Page 28 of Knot Her Beta

“They’re excellent spoons,” Grady says.

“They have character,” Leif adds.

Grady laughs, but it lacks the usual lightheartedness I’m used to from him when he’s relaxed, and it fades as quickly as it came.

He spoons up the last of the broth before turning toward Leif. “How’s the school?”

Leif groans.

“Oh, no,” Jared says around another mouthful of stew. “What happened now?”

“The PTA.”

All three of us wince in sympathy.

“They’ve spent three meetings arguing over T-shirts for the second-grade field trip.”

I blink. “That’s it?”

“No.” Leif pinches the bridge of his nose. “The argument is whether forest green sends the wrong message about environmental responsibility.”

Jared nearly inhales his bread.

“I wish I were joking.”

“What color did they settle on?” I ask.

“They haven’t.” He throws up both hands. “Now someone’s campaigning for sage because it’s emotionally softer.”

Jared grabs his napkin to laugh into it.

“And don’t even get me started on the debate over biodegradable ink.”

The laughter comes easily after that, bouncing off the cottage walls with the warmth from the fireplace and the yeasty aroma of fresh bread still lingering in the air.

But I find myself watching Grady instead of listening to the end of the story.

He’s smiling.

He’s asking questions.

He’s participating.

But usually, when Grady is here, his whole face comes alive. His hazel eyes brighten behind his glasses, and he’ll steer a conversation somewhere none of us expected.

Tonight, his smiles never quite reach that far, and they disappear the moment someone else starts talking.

For a heartbeat, my attention catches on Leif, who has everyone laughing over some poor parent’s campaign to replace the school mascot with a river otter, before returning to Grady.

The two men have always gotten along.

So why does it seem as though Grady is sitting half a step outside the conversation?

Jared notices I’m not fully participating in the conversation, and his foot taps mine under the table, asking without words.

I tap back, letting him know I’m fine.

But I’m not fine, and we both know it. The stew is perfect, the bread is warm, and the cottage smells like rosemary and woodsmoke, with the four of us sitting at a table together, exactly as it should be, but I can’t stop thinking that something is off.