: Chapter 30

JOSH WAS GONE.

Claire had to admit it now.

It had been two days since she’d heard from him.

It had been two days since a lot of things.

Two days since Astrid called off her wedding, since she’d walked in on Delilah and Claire. Two days since Delilah left Bright Falls. Two days since Astrid had spoken to Claire at all.

Iris had been the reluctant go-between, texting Claire with things she could do to help Astrid cancel the wedding. Since Wednesday, Claire had holed up inside her house, telling her manager Brianne she was sick while, really, she lay on her couch drinking lemon LaCroix until she switched over to wine around five p.m. each day, making phone calls to wedding guests and vendors or whoever Iris commanded via text.

Claire hadn’t talked to Iris either. At least not in person. After Delilah had walked out of Astrid’s room, Claire had tried to talk to Astrid, tell her about her whole thought process since things started up with Delilah, but Astrid hadn’t wanted to hear it. And she was right—this wasn’t the time for Claire to make excuses, no matter how justified Claire felt in her decisions. Astrid had just called off her wedding. She was heartbroken . . . though Claire didn’t think her heartbreak was over Spencer. Not after everything that had passed between Astrid and Delilah.

So Claire’s phone became an endless stream of cold, imperative texts, all of them void of any personal questions.

She’d done it all with a thumbs-up emoji and timely execution, completing whatever task she could to help Astrid take care of this mess . . . a mess she’d wanted, a mess she’d planned for with Iris and Delilah. She didn’t have a justification for that, for why she never felt comfortable being honest with Astrid about her feelings toward Spencer, why she always shrank away from confrontation.

Now, as she texted Josh for the millionth time with no response, left him yet another voice mail, she wanted a fight. She wanted to push his stupid broad shoulders and scream in his face. Words scrambled in her brain, everything she would say to him, everything that was clouding into her chest like a storm.

I knew you would do this, I was right, you always leave, everyone always leaves.

She called him again, but it went straight to his voice mail, just like it had every time she’d tried to contact him in the past two days. Ruby was beside herself. She’d been calling and texting her father nonstop too, and he wouldn’t answer. Yesterday, Claire had used the key Josh had given her a few weeks ago to let herself into his apartment, just to check things out and make sure he wasn’t lying on the floor with a fatal head wound or something. Inside, most everything looked like it was in its place, but his truck was gone, as were his toiletries and the big duffel bag he always took with him when he skipped town.

Now, as Claire finished a tense call to the Bradfords in Portland, fielding a million incredibly intrusive questions about Astrid’s sanity, she sat up on her couch and rubbed her forehead. Down the hall, Ruby was shut inside her room, sad music filtering from under the door. Claire felt like a piece of cloth stretched thin, fraying at the edges. She couldn’t watch her daughter go through this again.

She couldn’t go through this again.

She picked up her phone and opened her text messages, her thumb hovering over her thread with Delilah for the hundredth time since the other woman left. She wanted to talk to her. She wanted to tell her about Josh, to beg her to come back, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Delilah was already gone, back where she belonged, and Claire . . . well.

Maybe it wasn’t only Josh she couldn’t stand to see walk away again.

And that’s all that would happen if she reached out to Delilah right now, if anything happened at all.

Delilah doesn’t care.

Claire said it to herself, over and over and over, ignoring the spark of doubt in the back of her mind. It wasn’t doubt anyway. It was hurt, lust, maybe even a little longing, but it wasn’t doubt.

She switched to her messages with Iris and finally swallowed her pride.

She hit send and held her breath, but those three little bouncing ellipses appeared immediately, Iris’s response buzzing through soon after.

TEN MINUTES LATER, Claire opened her door and sucked in a surprised breath. Iris was there in a green sundress, her red hair long and flowing around her bare shoulders, but she wasn’t alone.

Astrid stood next to her on Claire’s front stoop, her arms folded and her sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her mouth looked tight, but Claire didn’t even care. She was here, and Claire had never felt so relieved in her life.

She must’ve sagged against the doorframe, or maybe the dark circles she knew snuggled under her eyes gave away her current mental state, but either way, Iris stepped forward and gulped her into her arms. Claire fell into her, tears suddenly clogging her throat.

“Josh is an honorary shit boot,” Iris said, smoothing circles on Claire’s back.

Claire pulled back. “How did you know?” She hadn’t mentioned his vanishing act to either of them—it never felt like the right time to drop that bomb via text.

“You gave your daughter a phone and our phone numbers,” Astrid said, removing her sunglasses. “She’s eleven; texting is her life.”

Claire exhaled. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. I gave her your numbers for emergencies, and I—”

“Honey,” Iris said, taking Claire’s arms. “It’s okay. We’re part of Ruby’s family. Of course we want her to text us when she needs to.”

Claire flicked her eyes to Astrid, who gave her a terse nod, which was enough for Claire.

They came inside, and Claire opened up a fresh bottle of rosé. The three women settled on Claire’s couch, which, over the past two days, had become a nest of blankets, books, glasses of water, and bags of chips.

“You’re really set up for the long haul here,” Iris said as she tucked herself into a corner.

Claire laughed. “You know I burrow when I’m depressed.”

“I do know,” Iris said, winking at her over her glass.

Astrid was on the other end of the couch, Claire in the middle, and her friend had yet to smile or relax her shoulders. Claire searched for what to say, how to make this right, but she wasn’t sure anything would help.

“Astrid, I’m sorry,” she said, making sure to look her friend in the eyes, because if nothing else, Claire owed Astrid this much. Astrid met her gaze but said nothing. “I know things are complicated with you and Delilah. When things started up between us, I . . . well, it was casual. It was just . . .” She forced the words out, no matter how untrue they felt. It was how it all started, and that was at least true. “It was just sex, and I knew it was temporary. I didn’t feel like I needed to tell either of you about a hookup that would just end. And I didn’t want to stress you out or make things harder for you with the wedding coming up.”

Astrid tilted her head. “Is that really why you didn’t tell me?”

Claire frowned. Next to her, Iris cleared her throat. “I . . . well . . . What do you mean?”

Astrid sighed and looked down at her lap. Now that Claire peered closer at her friend, Astrid looked deeply exhausted. No makeup, which was unheard of for Astrid Parker, and her hair looked a bit dull, like it hadn’t been washed in a few days. What’s more, she was dressed in black yoga pants and an old gray T-shirt that said Bright Falls High School Track.

“What I mean is . . .” Astrid turned to face Claire, tucking her legs underneath her. “I’ve been thinking a lot the past few days. Soul-searching, I guess you could call it.”

“Oh, you could definitely call it soul-searching,” Iris said.

Astrid shot her a look, but a tiny smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Okay, I’ve been doing some soul-searching, and I realize . . . I’m not always the easiest person to talk to.”

Claire frowned. “Astrid, honey—”

“No, let me finish.”

“Yes, let her finish,” Iris said.

“Would you shut up?” Astrid said, but there was no venom in her voice.

Iris presented her palms in surrender.

“I’m not always the easiest person to talk to,” Astrid went on. “I’m demanding and inflexible and I’ve never . . . I’ve never shared certain things with the two of you. A lot of certain things.”

Claire reached out and took Astrid’s hand, relieved when Astrid didn’t pull back. “Like what?”

“Like . . .” Astrid sighed. “Like how I felt about Delilah. I mean, really felt when we were growing up. How I wanted her to be my sister, but when she didn’t seem to want the same thing, I just shut her out and how . . . how hard it was. How hard it still is, because it makes me feel . . .”

She swallowed, pressed her eyes closed.

“It makes me feel unwanted and like I’m not enough, and talking about it just made me feel like that even more.”

“That’s a lot of feels,” Iris said.

“And you know how I hate those,” Astrid said, smiling without humor.

“Sweetie,” Claire said softly, but Astrid shook her head and pressed onward.

“When I found out about you and her, I just . . . I freaked out because, honestly, I thought, Why her? Why Claire and not me?”

“I think it should be clarified here that Astrid is not talking about you shagging her sister,” Iris said, tipping her wineglass at them.

“Jesus, Iris,” Astrid said.

“What? It needed to be stated.”

Astrid focused on Claire, squeezing her hand. “I just mean that you clearly had something with her. She meant something to you, and you meant something to her, I could tell. And I . . . I didn’t understand why I could never mean something to her. Not romantically, of course, but just . . . as something. As anything. We’d been through a lot together, had lost parents together, and I wanted to share that with her. I’d always wanted to share that with her, because she was the only one I could share it with, and when she constantly shut me down, it just felt . . .”

“Horrible,” Claire finished for her.

Astrid nodded. “But I don’t think it’s entirely Delilah’s fault. There was a lot about her experience I didn’t understand either. Things I didn’t want to see or try to understand. And when she pushed me away, I responded in kind, and then we just sort of fed off each other like that.”

Claire nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “I’m still sorry that I hurt you.”

Astrid released a breath and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“What about Spencer?” Claire asked.

Astrid closed her eyes for a second. “Yeah. Spencer. I think he was just an easy way out for me.”

“He was a shit boot,” Iris said.

“Not helping,” Claire said, but Astrid laughed.

“No, Iris is right. He was a total shit boot.”

“And a shit belt, a shit sock, a shit shirt, a shit—”

“Yes, we get it, Ris,” Claire said, then turned back to Astrid. “I wish you would’ve let us in about him.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking a lot about that too. He made my life look how I was taught it should look. It was easy to just give in to him, knowing it made everyone else around me happy.”

“Not everyone,” Iris said.

“I know,” Astrid said. “But he was everything my mother always told me I wanted, so when he came along, I made myself want him, because what the hell did I really want if it wasn’t him? In the back of my mind, I knew he wouldn’t make me happy, and I knew you two knew that from the beginning, which was why I never talked about him, hardly ever brought him around. I didn’t want to hear it, that he was wrong, that I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry we held back too,” Claire said. “We should’ve just talked to you honestly from the beginning.”

“I didn’t make it easy,” Astrid said.

“No, you sure as hell didn’t,” Iris said.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Ris, you and I already had this conversation, so can you shut your piehole?”

“Fine, fine,” Iris said, “but really, I just spoke up to hear Astrid Parker say piehole.”

The three women all laughed, and then Astrid pulled Claire into her arms. They sat like that for a long time, Claire reveling in the familiarity of her best friend’s embrace, her chin resting on Astrid’s bony shoulder.

“Whew, okay, now that that’s over with,” Iris said, clapping once when the other two women pulled away, “what are we going to do about your little problem?”

She was looking at Claire as she spoke, and Claire felt herself deflate.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Ruby is devastated, and Josh is—”

“Not that honorary shit boot,” Iris said, holding up a hand. “Because honestly, Josh is gonna Josh, and we’ve got you and Ruby, and we always will.”

Claire frowned. “Then what are you talking about?”

Iris glanced at the ceiling, her mouth moving as though whispering a prayer to the gods for help, before leveling Claire with wide eyes. “Delilah, my darling, lovesick best friend. Delilah Green.”

Claire shook her head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to do about her.”

Iris and Astrid eyed each other over Claire’s head.

“What?” she said. “There’s not. And I’m not lovesick. I’m just . . .” She looked around at her melancholy nest, all the signs of a devastating breakup littering her living room. “It doesn’t matter. Delilah’s gone.”

“Oh, honey,” Iris said. “If you think that woman isn’t completely in love with you, you’re even more clueless than I thought.”

“What?” Claire said. “No. She’s not. It was just sex.”

“Claire, you don’t do just sex,” Astrid said softly. “And you never have.”

“But she does. She made a bet,” Claire said, ignoring Astrid’s observation. “She made a bet that she could sleep with me, you said so yourself, and—”

“No one who’s only out to piss off their stepsister looks at someone they’re already sleeping with the way Delilah looked at you,” Iris said. “On the camping trip? At the vineyard? Hell, even at Vivian’s, she couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

Claire shook her head. “No. No, she doesn’t care about me. She left.”

Astrid sighed. “She left because she doesn’t think anyone here wanted her to stay.”

“I told her,” Claire said, tears finally welling up and spilling over. “I told her to stay.”

Neither of her best friends said anything after that. What was there to say? Delilah was gone; it didn’t matter what Claire felt for her, or what she might have felt for Claire. New York might as well have been a universe away.

Claire knocked back the rest of her wine, but before she could get up to offer everyone another round, her phone exploded in a flurry of text messages.

All of them from Josh.

Claire leaped up, eyes wide on her phone. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Iris said, standing too. “Is it Delilah?”

“It’s Josh. He’s here.” She rushed toward the front door and flung it open just in time to see Josh bolting out of his truck, door hanging open as he jogged up the sidewalk.

“Claire,” he said, eyes wide with panic. “I’m sorry, I—”

But before he could get anything else out, Iris flew past Claire, her red hair flowing behind her like flames, and punched Josh square in the face.

BLOOD SPURTED EVERYWHERE.

“Shit!” he yelled, his hands flying to his nose. “Iris, what the hell?”

“No country for old shit boots,” Iris said, pointing a pale finger in his face.

He flinched back, hands still covering his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and down his arms. It was like something out of a horror show, and it took Claire a second to register what the hell had actually happened and what to address first.

Finally, the blood that was starting to dapple her sidewalk took precedence, aided by Astrid handing her an old towel she kept under the kitchen sink for just these kinds of staining messes.

Claire pressed the towel to Josh’s nose, which he used to mop up most of the mess, then kept against his face to prevent any more spillage.

“What is going on?” she asked when he was more or less stable.

“Irith punthed me in the fucking nothe, that’th what’th going on,” he said, his s’s thickened by the injury.

“And I’d do it again,” Iris said.

“About time somebody did it,” Astrid said.

He glared at the both of them, but then his expression fell when he looked at Claire. He shook his head. “I didn’t leave. Not this time—I told you I wouldn’t.”

“But you did,” Claire said. “You’ve been gone for two days without any explanation, and once again, I’ve got a devastated daughter I can barely get to come out of her room.”

His eyes—as that was all Claire could see—tightened as though in pain. Then he dropped the towel, and the three women sucked in a breath. His face was smeared with now-drying blood, his nose already swelling, the space under his eyes darkened and hinting at the bruises that would soon form.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“It suits you,” Iris said.

Claire shot her a look but couldn’t help but smile. She knew her friends were just as sick of Josh’s mind games, his unreliability, as she was. And she was done letting him get away with it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she said. Iris and Astrid both came up next to her, each friend taking one of her hands. “In fact, this was your last chance. I’m finished. Ruby can’t take this, Josh. I can’t take this. It’s not fair, and I don’t understand why you—”

“I built a house in Winter Lake,” he said.

She blinked at him. Winter Lake was about thirty minutes northwest of Bright Falls. It was tiny, heavily wooded, and had a downtown the size of a button.

“You did what?” she asked.

“That’s where I went. I’ve been working on a few projects there these past months, and one of them . . . well, it’s mine. I had to go finish all the paperwork on Wednesday, then spent Thursday getting some things set up inside. When I was getting ready to leave on Wednesday, my phone was dead. I charged it up in my truck and sent you a text as soon as I could, but Winter Lake has shit reception—I’m going to have to change carriers when I move out there permanently—and I didn’t realize the text didn’t go through until I was on my way back today and all these texts started rushing in as soon as I hit I-5. I would’ve called Ruby while I was gone, but like I said, no signal, and I don’t have my Wi-Fi set up yet.”

She stared at him, her friends’ hands still in hers. They stood by quietly, letting her take the lead.

“Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing?” she asked. “Before you left? All you had to do was talk to me, tell me what was going on. Hell, leave me a sticky note on my door!”

He sighed. “Would you have believed me? If I told you two months ago that I was building a house in Winter Lake?”

She pressed her mouth flat, her answer clear.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you any of this,” he said. “I wanted it done. I know my words are cheap, Claire. I wanted to show you that I was serious this time.”

He stared at her with his blackening eyes, never looking away.

“You really built a house in Winter Lake?” she asked.

He grinned. “I really did. And, if it’s okay, I’d like to take you and Ruby to see it.”

“Dad!”

Ruby appeared in the front doorway, her eyes wide and her smile infectious as she ran toward him and threw her arms around Josh’s neck. He lifted her up, held her close while her feet dangled off the ground, his sore nose pressed into her hair.

“What happened to your face?” Ruby asked when he put her back down.

He waved a hand. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“Aunt Iris finally punched you, huh?” she said.

“I’m glad to see my work is noted and appreciated,” Iris said.

Josh rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. They all were, and Claire couldn’t seem to stop. She was so relieved, so pleasantly shocked, she didn’t know what to do with herself while Josh explained to Ruby what had happened with his phone and all about Winter Lake.

After a few tight hugs and a teary goodbye on Claire’s part—along with plans to spend all of tomorrow together getting drunk and eating chocolate on the day that would’ve been Astrid’s wedding—Astrid and Iris left. For the rest of today, Claire knew she needed to take some time for her daughter and Josh.

After Josh cleaned the dried blood off his face in the bathroom, Claire and Ruby piled into his truck, and they drove out to Winter Lake. It was a pretty short trip—a quick stint on Interstate 5, followed by a lot of winding back roads flanked by leafy woods. They passed through Winter Lake’s downtown, a two-block affair complete with zero streetlights, one coffee shop, two hardware stores, and an amazing old-fashioned movie theater called the Andromeda. Despite that gem, the area made Bright Falls look like a booming metropolis. Finally, about ten minutes outside of downtown, they wound down a narrow road with little houses spaced at least a half mile apart, until Josh pulled into the drive of a log cabin that belonged on a postcard. It was bigger than she expected, with an A-frame roof, a wide front porch, siding the color of good whiskey, and a stone chimney that rose into the sky. Evergreens and pines surrounded the property, and Claire could see a tiny slice of silver behind the house—Winter Lake.

“Josh,” she said, her voice breathy. “This is . . . this is . . .”

“Amazing!” Ruby said. “It’s amazing!” Then their daughter flung open her door and ran up the front walk to the porch, peering through the windows before throwing herself into one of the rockers.

“It really is,” Claire said, smiling at Josh. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He winked at her. “Wait until you see the inside.”

They climbed out of the truck, and Josh unlocked the front door. Inside was . . . well, it took Claire’s breath away. The entire back wall was completely made of windows, letting in the sinking sun and filling the house with an amber-lavender glow. The kitchen, living room, and dining room were all one big space, with the same pine-knotted log walls as the exterior paired with modern appliances and design. The kitchen was bright and rustic at the same time, with cream-colored cabinets interspersed between the whiskey walls, an island that featured a farmhouse sink and lots of workspace, and butcher-block counters. Soft, dark brown leather couches filled the living room, along with a squashy hunter-green armchair that looked big enough to fit two adults. Throw pillows in navy and green filled the space, and the artwork on the walls showcased lakes and rivers and forests in the same colors. A black-and-white photograph of Ruby sat on the mantel, along with a photo of the three of them—Claire, Josh, and Ruby—back when Ruby was around nine.

“Can I see my room?” Ruby asked. “Please, can I?”

“You bet, kiddo,” Josh said, grinning. “I left it pretty blank, because I want you to pick out all your own stuff, okay? Maybe we can do that tomorrow?”

He eyed Claire and she nodded. Then Ruby took off down the hall off the living room.

“Can I have the room with the huge bed and the big bathroom?” she called.

“Not a chance,” Josh called back, laughing.

“Ugh, fine,” Ruby said, but Claire could tell she was teasing.

Claire continued to tour the space slowly, taking in all the little details. It was beautiful. There was no other word for it. And when Josh asked shyly what she thought, she told him so.

He beamed. “Come here. I want to show you the view from the back deck.” He took her hand and led her outside. The deck was simple, just two Adirondack chairs and a table between them, but the view . . .

“Wow,” she said, resting her forearms on the railing and watching the sun as it spun gold over the surface of Winter Lake.

“Pretty great location, huh?” he said as he came up next to her.

“I’ll say.” She turned to him, nudged his shoulder with hers. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugged, eyes softly narrowed on the view from his very own porch. Then he dug into his back pocket and took out his wallet, extracting a small white card. “I did this too.”

Claire took the card, felt the thick paper between her fingers, the glossy, navy blue writing slightly raised.

Her head snapped up. “Wait . . . the projects you’ve been working on . . . They weren’t with Holden’s company?”

He shook his head, then paused. “Well, yeah, the first couple were. But the last two, the ones I’ve been doing up here? All mine.”

“You did it.”

“I did it.”

She smiled at him, her chest suddenly feeling tight and warm at the same time. “Josh, I’m . . . I’m sorry I didn’t—”

He shook his head, putting up a hand to cut her off. “No, don’t do that. I deserved your doubt. I know I did.”

She released a breath, and he turned to face her.

“But I’m here now,” he said. “I’m here for good. I’m not the same stupid kid I was when we had Ruby. Hell, I’m not the same stupid kid I was two years ago. I hope I can earn back your trust.”

Claire reached out and squeezed his hand. “I hope so too. This is a hell of a start.”

He laughed and squeezed back. “I want us to be a family.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

Then his face fell and his mouth dropped open a little. “But, I mean, not a family family.”

She tilted her head at him, frowning.

“I mean . . .” He pulled his fingers from hers and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Claire could’ve sworn he was blushing. “I know sometimes when I’ve come back to town we’ve . . . well, we’ve . . .” He waved his hand between them.

“Screwed?” she asked. His eyes went so wide she laughed. “Oh, come on, Josh. We’re adults. We can call it what it was.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he laughed too. “Okay, yeah. But I don’t think we should anymore.”

She just lifted her brows at him.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t help either of us be a good parent to Ruby. And honestly, in the past, I wonder if us having sex was half the reason I bolted. Not that any of that was your fault. It was all me, but well, the sex confused me. Scared me. And I just want to be a good dad and a good co-parent for you.”

Claire nodded, honestly shocked at the wisdom he was spouting. “Yeah. All that makes sense.”

“And we don’t love each other like that. Not anymore.”

“No, we don’t.”

“And I want to have that with someone someday.”

She smiled. “I want that for you too.”

“And there’s the fact that you’re completely in love with someone else.”

Her smile dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

He laughed. “Admit it.”

“I can’t admit to something I don’t understand.”

“Oh, please. Claire. You and Delilah. It’s obvious.”

“It absolutely is not. You saw us together, what? Once?”

“Once was enough. I know she’s got a complicated past in Bright Falls,” Josh went on, “but I’ve never seen anyone look at you like she did. Not even me. And you looked at her the same way.”

“And how was that?”

“Like you’d follow her to the moon.”

She chewed at her bottom lip and turned back to face the lake. She didn’t understand why everyone couldn’t let it go. Why everyone seemed to think the way Delilah merely looked at Claire meant she was madly in love. You couldn’t judge that from a look. You couldn’t judge anything from a look.

So why did she suddenly feel the need to cry long, shuddering sobs that would hopefully dislodge this ache in her heart? She shook her head, muttered fuck under her breath, because if any situation called for a good f-bomb, it was this one.

Josh nudged her with his shoulder. “What are you so afraid of?”

She laughed through her falling tears, wiping under her eyes. “Where do I start?”

He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he really wanted to hear her answer.

She sagged against him. “I’m scared of getting hurt. I’m scared of Ruby getting hurt. I’m scared I’ll give her—give anyone, I guess—everything I’ve got, and they’ll just end up leaving. I’m a lot, Josh. I’ve got a kid who’s about to be a teenager, for god’s sake. I’ve got you. I’ve got a business. And I’ve got . . . well, I guess I’ve got some major trust issues.”

He nodded. “And a lot of that is my fault.”

She didn’t say anything to that. They both knew it was true.

“And my dad’s,” she said. “And Nicole’s and, hell, I don’t know. Every broken heart I’ve ever heard a sad song about.”

He wrapped his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Do you love her?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He squeezed her a little closer. “Do you love her?”

She let the question settle between them for a while. The sun sank lower, turning the golden air to lavender to a deep violet. She knew the answer to Josh’s question, but it was a ridiculous answer. Impossible.

Josh sighed. “Your whole life, you’ve been putting people first, Claire. Your mom. Astrid and Iris. Me. Ruby. It’s okay to take something for yourself.”

His words sounded like wisdom, like truth. They sparked something inside her that felt a whole lot like hope, and in any other circumstance, Claire might’ve agreed. But she’d already tried. She’d tried to take something for herself when she’d asked the woman she maybe loved to stay, to figure things out together.

And Delilah Green had left anyway.

But even though it was impossible to have what she really wanted, she liked this—her and Josh standing out on the deck he built himself, her head on his shoulder while they talked about the possibility of love.