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That my marriage to Wyatt is over.

Or that I’ll never have the one thing I’ve always wanted…

A family.

CHAPTER FIVE

WYNTER

When my eyes flutter open the following morning, the house is quiet. No clatter of pans from the kitchen. No low murmur of my parents talking over coffee. No commentators arguing about playoff rankings from the television in the den.

Just stillness. No doubt Dad’s already at the school, and Mom’s making sure all the concessions are ready for tonight’s big game.

I blink against the winter light spilling through the curtains, groaning when I squint at the clock.

Ten-thirteen.

I can’t remember the last time I slept this late.

I also can’t remember the last time I fell asleep fully dressed.

To be fair, I don’t even remember falling asleep last night. Just collapsing onto the bed and wrapping my arms around Gary, finally letting myself mourn my failed marriage.

Or maybe my failed life.

I’m still not sure which.

A soft whine cuts through the silence, and I look across the room to find Gary pawing at the door.

Given the hour, he’s probably desperate to go out.

“I know, pal. I’m sorry. Let’s get you outside before you have an accident.”

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and pad across the cool hardwood floor. Once I open the door, Gary darts down the hallway, as if this is his home.

For now, I suppose it is.

I follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen. The house still smells faintly of garlic, basil, and tomato sauce from last night’s team dinner, mixed with cinnamon and pine, probably from the Christmas tree and the candle Mom burns this time of year.

I open the back door for Gary, who bolts into the yard and runs in circles. After watching him for a few moments, I slip back into the kitchen.

The same coffee maker I remember from my childhood is in the same place on the counter. But beside it is a newer single-serve machine. If I had to guess, my mother got the one-cup brewer thinking it would make their lives easier, but my father has refused to change his ways, clinging to the old technology as long as possible.

Opting for the single-serve, I pop a pod into the machine, and the rich aroma of coffee fills the room. When it finishes brewing, I add a bit of milk, then wander onto the back deck, sipping my coffee as I watch Gary romp through the grass.

With his nose to the ground, he sniffs all the unfamiliar smells until he finds a spot worthy of his scent and lifts a leg.

As he goes about his business, I shift my attention to the house next door.

To Joshua’s house.

I half expect to see the door open and the lanky boy who once argued that ketchup counted as a vegetable come barreling into the backyard.

But as I learned last night, Joshua is no longer the same lanky boy I remember.

He’s a man.

With muscles.