“Really?” I said, my ears perking up at the word lawyer. “I’m going to take off the varnish and paint it white.”

“That’ll be nice. He’d be pleased you’re going to use it.”

“I won’t keep it, Mom. It’s for a guest house.” I picked up the can of paint and varnish remover I’d purchased and began reading the directions on the back.

“No, you should take it when you move out.”

Was I imagining things, or did she emphasize the words move out? Was she dropping a hint? My eyes traveled over the words on the can without processing them.

“Where are you thinking of going?” she went on breezily.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I finally looked up. “I didn’t know I was being thrown out quite so soon.”

“Honey, I’m not throwing you out.” Her tone was soothing but firm. “You’re always welcome here.”

“But?” I shook the can. Violently.

“Well, don’t you think you should have a plan?”

“An exit strategy? I’m working on it.” I pulled off the cap, hoping she’d leave me alone to work. When she didn’t, I began spraying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cross her arms. She was petite and curvy, like Natalie and me, albeit with a few extra rolls around the middle. Only Jillian got our dad’s long, lanky frame and dark hair.

“Are you going back to New York?”

“I don’t know yet, Mom. I just said I don’t have a plan.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt.

“Well, do you have a deadline in mind? For having a plan, I mean?” she pressed.

I stopped spraying and faced her. “Do I need one? If I’m not welcome at your house, just say it.”

“Sky, don’t be silly. I said you’re welcome. My children are always welcome. I’m only trying to help you think ahead. You don’t want to live with your parents forever.”

I realized that she also meant I don’t want my adult daughter living at home with me forever. She and my dad were probably used to their privacy and routine by now. As if that wasn’t enough, she went on.

“And what about a job? It’s nice you’re working with your sister, but is that really what you want to do, work at a coffee shop?” She held up her hands. “If it is, that’s fine, but—”

“I get it, Mom.” I turned back to the bookcase. “I’ll come up with a plan.”

“OK.” She turned her own dazzling beauty queen smile on me. “Dinner’s at six thirty, don’t forget. I’m making fried chicken,” she said proudly. “Nat, Dan, and Jilly are coming too. Won’t that be nice?” She patted my shoulder and headed back into the house.

Sure. Another family function where we can all compare the Nixon sisters. Which one of these is not like the others?

Usually I looked forward to family dinners, but my mother’s words had cut deep. For the past couple weeks, I’d done a pretty good job avoiding the hard questions, but clearly I couldn’t go on like this forever. If only I had some kind of calling, like Jillian’s to be a doctor, or a dream that was achievable with hard work and dedication, like Natalie’s shop.

As I scraped off the old varnish, I tried to think of jobs I’d enjoy going to every day, something I could get excited about. My mother was right in that coffee shop employee wasn’t really on the list. And as much as I loved the farm, agriculture wasn’t really my thing either. I’d enjoyed the job at Rivard, but there was no way I’d get that position back. I was too ashamed to even ask for it. But maybe something like that…something fun, something that allowed me to work with people, something that allowed for creativity and spontaneity.

Christ. That is the vaguest fucking job description ever. You suck.

I did. I did suck.

By the time I’d taken off the varnish, eaten a quick lunch, and plugged my dad’s sander into the extension cord I’d run from the house, I was convinced I’d never be happy and I should just face the fact that I was a twenty-seven-year-old loser with a pretty face and not much else.

And even that wasn’t going to last forever. Thirty was around the corner, and then forty, and then fifty, and then sixty…decades of wrinkling skin and cracking bones and sagging flesh. But would there even be anyone who cared? My romantic history was as crappy as my job history—I wasn’t even sure I’d ever been in love.

I was still brooding about it when Sebastian’s truck pulled into the driveway an hour later. Immediately my mood improved.

“Hey,” I said, telling myself to walk, not run, toward him as he got out. It’s not like he was offering a life preserver to my drowning ass. “What are you doing here?”

He shut the truck door and leaned back against it, hands in his pockets. The sunglasses on his face hid his eyes, but he was smiling. “I came to see you.”

My insides danced a little. “How’d you find me?”

“I went to the shop. Your sister told me it was your day off and said you might be here.” He glanced over to where I’d been working. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. I need a distraction, actually.” The kind that happens without pants.

“Want to show me what you’re working on?”

“Sure.” Trying to keep my thoughts clean, I led him over to the bookcase and explained what I was doing. “It was my grandfather’s bookcase.”

“Even better. You have a connection to it.”

“Yes.” I clasped my hands together and rocked back on my heels. “What are you up to today?”

He shrugged, dropping his eyes to the ground a moment. “I had to go into town for a few things, but it’s such a nice day, I thought maybe I’d put together those chairs I bought last night and sit on the patio this afternoon.”

“Sounds nice. It is beautiful today, supposed to hit seventy-five. Can you believe it? In May?” Invite me. Invite me. Invite me.

He ran a hand over his short hair. “You mentioned wanting to see the cabin. I thought maybe—”

“I’d love to! Just give me one minute, OK?” Turning around, I went to unplug the sander when I panicked. I faced him again, my lower lip caught between my teeth. “Wait. You were going to ask me to come over, right?”

He laughed, his face lighting up. He looked so different when he smiled! “Yes. I was.”

“Whew. OK, good.” I put away the tools, and Sebastian helped me move the bookcase into the guest house, where I snuck away to quickly run a brush through my hair and rinse with mouthwash.

Not that I was planning on attackissing him again. But maybe he’d take the lead—I’d just do my best to let him know I was interested without being too forward.

“I like your house,” he said when I came out of the bathroom.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’ house, technically.” Recalling the conversation with my mother, I frowned.

“You don’t like living in it?”

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t…you know what?” I sighed, shaking my head. “Let’s not talk about it.”

His mouth fell open. “You don’t want to talk about something?”

I slapped him lightly on the arm. “Ha ha. No, I don’t. So let’s go, I’m dying to see your place.”

“Yours is much fancier,” he said as we walked outside. “Mine’s going to look very bare to your eye.”

I’d like your ass bare to my eye, I thought as I followed him to his truck. “Hey, do you want me to drive myself? That way you won’t have to bring me back.”

He opened the passenger door for me. “I don’t mind bringing you back.”

“OK. Thanks.” I climbed into the truck, feeling his hand brush my lower back. My entire body jittered with excitement, and I felt like a kid who just learned school is canceled for the day. There was some kind of new current between us—I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but I thought it had to do with the difference in him…he was so much more relaxed than he’d been at the end of the date last night. Did this mean he was up for seeing where this might go?

I told him to take the long, winding drive around the orchard before heading back out on to the highway, and I pointed out all my favorite spots on the farm—the best trees to climb, my favorite shady spot for reading, the perfect hiding places for hide and seek or ducking chores.