What if we started over? Clare turned. No engagement, no venues, no countdown, no guest list, no house hunting. We go to dinner. We see if we still like each other when nobody is measuring us for anything.
For one terrible second, it sounded reasonable. That was the problem. Grant was not asking for the future they lost. He was asking for a smaller version of the beginning. And Clare knew beginnings with him.
She knew how he took his coffee. How he hated cilantro. How he always checked the stove twice before leaving. How he could make her laugh when she was furious and how he could disappear emotionally while sitting three feet away. History was heavy, but it was also familiar.
Mason was neither. Mason came with a daughter who already saved Clare a seat at breakfast, a dead wife whose ring still rested against his chest. Silences Clare had only begun to understand. Feelings that had arrived before either of them had given permission. Grant watched her.
You don't have to answer now. That's generous. I'm trying something new. Communication, apparently. Clare looked back at the lighthouse.
Why now? Because when I saw you with Mason the other day, something became obvious. Her shoulders tightened. Grant continued before she could stop him. You looked happy.
That's your argument? No, my argument is that I realized I might be too late. Clare crossed her arms. You don't get to turn him into a deadline. I'm not.
Grant's voice stayed calm. Clare, do you want me back? She opened her mouth. Nothing came. Grant looked out at the water.
Or do you want the life we planned back? That landed harder. Clare hated him for asking it because she had no answer and that frightened her more. By the time they returned to the inn, Rain had begun gathering in dark bands over the harbor. Mason was in the lobby helping Lily with a puzzle.
Clare slowed. Lily saw her first. Clare. Mason looked up. His smile appeared then stopped halfway.
Not jealousy, something more guarded. Lily pushed the puzzle toward Clare. I save the corner pieces. Clare sat. For the next 10 minutes, Lily talked about Thanksgiving.
Her grandmother Pi, a cousin who cheated at board games. As she talked, Lily clipped a small photo charm back onto the front pocket of her backpack. It showed Rachel holding a much younger Lily on her shoulders. "This thing keeps falling off," she said. Then she looked at Mason.
"Can Clare come to Thanksgiving?" Mason went still. Clare did too. Lily looked between them. What?
Mason answered too quickly. We don't know what Clare's plans are. Clare looked at him. I don't exactly. The conversation moved on.
Mason did not. That evening he found Clare near the elevators about earlier. The national emergency involving pie. He almost smiled. Lily gets attached.
Clare understood immediately. That's what this is about. It's part of it. So now I'm dangerous because your daughter likes me. I didn't say dangerous.
You didn't have to. Mason lowered his voice. I'm trying to be careful. You keep calling distance careful. That's not fair.