Page 11 of Back to Square One

Rowan got the pot out, set it in the sink, and turned the water on.

“You sure you’re okay?” Justine asked quietly, her gaze on the window that overlooked the deck.

“I didn’t know she’d be here,” Rowan said, her voice a whisper.

“Yeah, neither did I. I thought it was just gonna be Claire.”

Well. That made Rowan feel the tiniest bit better, knowing her friends hadn’t purposely blindsided her. “We broke up here.” Rowan hadn’t realized she was going to say it, but suddenly, the words were out and floating in the air between them. “Not here at this house, but here. At the lake.”

Justine nodded. “You did. A little over two years ago. We did a spring trip, just a handful of us, to do some wine tasting, shopping.”

Little pieces slid around in her head and clicked into place. “That’s right. It was just a weekend.” A couple quick flashes came and went, but nothing she could grasp. She turned the water off and lifted the pot to the stove.

“It was.” The platter of chicken seasoned and ready to go, Justine moved to the fridge and took out a huge salad. She set it down, then stopped, palms on the counter, as if searching for the right words. “Listen, no matter what, I’m really glad you’re here.” She lifted her head and met Rowan’s gaze across the kitchen. “I’ve missed you.”

Rowan was touched, and again, had to swallow down an unexpected lump.

Indicating the pot, Justine said, “Set a timer for about twenty minutes once the water starts to boil, yeah?” And without waiting for a response, she took the chicken and headed out to the grill.

Rowan stood in the kitchen by herself, just her and the salt potatoes. She tore the bag open, rinsed the potatoes clean, then plopped them into the big pot, along with the pouch of salt that came with them, and turned on the burner. Then she dug around in a drawer until she found salad tongs. She moved the big salad to the table, doing her best to keep herself busy so she could avoid the one thought that she knew would completely consume her if she wasn’t careful.

Evie was here.

There were eight more days to this vacation, and Evie was here.

Jesus Fucking Christ, how was she going to do this?

That night around the campfire was a lot different than the night before, at least for Rowan. Gone was the relaxed fun she’d had making s’mores. No, tonight was all about tension and fatigue and confusion. She was seriously thinking about asking Stevie if she could take her home tomorrow.

“Anybody up for doing lunch in town tomorrow?” Stevie asked, as if reading Rowan’s mind and shutting her thoughts down immediately.

Murmurs and nods went around the campfire, a couple people signaling they were in. Rowan was about to say yes when Evie—and then Claire—both nodded.

Looks like I’ll be staying here.

She didn’t say it out loud, but come tomorrow, she’d find something else to do.

“Let’s make sure we hit a couple wineries at some point this week,” Justine said with a glance Rowan’s way.

She nodded and smiled back at her. “I’m in. Definitely.” Yes, she was still on some medication, but her ex who’d broken her heart—which she didn’t remember and had had to relive—had just shown up. She was pretty sure a glass of wine, or seven, was warranted and probably wouldn’t kill her. Probably.

“So, Evie, how’s the job going?” That was Becca asking. She sat two chairs down from Rowan, across the fire from Evie.

“Oh. Good. Good. Not bad.” Evie nodded and then sipped from her beer. She’d been going slowly with the drinking, Rowan had noticed. This was only her second or third beer all day; she’d had water with dinner.

Rowan remembered that Evie worked for an advertising firm in their graphics department, so she’d clearly been there for more than three or four years. She also remembered that it was a job Evie loved.

“Ro,” Stevie said, snagging her attention. When she looked, Stevie was holding up a bag of marshmallows.

“Just one,” she said with a grin. “I’m beat.”

Stevie nodded and plopped down next to her, then handed over a stick with a marshmallow on the end, just like the previous night. Also like the previous night, Rowan held it just above the flames.

“If anybody wants a s’more in, like, an hour, just tell Rowan,” Becca teased.

“Golden brown is the only way to go when it comes to marshmallows,” Evie said. “It takes patience.”

Rowan looked up and met her gaze over the flames. Evie was smiling tenderly.