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“I’m on my way.”

I hang up and slip on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, then grab Flame’s cage and head out to the farm.

It’s a beautiful day. Spring is beginning to hint at summer. Azalea bushes line the gardens of the houses, their blooms bringing splashes of color to the green landscape.

I pass the unicorn farm across the road from Rowe’s house and pull into the gravel driveway. A drove of piggycorns stampedes from the meadow to meet me. Almost two dozen of them, bumping into each other as they run at full speed.

When I get out of the car, they’re waiting, sitting on their hind legs, little piggy tails wagging. “Good morning,” I say, giving a couple of them friendly pats on the head.

They follow me to the house, squealing and snorting all the way. The door’s open and I shout, “I’m here.”

Rowe appears, her brown hair swept into a ponytail. She holds a sausage-biscuit sandwich. “Hungry?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I eat and then we head to the attic. “I don’t know why you’ve decided to do this at nine months pregnant,” I say, eyeing her belly.

“Yeah, I guess I’m going through an extended nesting period.”

“I’ll say.”

She laughs as we walk up the stairs. When we reach the attic, she opens the door and flips on the light. It’s pretty much what you’d expect from a country house’s attic—cobwebs, old furniture, trunks, bed headboards and footboards leaned up against the wall.

“Where do you want to start?” I ask.

She sighs. “With magic, to do this for me.”

I laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it works. But I’ll start with the trunks.”

“Let’s start with the smaller things like those old lamps. Take them downstairs and put them in the bed of the truck. Pane’ll be back later to haul them off.”

“And where is your husband that he’s not helping with this?” I tease.

“Fishing with Stone and . . .” She looks away. “Rhett.”

My heart clenches at his name, and it takes a lot of willpower to swallow the knot in my throat and reply with a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while and hearing about him. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

She nods and grabs an old lamp. “All right, let’s get moving.”

We talk as we clean. I tell Rowe about Glen and about what Jace told me when we ran into each other when I was getting ice. Before the asthma fiasco, before the breakup.

“Jace told you what? That Rhett was only acting?” She makes a face. “I hope you didn’t believe him.”

“I didn’t. Not really. But I guess his words stuck with me.”

“Believe me, the last thing Rhett was doing was acting.”

My heart expands a bit. “I guess so.”

“Not an ‘I guess so.’” She places a dust-covered table clock in the truck bed and brushes her hands together. “I know so. Rhett wasn’t in the competition for the attention. That’s not his style. He was in it for you. Besides, he punched Jace.”

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “What?”

She cringes. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, but it’s true.”

My legs go limp and I barely reach a dusty trunk to sit on before they go out. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

Rowe sighs. “The guys were out at Sparkle Bar last week, and I guess Jace said something about you. Rhett told him off, and as he was leaving Jace said something about messing with your pottery wheel—”