in hers. He held on so tightly her bones ached.

"I started falling in love with you that first time we met, at the hospital. I wanted to touch your hair." With his free hand he stroked it now, and she felt as if each strand was an exquisitely sensitive nerve. "When we were together last night, you said, ‘I want you,’ and it wasn’t enough. I felt like a jerk, but I needed you to say, ‘I love you.’ What didn’t occur to me was why I needed to hear those words."

“But when I did say them..."

Their grip shifted; their fingers curled together. "Do you know what I felt?" he asked. "Triumph. Exhilaration. She loves me, I thought. It took me five minutes too long to realize that I love you back."

"You didn’t come after me," she said painfully.

He made a sound that hurt to hear. "I had to...adjust. I’m a deliberate man. I like to be sure."

"But you are?"

"Jennifer," he said, "was my first real love. I want to believe we’d still be happily married if she had lived. But I’ve changed in these three, almost four, years. When I try to see her being the mother you are, I wonder. Jenny was used to having her way. A baby was a grand new toy to her, I’m afraid."

"I think," Lynn said carefully, "all women feel that way when they’re pregnant for the first time. The baby seems so unreal! Of course, everything will go the way the books say it will. You don’t really understand how unrelenting having a baby is until you’re on your own and it’s too late to chicken out. I saw that picture of her. Pregnant, I mean. She looked so proud and so happy. I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t have loved Rose as much as you do."

His mouth tilted into a crooked smile. "Maybe so. But she’s dead. Part of me will always regret she didn’t have a chance to be a mother. We had such dreams. Reality is, I’m the lucky one. I have Rose and Shelly and you. I wouldn’t go back if I could. I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life, hold you close every night, use our vacations to go to Disneyland with the kids. I want to argue with you, clean the kitchen with you, and grow old with you. If—" he swallowed "—you can forgive me for hurting you like that."

Lynn tumbled into his arms. "Oh, Adam," she mumbled against his neck, "I’m the one who almost messed everything up. I think it was just like with Brian. I wasn’t comfortable. I like...controlling everything. Always knowing where I stand. I got a little panicky, and I convinced myself I’d be better off the way I was before."

"Were you?" He held her away from him, his eyes dark, turbulent.

She laughed and cried at the same time. "These last months have been the best time in my life. Knowing you love me, too, is like...like..."

"Buying a thousand shares of Microsoft when it went public?"

The laughter won, though her cheeks were wet. "Something like that. I was thinking more of fireworks and Christmas in July and all those clichés."

"Fireworks," he said, his thumb teasing her lower lip, "we can manage."

His kiss proved the point. Giddy from relief and love, Lynn whispered, "Let’s go to bed."

"Mmm." Adam gripped her shoulders and set her away from him. "One last thing. I’d like to wake up next to you every morning, but I’ll settle for four mornings a week if you want to keep the store here. You need to know that."

"Thank you." She pecked him on the lips. "But I hate the drive, and I want to be with you. I might take a while off and think about what to do next. Or, hey, I might decide to take on Powell’s Books after all! In my own small way, of course."

"Uh-huh. And now—" he stood and held out a hand for hers "—your offer is sounding better and better."

They did, of course, pause partway down the hall to watch thankfully as their daughters slept.

"Right now," Adam said softly, his words tickling Lynn’s ear, "I feel blessed."

"Triply blessed," she agreed, and blinked away tears that were too joyful to shed.

* * * * *