Page 62

“About?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

I look down at my bowling shoes, smiling before I can stop myself. For once, I don’t know what to say. Before I can find an answer, he lets me off the hook.

“Are you winning?”

“Of course.”

“Good. You’re representing Hartwell Boulevard. Don’t embarrass us.”

“You’re very demanding for a neighbor.”

“I’m easing you in. I’ll be much worse as your husband.”

My smile fades.

Through the doorway, Chloe is staring at her phone again. She rolls her eyes as she types, probably answering another message from Tom about marrying her. Her warning comes back to me. Men like him talk about a future they don’t mean so women will lower their guard.

Now Eric is making the same joke.

Maybe this is how Voss men flirt. They promise forever, get what they want, then move on. A moment ago, I let myself believe this conversation meant as much to Eric as it did to me. Now I feel foolish for taking any of it seriously.

“Rachel?” he says.

“I have to go.”

I end the call.

When I return to our lane, Chloe looks up from her phone. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Perfect.”

21

ERIC

At twelve minutes past one on Sunday, only four of the seven chairs around my dining table are filled.

I meant to keep lunch simple. Instead, there are fresh flowers between the plates, the napkins have been folded into swans, and two desserts are waiting in the kitchen. A catering team prepared everything, then left before everyone arrived. I wanted the meal to feel relaxed, but the table looks ready for a wedding.

Tom came early enough to watch me change the seating plan twice.

“You know people can choose their own chairs,” he said.

“Not in this family.”

“And the swans?”

“Not my idea.”

I’m glad he’s here. Tom can talk to anyone, and he knows how to keep a room from becoming too serious, even when he’s being a smart-ass. This lunch is going to need that.

Across the table, Mom leans close and whispers to Carl. His mouth curves beneath his gray beard, and whatever he says in return makes her cover a laugh with one hand. They’ve been married for more than thirty years, but they still look at each other as if the rest of us aren’t in the room.

I check my watch again. Daniel and Ava both said they’d come. I don’t have Jackson’s number, so I sent the invitation through Mom. She says he never replied, and I’m beginning to think he won’t be here.

“Daniel will be here,” I say.